FOREVER is not a given thing ~~
it is a memory
what is love but not eternity?
how love can build and destroy
cosmos alive?
as flesh wastes away
after death ~~
love stands strong astride
with intact personality.
:: 10.25.2023 ::
Monthly Archives: May 2024
Five Pennies
Five pennies and it’s not worth what it used to do
Love like 30 years ago the same now children grown asking us
what we leave for them
The answer lies within us cause their souls are lost
so mother take my smile smile away cause i saw you raped and cry
Oh Souls lost
because they cannot find
What this life’s for
I wished to put her into the ground
but someone burned her body to ash
so i cry not knowing where to go
A ring on a finger
A paper by a judge
A job working for life
I see your pain
because you wonder
what’s this life for
For decades talking about sensibilties
In dreams I shoot them but this long black cloud
tells me this is just a bad dream
I walked sidewalks for Souls and wept
I stole the yellow bird
that lives in diablo sex
he has a summer house in Phoenix
and teaches young girls how to seduce
Men, Women, I want to leave you and how
I’m not joking I want to leave you
upon double-winged angels God please remove my unquinched thrist, my skin, and my thoughts full of illusions | baby, babe, baby, I will sleep it runs upon
the rooftops mumbling, shivering, making violent
love with cats.
:: 05.28 .2024 ::
A Slumbering Daisy
Death is a daisy slumbering
by the fervent Madonna’s feet
And those thousand delicate scents,
Dusky as an armpit,
Crimson as a heart,
Slumber in the forms of naked women
Who rest in fields or wander streets
In quest of love’s faintly gilded strawberry.
Blue, Blue arose and fell.
Spiky, Thin whistled and sought to intrude, yet
did not pass through.
On every corner there was a din.
Fat Brown was ensnared, seemingly for eternity.
Apparently. Apparently.
Great big houses suddenly collapsed. Small houses
remained standing, unscathed.
A thick, hard, egg-shaped orange cloud hung suddenly
over the town. It seemed to dangle from the steep
steeple of the Town Hall tower, tall and angular, and
radiated violet.
The citizens heard a guttural cry. Which brought tears.
Profound feelings of great despair.
As some realized beneath fingers, a realm unfolds,
in keys and strings as a tale retold,
of Handel’s hand and heart’s decree
A symphony of pure esprit.
:: 05.12.2024 ::
A Stop Sign: Anovulation
ALLOW me to hold your hand and send the stars
into nocturnal eyes
A night’s breeze seems to whisper how I love you.
Give me reason so I have none
like frogs springing forth
from a spring-mouth-kiss
A finger pressing upon a flesh-button
against an artificial heart
makes synthetic skin purple with pain
A black cat named Chai speaks
saying, “this broken leg was my wet nurse
and scarabs have flown across millennium of sand
When there are no corners but only curves
When the only sun is a medical light bulb
the man inside white coat destroys a future
and the world has left green, my breasts once
were queens now have no function other than to amuse
So, sweet dreams. I have sweet dreams of what could
have been imagining a mask of silence while laboring.
Come sweet baby, within these dreams I’ll have you.
My weak anemic body, mindless octopus
would swallow an excited cock to see you born.
I will release this last egg regardless of my irregular
vaginal bleeding so don’t deny me sweet cherub.
:: 05.28.2024 ::
Wishing For Opportunities
INSECTS inside
insectile industries
blowing chemical air
Impersonations
of celebrities
Superpositioned
across universes
Make-shift concerns
ooh, yeah, ooh yeah
it seems to be political
degreed thugs yoo hoo
i walked a gnat across
a sidewalk and it thanked me
its wings were torn off by
a starbuck patron this day
Go, little one, grow wings
and fly away my little friend
(haha).
Someone else had a bad day
she was tied in chains near
the intersection of Hope Drive
and Faith Lane.
Holding up a cardboard that read:
“will take verbal abuse for change.”
Anything helps, even a smile.
Her other cardboard read:
“1.00 for a useless fact.”\
And another:
“I’ll solve World Hunger for a dollar.”
We’re all tied up in chains.
:: 05.26.2024 ::
Notes:
Let me say that I write these notes so the reader completely understands my poems. If you are a teacher then use them to understand and express to your student body what the poet (me) meant when I wrote this. If you are a poet then you should already know.
“Wishing for Opportunities” is a multifaceted poem that interweaves surreal imagery, social commentary, and a poignant narrative to explore themes of struggle, resilience, and societal neglect. The poem’s fragmented style and juxtaposition of disparate elements create a kaleidoscopic view of modern life, capturing the reader’s attention through its unique blend of whimsy and gravity.
Structural Analysis
The poem is structured in a way that mimics the erratic and chaotic nature of contemporary existence. It shifts between different scenes and ideas without clear transitions, reflecting the fragmented reality it portrays. This structure serves to disorient the reader, mirroring the disorientation experienced by the poem’s subjects.
Imagery and Symbolism
The opening lines, “INSECTS inside / insectile industries / blowing chemical air,” immediately establish a sense of artificiality and industrial corruption. Insects, often seen as insignificant or pests, are a metaphor for individuals lost in the mechanized and dehumanized sectors of society. The “chemical air” suggests pollution and the toxic environment created by industrialization.
The phrase “Impersonations / of celebrities / Superpositioned / across universes” introduces the concept of fame and superficiality. The term “superpositioned,” borrowed from quantum mechanics, implies a state of being that is both present and not present, real and unreal, highlighting the elusive and often deceptive nature of celebrity culture.
Social Commentary
The poem delves into social issues with lines like “Make-shift concerns / ooh, yeah, ooh yeah / it seems to be political / degreed thugs yoo hoo.” This passage criticizes the superficial and performative nature of political discourse, where serious concerns are often trivialized or overshadowed by those with power (“degreed thugs”).
A particularly striking image is that of the poet walking a gnat across a sidewalk, only for the gnat to be harmed by a “starbuck patron.” This act of kindness followed by violence underscores the vulnerability of the weak in a society that often overlooks or actively harms them.
Personal Narratives
The poem transitions to a more personal and emotional narrative with the story of a woman “tied in chains” at the intersection of “Hope Drive and Faith Lane.” Her signs, offering to endure abuse or solve world hunger for money, reflect extreme desperation and the lengths to which people will go to survive. This scene poignantly illustrates the pervasive nature of poverty and the lack of empathy in society.
Themes and Messages
“Wishing for Opportunities” conveys a deep sense of entrapment and yearning for freedom. The recurring motif of chains symbolizes the various forms of bondage—economic, social, and psychological—that individuals face. The closing lines, “We’re all tied up in chains,” universalize this struggle, suggesting that despite different circumstances, everyone is affected by societal constraints.
Conclusion
The poem, through its rich imagery and stark social commentary, calls for awareness and empathy. It highlights the importance of seeing and acknowledging the struggles of others, whether they are as small as a gnat or as visible as a person on the street. By blending surreal elements with real-life issues, the poem creates a powerful reflection on the nature of opportunity, kindness, and human resilience.
DOLOREM INFERNES AMORIS (Painful Love)
Your neck, such a slender mast,
from which your head dangles, suspended.
In the void, your body cries out to me,
Implores me to breathe life into your open mouth,
The fragile syllables of my longing.
A. E. I. O. U.
My tears are human but my heart is angelic
and I love you any way ~~ As
is a child cradled within your arms.
His head a shadow against the dark expanse of your chest,
Eyes sightless, hands bereft of grasp.
Your body pleads with me,
To offer My life as a vow.
When rain comes it makes me sweat
when the moon comes out i love you
like yesterday ~~ so come on
it’s not like when i tell the truth
i make lies____but when we go would you
have the guts to say you don’t love me
like you loved me yesterday_______.
And I love you like yesterday.
:: 05.24.2024 ::
Eternal Love: A Symphony of Shadows and Stars | 05.24.2024
In twilight’s hush where shadows blend,
A secret melody transcends,
Soft whispers from the night arise,
Unveiling love beneath the skies.
Stars quiver in the darkened blue,
Reflecting depths within your view,
With every note, our spirits soar,
An ardent dance forevermore.
In breathless sighs, our souls entwine,
A waltz beneath the moon’s design,
The night, a lover’s dark embrace,
Where dreams and shadows interlace.
Your eyes, a tempest fierce and deep,
Stir flames from their eternal sleep,
A symphony of wild delight,
A kiss that haunts the endless night.
The music weaves through heart and mind,
A timeless dance where souls align,
And as the final notes descend,
Our love, eternal, knows no end.
:: 05.24.2024 ::
This Evil
My thoughts have given purple bruises to my thighs.
While I have ached by tick-tock measures of time
singing into your eyes. Instead of economic pain
and societal distance, please see me crying out
from pleasure. That we all ultimately realize
that line between them both is unmeasured.
That my thin arms are bent and again folded under
a terrible weight they have pushed you to terrible
acts. That while trashed and bashed the silky hair
on my totem pole head clings and is grasped by your
primal fingers they have dug into my angelic skin.
Then, you stand up towering over your trash and are
defined by the satisfaction of my mangled body.
Love. No.
This is evil.
:: 05.24.2024 ::
Analysis from this Poet:
The poem presents a stark, visceral exploration of suffering and the thin, often ambiguous line between pleasure and pain. It begins with a powerful metaphor: “My thoughts have given purple bruises to my thighs,” suggesting a deep, internal turmoil that manifests physically. This blending of the mental and physical realms sets the tone for the entire piece, emphasizing the intertwined nature of psychological and bodily experiences.
The poem’s rhythm, marked by “tick-tock measures of time,” conveys the relentless passage of time and the enduring nature of the speaker’s suffering. This juxtaposition of temporal markers with the intimate act of “singing into your eyes” underscores a yearning for connection amidst pain.
A significant thematic element is the critique of contemporary societal issues such as “economic pain” and “societal distance.” The speaker implores the reader to look beyond these external factors and recognize the profound personal anguish and desire for genuine human connection.
The second stanza delves deeper into the physical and emotional abuse, where “thin arms…bent and again folded under a terrible weight” evokes a sense of helplessness and repeated trauma. The description of “silky hair on my totem pole head” being “grasped by your primal fingers” highlights the degradation and violation of something pure and sacred.
The final lines bring a chilling resolution: the abuser “defined by the satisfaction of my mangled body,” starkly contrasting with the concluding declaration: “Love. No. This is evil.” This powerful denouncement serves as a cathartic release, affirming the speaker’s recognition of the true nature of their suffering.
Psychoanalysis:
From a Jungian perspective, this poem can be seen as an expression of the shadow—the dark, repressed aspects of the psyche that often manifest through projections onto others. The “purple bruises” symbolize the inner conflict and self-inflicted wounds resulting from the speaker’s unconscious struggles. The act of “singing into your eyes” suggests an attempt to connect with the anima or animus, seeking integration of these unconscious elements.
The reference to “economic pain and societal distance” aligns with Jung’s idea of the collective unconscious, where societal issues and personal suffering are interlinked. The plea to “see me crying out from pleasure” indicates a desire to transcend these collective problems and achieve a deeper, more personal understanding of one’s pain and joy.
The imagery of “thin arms…bent and again folded under a terrible weight” can be interpreted as the ego’s struggle against the overwhelming forces of the unconscious. The “primal fingers” digging into “angelic skin” suggest a confrontation with the primal, instinctual aspects of the psyche that threaten the more refined, spiritual aspects represented by the “angelic skin.”
The abuser “defined by the satisfaction of my mangled body” represents the shadow’s dominance over the ego, resulting in a distorted sense of identity and satisfaction derived from the suffering of others. The final assertion, “This is evil,” is a recognition of the destructive potential of the shadow when it remains unintegrated and acts autonomously.
In Jungian terms, the poem illustrates the necessity of confronting and integrating the shadow to achieve wholeness and prevent the destructive consequences of its unchecked influence.
A Summer Dawn’s Parade
In summer’s light, the dawn’s soft kiss,
Awakens leaves, the vapors’ bliss.
In this park’s corner, sounds arise,
As on the left, where shadows guise.
A fairy parade, indeed, I see,
Floats decked in gilded imagery.
With masts and canvases, they sway,
As twenty steeds in circus array.
Children and men, on beasts they ride,
In carriages old, adorned with pride.
Flags and flowers, a colorful show,
In pastoral attire, they gladly go.
Even coffins, ‘neath the night’s shroud,
With ebony plumes, a solemn crowd.
Trotting along, with mares so grand,
In blue and black, they make their stand.
:: 05.23.2024 ::
Note:
Poetry is so beautiful. One day, oh one day, I wish to write a great poem!
I am Not Who I am
It was the woman that I saw in the bookstore. And to whom I spoke and who spoke to me. I was in a public library of sorts. All people coming and going. The room then became without light. They came to tell me that she was at my house. Waiting. Why? She, that one at the bookstore was now in my bed, all mine but I did not wish to possess her. Her eyes were without lights. I was nonetheless very moved. And a lot because it was my family home. I was also overcome by distress! I was in rags, me, and she, a worldly woman, giving herself away; which of use had to go! A nameless distress, I took her, and let her fall out of bed, almost naked; and in my indescribable weakness I fell upon her and dragged myself with her among the lightless carpets. The family lamp reddened the neighboring rooms one after the other. Then the woman disappeared. I shed more tears than God could ever ask for.
I went out into the endless city. O Fatigue! Drowned in the deaf night and in the flight from happiness. It was like a winter night, with snow to definitely suffocate the world. The friends to whom I shouted: where is she staying, answered falsely. I was in front of the windows of where she goes every evening: I was running in a buried garden. I was rejected. I cried a lot at all of this. Finally I went down to a place full of dust, and sitting on the frames, I let all the tears in my body end with that night. – And yet my exhaustion always came back to me.
I understood that she was in her everyday life; and that the turn of kindness would take longer to reproduce than a star. She has not returned, and will never return, the Adorable One who came to my house – which I would never have supposed. – True, this time, I cried more than all the children in the world.
Then, I realized. My life, my skin, my blood, my smiles and heart made me who I am.
I am not human.
I am love.
:: 05.22.2024 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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