Daily Archives: December 7, 2013
AND WHEN I’m within
your warm and gentle arms
sing me to sleep
hush my baby —
close your teary eyes
Don’t try to awake me
you say —
because I will be over there
in the land of bliss
and I love you — you care
I won’t disturb your paradise
but only need some advice
what will it take to awake
when you’re gone and I’m alone
Hush my baby dear —
have more than faith
and don’t you fear
love is as it was…
and shall be with your heart
Sing to me
lullaby
so I can live
and cherish
the heart God has given
Sing to me
Sing to me
Sing to me
Loving care
for our hearts
and damn the world
:::::
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I GIVE TO YOU my feelings
upon a silver platter
Which feeling you choose
to devour is up to you
but choose carefully
there are so many tasty bits
to savior and consume
;;–;;
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THE HUMAN LANGUAGE is front-loaded
with the weaponry it requires
to destroy the bearer of any news
;;–;;
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AND WHO is that child that runs
through the forest in day or night
and picks the flowers by your path
sometimes even within the rain
a shower — then rainbow he climbs upon
The gold never ends at the bottom
but lays on top — the world to see
And who is that child that cries
when the pain and suffering
does seep between the window pane
the world — our world — he feels
without his eyes but within his heart
and thoughts and colors bursting pain
the Council watches from other-there
The child of light and brighter days
The child of light and brighter ways
Come unto us child, and bring your kind
++()++
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A DEAD man once came to me
within my dream – was more than that
He I met while still alive
Christmas trees he sold to the living
Across a swath of Texas land
those trees peppered the ground
like missiles they pointed upward
The greatest smile and warm-jointed hand
A true soul with weathered spirit…
Many times he approached me in my sleep
always caring and doing for me such things
aside from that long story I have to say…
His message was a note for his daughter
Holy symbols he used in all he did
as the number 3 — dreams, divinity and me
So in the year of his death — which I not knew
I went to visit his Christmas Tree ranch
parked my car and walked toward the receiver
A lovely lady who stared at me — questions…
we felt the connection and I had to say
“I have a message for you from your daddy”
She burst into tears and fell into my arms
“How did you know, Sir! How did you know!”
The short story for you — I tell the reader
“He said he’s saved and dearly misses you.”
::–::
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I AM a bundle of confused what-if’s
swimming southward toward the State
— of ‘Has-Been’
Knowing so very well my passport
has become full and expired
No country can claim me
— not even your Earth
I am the man that fell to space
and can never return…
lost in your meanings — such language
cultures, music, poetry — too much!
The whales they understand such feeling
your largest creature for a reason
the hottest blood, heart and soul swims
But I have drowned
and so go I must…
::/\::
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THERE is no shock like that of waking up
within one’s possessed skin to fully realize
we are only visitors and not from the-here
I talk not of an academic approach
which requires only a mind-thought
but the unequivocal knowing and feeling
that we have possessed the animal-human
parading as less than what we are
and some succumb to their skin-suits
and have shed their light-hearts
and run amok in primal urge and
have the doer-evil deeds of darkness
Truly there is duality
in our current experience
— and a very fine line
between madness and sanity
[There is more…
that can be said…]
1 Comment | tags: #actualization, #awaken, #fear, #life, #living, #poetry, #poets, #psychology, #realization, #sleeper, #writers, #writing | posted in Uncategorized
I CUDDLED my emotions
when fear brought me roses
and knew that such ways
— as me
can play an instrument
— psychosis
Simpler to just praise it all
the good and bad
— and sad and fears
an occasional bottle
— of broken tears
then to wrap it up
and embrace the birth of death
++()++
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THERE in an instant
once labeled
becomes a thing
other than itself
before — a clean slate
maybe more
now caricature
of ‘this’ and ‘how’
The linears need
their lines and rules
to fit preconceived notion
into their folds
but ‘things’ are not
and rules do beg
to smother and kill
the ‘self’ — many holes
::::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 