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New Poetry, Fiction, Essays

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i live behind the glass, on the corner of framed and hung

by Bev Smith

.

a one eyed glance of half lid
somedays all I can dare

for fear the cracking glass
will spill with secrets

my fearing most the ones i forgot

an out the door in passing look
making sure I’m right side up
from wrong

and this side of a backhanded
compliment
” i love when you wear
your hair up”

and you’ve revealed, against my back
it’s deep long flow of brown

but I do like the swishy sway;
my neck, sometimes the sun.
so I’m okay
with a disconcerting frown
and your motherly
outlook of work not done.

.

.

those things we say

by Bev Smith

.

we’re truly
an evolving
lot
of knuckle
draggers;

mental
lolly-gaggers
all
cauliflowered

-bent
at the ear.

 

though
never displaying
my church mouse
traits,
it became obvious –

we were
once
a great race.

branch benders
of the best
kind,

never falling
to hit
more of a jump
to jump
in our leaping.

i’m gathering,
more breeders
and fighters

than
philosophical.

cognitive thinking
skip-hopping
by generations.
we’d dare dangerous
peekaboo’d
betwixt it’s codes.

i know this
a given

that time
helping
my youngest little man
changing clothes
for bed.

i watched our generations
clash
mid-air
shield on shield

when reciting
a common phrase from my childhood;
assuming
as my mother’s before me.

pulling his tiny t-shirt
off,
arms up

stating-

“skin-a-kitty”

without so much as a thought.

until my clueless face
gazed
ashen white angelic authority

and

in his deepest

harshest

whisper

-says

” mama -why would you say that ?”

 

it was then i knew,

 

I knew
nothing;

 

as i’d only ever
raised both my arms.

.

.

water bending secrets; if not taught swim, one best still kick

by Bev Smith

.

who knew
once aboard,

your baby train
would not stop.

and each dream
unanswered
became a bassinet,
a new bed
then stroller.

hand me downs
only cool twice
because now,
someone’s
gotta replace
all that lead paint
of three kids ago.

crib slats
unmeasured,
started killing babies
who’s parents
couldn’t count.

you being educated
i got a new crib,
and lucky.

but before
the invention
of stranger danger
i knew
the locations
of far too many
cookie jars
on the block.

and every dog’s name,
by their backyard
and
where preferably
they wanted
not to be petted.

when somehow
now grown,

i taught mine

”not all dogs
are for us to know.”

.

.

Our Papyrus Birth

by Bev Smith

.

our papyrus birth
lays yellowing
before the ink blacks
of blotted footprints.

we -all arms and legs
growing off the pages
then in upright drift,
strode toward the sun.

a cloud
upon each shoulder
a shadows cast
‘tween rib tapping
in hollowed thump.

the deep auburns
that sliver,
blowing a torrents gust
though the seasons.

residing
beneath the brittle.
i’m drying,
an ache
along it’s branch.

trying to think back
to the last time
i felt -of green.

.

.

that sweetest peach

by Bev Smith

.

can we not
run naked in this light
eyes open
and sit cross legged exposing
our secrets as wanton gift.

touch skin smooth and newly kissed.
honeyed golden of warming sun.
course fingers through our veins
faster, farther
and in shy eyed hither merge as one.

and in our yonder days
when skin holds the desert as its arid own,
oasis scarce.
our gaze of afar, the distance of our farthest reach

i will remember you
as still that sweetest peach.

 

this thigh,
this thigh quivers ‘neath your touch
seeking strong, your grip

before more lines
forming new faces,
trace of age and much more wisdom.

in lace scantily clad
destined for your gaze.
intricately woven
needing one of youthful eyes by two
to measure it’s elegance
against my firm elastic flesh,
pliable and soft
bending sheer beneath
its lattice weave.

-to answer your query

” they are french
i believe ”

 

and we will lay to lavish
all our silver years
lost, lingering in and among the images

that none, if we so bold -told

could conceive.

.

Bev Smith:

Sometimes we find ourselves in the damnedest places. Stumbling around in the dark,  poetry was the shade I needed before I could tolerate the sun again ~

Equine professional since high school. Horseman since birth. I train dressage horses and riders in Texas on our family farm with my husband and two sons.

 

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