E.R. Smith, 2018
Looking through peep hole.
Scrutinize self, beside doctrine.
Cringe, never will be confused for Jesus.
Catalyst reality, requires prevarication.
Sacrificing time when disinterested, tough!
Would rather give blood, maybe even marrow.
Thinking fast on my feet, speed demon.
Raspy voice reaches through closed door.
“Not my best today, you know the flu’s been about?!”
Jehovah’s witnesses back away, like my door’s lepers.
Their quick revulsion justifies my guile, the nerve!
No saviors in those church clothes either? Huh.
Misery loves this company, lackluster samaritans.
Going back to cozy sinful bed.
2018 E.R. Smith
Crack down my spine
Rebuild, redesign, replenish
Universe renew the sinew
Refabricate all connection align
Blood of God pour, nourish
Ancestors witness venue
Show the rocky path divine
Shine the edges, fear banish
For the faithful a world anew
©2017 E. R. Smith
Awakened by a whispered call
Your time is not yet, stall
Whisper told me whats to come
My plans for you are just for some
Hush tones tickled open ears
Leave it to me, lose your fears
In dusk’s after glow, I am illuminated
“I am the bread of life”
In His mighty spirit, my soul vindicated
©2017 E. R. Smith
Mom never has much money, but she sure knows how to find fun for free. Today was Central Park picnic day. Mommy fried a boatload of chicken, packed apples, and other stuff; time to eat under the sky she always says. Joey and I excited; little sister Mary starts whining about the walking…she’s four with short legs. I promise to carry her on my back to cheer her up. Now Migdalia’s looking at me with death eyes cause I really can’t carry her anymore. Six is way heavier than four. Joey tells her they will run all the way to the fountain then jump in. Mom would murder us, never will that happen. Six believes more than twelve knows, Migdalia’s death eyes turn sunny.
We here at the park, mom’s looking for shade. She let us dip our feet in the fountain since no one was looking. She told Migdalia she was too pretty to drown. Dalia’s happy; pretty staring at her wet sandals. Kids crack me up, so little makes ’em happy. Fourteen is harder. I stare at the sky, I love watching clouds change shape. I watch the birds, wondering where they’re going in such a big group. I keep my thoughts to myself mostly. Mom already has too much whining and worry going on. Sometimes I wish I could come here alone with mom. Lay on the blanket look up at the sky and wonder, like when Joe and I were little. Before Dalia and Mary were born. Now I’m kinda mom’s helper, Joey helps me. I stare at the birds wishing for wings to lift me to an exciting place I’ve never seen before. I want to be at the tip of the “V” shape they make, so I can decide where we go. I wanna have lunch in a tree, under shady leaves, with my bird friends. Listen to them brag about all the places they’ve traveled to. Like Denise does whenever her family comes back from visiting Puerto Rico. I’ve never been in a plane. I look up again and ask God to give me wings someday; not like the ones Denise pinned to her shirt from riding a plane. I want real wings, like St. Michael the Arch Angel. He’s real. I told Joey Superman isn’t. Like St. Michael, I’d like to fly, and work for God. I figure God will send me everywhere. Then when I have vacation time; I can take mom and us somewhere new.
©2017 E. R. Smith All Rights Reserved
The “Luck” Luck of the Draw”
is God’s infinite blessing