How love knows no one
Why imagine it
when we kill
and die for all
religion and politics
That we never get it
but the world turns
we without precious
posessions or brother-
hood or sisters
we cry and we’re not
like everyone
We believe
and leave our yesterdays
as shadows hanging over
beating hearts
i say there’s something
wrong
When we were younger
and loved playing games
i say now there’s something
wrong
And how we need a place
to hide away.
:: 03.21.2023 ::
What spirit imbues that flesh! A love like that of a mother’s best,
with twinkling eyes and a heart of gold, that mystical flair that balances dew
upon the soothing green blade, touching your father’s heart too!
And you tend to good deeds that love and life bequeath to all,
a fiery and tender twinkle that brings joyous tears to your father’s eyes,
with the moon and bird-songs following you forevermore!
Your lovely grace in turmoil will make his heart always beat for you,
the world and all its gifts of gold and position are not as valuable
as that tender spot where angels dance, the room where I first met you.
That spot must have the best cot that shall forever remain my home,
you are a fair bloom of sweet beauty, fairer than roses bringing the bright noon-day,
more valuable than grass, rain, or the cold kiss of a winter’s night,
because it’s what’s inside of you, not your fur or appearance, that’s dear,
it’s the bloom that comes from the heart, and that’s what I keep.
What soft breaths of wind, what autumn songs from the skies that day,
and what beauty was not lost, comes from the cleft of the heart,
the heart that I hold in mine, to your father, who now with silent eyes fixed,
weeps tears of the heart for you,
From Heaven above have come
THE ROSE AND THE FLOWER.
(rev) 03.19.2023
COULD I BE?
Could I be the electric flame
That burns within your deepest frame?
As science holds answers yet unknown,
May we have a chance to be shown?
Slowly reveal to me your frigid breath
Like winter’s flow, so cold as death,
For everyone claims both right and wrong,
As we hold on through the night so long.
We’re caught in danger, engulfed by wrath,
Yet it feels so right within our path,
As hollow as the winter’s chill,
I cannot let go, I must feel still.
No wrongs, no rights, but the way we last,
In frozen kisses, our passion cast,
Could I be more than what I seem,
To break free from this hollow dream?
Might I be that electric flame
That kindles deep within your frame?
As science holds its secrets tight,
May fate allow our paths to unite?
Reveal to me your wintry breath,
So cold it chills me to the depth,
For every voice claims right and wrong,
As through the night we hold so long.
We’re caught in danger, seized by ire,
Yet deep inside we feel desire,
As hollow as the winter’s air,
I cannot release this endless care.
No wrongs or rights, just what we last,
With frozen kisses as time has passed,
Might I become more than I seem,
And shatter this hollow, endless dream?
With love and heart, my soul ablaze,
I long to kindle passion’s blaze,
And be that electric spark,
That ignites your soul, pure and stark.
So let us dare to take the chance,
And dance with fate in love’s wild dance,
For in your deepest frame I see,
A love that burns so bright and free.
:: — ::
Verse 1:
Oh, such a little pinch, and yet so much grief
Sittin’ on a park bench, findin’ some relief
Me and the bench, we’re just like two peas
In a pod, we’re the only ones that truly see
Chorus:
In this solemn park, where the birds fly
My soul’s undercovered, my heart’s asking why
As the last refrain of nature’s song fades
I know this grief won’t leave, it just cascades
Verse 2:
The bench is baked, but it’s where I find peace
Soulful comfort, from the pain it does release
The song of the birds will never truly die
But this grief, it’ll fade away with a sigh
Chorus:
In this solemn park, where the birds fly
My soul’s undercovered, my heart’s asking why
As the last refrain of nature’s song fades
I know this grief won’t leave, it just cascades
\as free birds fly as hearts released.
/seeing my love you see — and i love her.
:: 03.19.2023 ::
when i’m in the middle of dream
i love you so carefully
walking inside your Soul
Everybody seems to think
i’m Crazy
i run and walk into the
trees with weeping willows
i cry – like a dream
I’m just me | poet so poor
and weeping
Everybody thinks I’m lazy
they think i’m crazy
until one poem catches fire
and then they realize
I’m only sleeping.
:: 03.19.2023 ::
A voice inside and out,
deep in the woods,
whispers, “I am the One you know.”
Waiting for the 112 bus,
the egg man appears.
In the musty city,
humans and mimics abound,
but the small guy with one eye
calls himself egg man.
In 1799, we sailed
from our English gardens
and found you.
Simulating futures
like peacocks spreading feathers,
we lovers, poets, and wizards
ka-choo ka-ka-choo with abandon.
Finding her heart,
how sweet it can be,
but she doesn’t know what he is.
She needn’t care;
to love is to be everywhere,
like love never dies.
No one can deny
something is there,
how good it can be,
beside me.
:: 03.19.2023 ::
HOW faces smile how they frown
how they find treasures in life.
Being dead living life
in disguises
crying shouting destroyed Souls
Within Hell on Earth,
Living and dying each day
listening to mortal words
i scream Within my circle is a box
unopened and angels pray
to keep it closed
So give me a cold hand
won’t you come closer
inside me : fire mouth
tear me apart thinking love
Mimics call my name again
destroying time space
within all i knew were friends
were others not of Earth
No one changes like you
feigning death to make me cry
flesh like static sand
come
supernovae come
burn solar systems
Nephlim come challenge me
i have no fear bequeath
spiritual technology
destroys your black hole sun
so come so come so come
won’t you come
:: 03.19.2023 ::
As I inhale, I breathe dreams
From that emotionally-throated stream
One that arrives just when I need
These dreams once more, I wish to feed
They were once alive and bright
But now they are out of sight
Beyond my now-life, they seem dead
Love once lived, but now has fled
My sterner conscience begs for a friendlier home
For passion true, that forgives those who roam
Betrayal’s wrongs, of deepest kind
Forgotten with a forgiving mind
Undreamt accidents have made me who I am
And seeing how life and Souls work in tandem
I’ll never let that tiny ember fade
Remembrance of youth, forever to be displayed
The ancient rites of youthful life and Souls
So notorious, till all that is priceless fades and rolls
Understanding of existence returns to the needing heart
Forever seeking, but never to depart.
\:: 03.19.2023 ::/
Just a peck of you
smudge kissMouth
I ate a rose roughTO-
Night — and hunger
for that pink tongueWish
tied to the knot of my
ManHeart deeplyNeeds
wounded bleeding —
sillyMe drama loves
romantic scenes —
stay here UP on the
wooden lit stage —
when the curtain falls
falls Falling below
your knees — I
should say this…
“…………….”
:: 03.15.2023 ::
Muscle-bound goons. The kind that rape the world. Self-satisfied, in no hurry to devote their remarkable faculties to understanding another’s mind. Such wise men. Stares as blank as summer nights, red and black, tricolored, golden star-stung steel: twisted features, leaden, pale, inflamed; hoarse guffaws. A grim onslaught of pretense. To hear what these kids would say about Cherubino in their rough voices and violent ways. They’re heading to town to get it from behind, all decked out in sickening luxury.
A violent Paradise of runaway sneers! But no match for your Fakirs and hackneyed theatrics. In costumes sewn together with all the taste of a nightmare, they strut through assorted laments, tragedies filled with all every brigand and demigod missing from religion and history. Chinese, Hottentots, bohemians, fools, hyenas, Molochs, ancient lunacies, sinister demons—they slip savage slaps and tickles into your mother’s old chestnuts. A little avant-garde here, some three-hankie stuff there. Master jugglers who use riveting comedy to transform players and scenes. Eyes ignite, blood sings, bones stretch, tears and red rivulets run. Their clowning can last minutes, or months.
Only I have the key to this savage sideshow.
:: EPRobles ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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