Fresh Squeezed

E.R. Smith, 2018

Assaulted by youngsters in backpacks.

Backing in to unaccomodating spaces

Parents, glaring staring, shut your yap

Say nothing to my young, I’ll kill your village,

Don’t dare groom mine, they’re not fresh!

Polite is un-relevant, we’re here to pillage

Sharpened elbows at my sides, as you swipe

Focused squeezing, communicating with dark net

Grey heads shake at brute, who continues to type

Transit,  precarious microcosm of disdain

Populace on edge, shoving humanity

Bus and Train rumbles as brains drain



mad graffiti



E. R. Smith, 2018

Throwed up the sour crux of the matter

Call me vandal, huh? Where’s your plan for me?

Infrastructure F–Ked up since my pop’s feet pattered

Demographics show me last on the list….maybe, we’ll see..


This battered wall, reminds of  vivid existence

Slapped woke, retaliating for unprovoked focused pain

This passive palette, path of least resistance

Styling a marching movement, more than for ihe slain


World  peep gifts possible in all!  Nourish satiate the multitudes

Burning bombs on the wall bleed, crimes of exclusion

Artists fists lash out; violent pigments glow, unchecked attitudes

Opportunities for the red blood born,  won’t suffer occlusion





The Eyes of a Child

Photo of infant courtesy of Rebloggy.

©2017 E. R. Smith

Eyes of an infant,  ponder aged faces and smile

Eyes of an infant, see beyond put ons and style

These orbs recently sent from heaven see keenly

Screaming wails when passed to those unseemly

Neonate vision, a blessing that’s spoiled

Groomers readjust oculars God oiled

Vision captured by glitz, fool’s gold

Leaves child open to dangerous control



Remember when we found that imperfect spot by the trees;

with the hive of bees?

Immature happy to be away from the crowd;

they are way too loud.

Warped were we; thinking crowds missed our plans.

Looking sketchy, holding hands.

Intimate plans turned to dud,

little brother threw a rock with a thud!

Angry bees shamed us away, their secrets for birds alone.

That imperfect spot by the trees, began a love still known.

©2017 E. R. Smith



All or Nothing!

handed a package with instructions, “You all in?”

naw, can’t.  “In or you got nothin’.”

head down, then I got nothin’ then.

another day, another friend.

“Going over to the college, wanna come?”

head tilted to the side feeling dumb.

honest, I don’t know how to start?

“No worries friend, I’ll help that part.”

“Gotta world focus, to see change,

remove one from a demographic cage.”

followed friendly footsteps to lead me to a road,

not easy though, not easy though.

Finals told percentages of growth

gave my life some kind of hope.

Remember all or nothing as I lead.

My stronger voice, a clear feed.

I give all in my life, wanting to be something;

knowing its all or nothing.

©2017 E. R. Smith





The Language of Love

©2017 E. R. Smith

The language of love is missing; there needs to be a manhunt!

Let’s search all demographics, it really could be in hiding?

Hate is becoming a scary concern.