In a land by the yard
by the yard of bones
is the truth a terrible
truth grinning beneath
the trees
A finger points up
and toward the Gods;
dying laughter screaming
‘they are all the children
without a hope’
and so it goes…
all across
the ruins the mighty ruins
of fallen minds
as sharp as sharp
as the edge of town
a horror in the day
in the light of day
tears of joy streamin’
as a fat man sings,
it’s the serial killer
called
“Pogo the Clown.”
:: 04-29-2018 ::
THE heart a country unbound
that few live to believe;
a citizenry of longing hope
to fill fallacious ground
where angels float
the soul weeps
above summer’s season
of hell & perverted
throats //–>
seeking reason
the convenient rest
bleed unto the ground.
:: 04-27-2018 ::
The town buried her beneath peach-red skies: less than several days ago.
All the while in the distance, gravel-filled caws in the distance measured a
thickness of time; the casket lid, rained with tears, sank beneath Earth’s longest wave.
Everyone had dirt under their nails and a heavy weight of guilt. Then,
at night on the 1st of May she returned to town on an errand so vital
that she had come unannounced and entered
into the cafe where she last had cried– while holding the hand of her lover,
she sat down at the chair with red eyes and again watched her fiancé bleed
from a wound within his head; his blue sapphire eyes melting as their dying hearts.
THE gunman was wrestled to the ground
on top of a love poem she
had penned to her fiancé . In part it read:
“The town buried her beneath peach-red skies…”
:: 04-25-2018 ::
Thimble and needle hear
my words
you’re too busy these days
to love
I’ve followed you through
and through
the toughest patches of life
and now my thread
has grown too thin
And we’ll never survive
never survive never survive
the stitching of our hearts
Paper, rock and scissors
needles, pins and threader
rulers of horror measure
the terror of my nightmare
as I watch the needle
of your busy work pierce
the tissue of my heart
I’ll never survive
never survive the sowing
of the madness
that’s your mind
:: 04-21-2018 ::
The swollen curves of nature have dressed
herself in burning colors
like last Spring’s echo:
A sincerity of majestic blue.
Untie your lips my love and plant them
all hyacinth and sweet upon my Soul!
Like nimble fingers upon ivory thought,
Like clasping arms as rolling waves,
As tender as tended seeds
in labored soil.
I feel your colors and taste
your fragrant beauty my love!
And March we dew through dreams
of April. And May our love
continue a bloom
far past June…
are the words I speak
to my tender flower!
:: 04-17-2018 ::
AND another day as the bones feel very pained to carry the burden of sin.
ALL two hundred six of them don’t want it; alas it is just the way
it is.
The glob of gelatinous goo in the brain-pan knows it. The cat-sticks have
tried to run from the affliction but to no avail. We’re stuck here
utters the piece of flapping clapper as though ringing a bell.
We’re stuck here.
But time dimishes the skin; watch, see? All saggy and wrinkled.
But still, a small ember of fire remains; the errection of need
or the pounding throbbing kitty’s meow.
Sin daddles at the thought and dew-beaters forget while walking on Mother
Earth.
Now, hush. This is your Soul talking to you: drop the skin.
No need for that peerie-winkie.
:: 04-14-2018 ::
Only W H EN i am Spiritually
inclined. BUT so many whispered
WORDS OF WISDOM have been revealed by
your hand; “But here i am, with my tears
of joy and arms and heart and even brain/
MIND; me, please. Look at me — just look,
(Said your heart), But i cannot wake up
to the sounds of weeping from the churchyard
or miles into the City so sleep pretty
love and don’t cry //and when your chest
releases heaves i sing all lullabies
all within your tender ear // make
My Sunnyside up and let’s start Over/
Inside a new paradigm, ugh.
:: 12-27-2016 ::
Within the tower of a castle
within the empire
of my existence
are all the lovely souls
are all the missed gifts
all within a lovely vassal
And if it all falls away
falls away in misunderstanding
there is hope there are some
there are some strong enough
to withstand and exist
And what useless,
foolish regrets
And what harmful,
regretful fears
And within the tower
of my castle
within the empire of
all existence
No room for sorrow
No room for tears
No room for fears
But a world of One Nation
And to hear the laudations
to hear the flatteries
of all the angels…
All within the towers
within the towers
of our castle!
:: 04-08-2018 ::
There’s no one here. But me. And that quiet
voice which is the beginning of a thing of
beauty. And today nature is agreeable with
my sentiment of a perfect life; her high
morning sea and cloudless sphere kiss my
tender heart and soul.
Today I have stopped. Thinking. And how when
beauty and love enters one’s life all the noise
stops. Confusion melts.
When nature touches you.
:: 04-08-2018 ::
Within the tapestry of life
goes the Mind:
the rest of flesh and bone
remain cat-like;
a sleeping prostitute
of time.
And within heaven all of the
interesting people are missing,
or so says Nietzsche.
But within hell most everyone
says the intersection of Canal
& Mott Streets in Manhattan are
a killer.
And a chorus of drunks fooled
by numbness and unencumbered
by care drown out the naked lunch
of fear and rejection.
That’s the mind singing, you
know.
So few sensuous souls and
so many meaty mannequins!
:: 04-07-2018 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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