Dew, my love
so sweetly awaits
the first burst of light
and too, my heart
it comes today;
a morning greeting
i should be there
with the bee
spreading harmony
:: 01-24-2015 ::
Author Archives: EPRobles
About EPRobles
LIFE IS LIKE A NEW DAY
THE INFINITE NOODLE
i knew by culture, Death.
No man, if men are gods,
i met life in meager words.
And too, i met Love in ‘it’
the notes of dead Men.
I, too, met precious Life
in scribbled notes of Man,
the two women of my Heart
they keep the grounds neat
in famous garb. I should meet
them too, one day in the shade
we have much to say:
did you mean ‘Love’ or ‘hate’
was it ‘death’ or ‘date’
:: 01-24-2015 ::
THAT MY HEART IS A SONG
that my heart is a song
between the beak of a bird
where secrets of life are,
whomever disparages souls
are like humans who never learn!
like the feet who never knew
wings, so fearless and thirsty
soaring, and on Mondays I may
be wrong for many souls are
searching for their lives.
and my hands are my feet,
usefully loving one’s self
so more than truly
feeling. I’ve never seen
a fool who could fail
soaring above the skies
pulling the veil over eyes.
:: 01-25-2015 ::
OH, POET? DO SPEAK!
Oh, poet? Do speak!
the mumbling-foolery
a pompous excursion
of expanded hearts
By anonymous nameless ages
we are the forgotten souls
let our words survive
and what is the flesh
when matched against words?
NOTHING!
sO, –i PRAISE
the temple God
of scribbled notes
and let my skin fold
inside the vase of time
:: 01-22-2015 ::
WRONG
And if everything true
had a rightful place
would there be enough
space? I should believe
more room for all the wrong.
:: 01-22-2015 ::
THE LAST DAY OF WINTER
And my soul sings, “this winter,
my Lord, is too long
bring back the summer and,
where cheerful hearts dance
within fielded flowers
of daisy-romance,” so I too
long and sing my song.
To bid a lasting farewell
to ice and crystal-fallen
art, I wish today with
all my heart!
:: 01-22-2015 ::
THE CHILDHOOD REVISITED
And the daylight danced upon the heart
of the man who laid across the lap
of his woman. Upon a bench within
a park, his childhood hidden. And when
the clouds obscured the sun, his heart
leaped forth as a child! His lover
murmured: Are you here? The distant
laughter of playing children. And his
eyes flowered-opened and saw the light
of all the day and even night, within
the gaze of the woman who allowed him
a moment to become a child.
:: 01-22-2015 ::
THE SOFT-SILKED SOULS
The weary seams of soft-silk souls
seem too loosened to visit my world
but they do. And often by haunts,
their dreams become my own; as
a sin unowned; rarely my feet walk
within God’s garden silently.
The uninvited adore my skin
and breathe especially at night.
As many intervals between life
and There, so too my awareness
of Them, those who with ghostly
sculptor-hands, turn heads
and minds too. It’s my words,
my word, too, They built the
bridge across which I now go
while I sleep reading the
dark book of the Beginning.
:: 01-22-2015 ::
THE REVELATION
AND when the world has fallen upon the cavity
of your sunken chest go out into the day,
feel the sunlight and how it’s warmth has
become lit sheets of icy fingers upon your soul,
and know the bright yellow bulb in the sky
is a world of fire and ice.
And when your soul has slender-ed, into a pencil
without its lead and your mouth is no longer
able to spell or speak nor write, then the world
is an unspoken ill without its Scribe; some
say He has died or was never born and others,
that he died nailed upon two pencils upon a hill.
And when you have grasped this meaning and you will,
then allow the world to fall through you,
and all the kisses, wishes, and well-spent days
of your life…
:: 01-22-2015 ::
AND IF ONLY
And if only one thing
in life you loved
were removed
You should find
love in all of life
:: 01-21-2015 ::
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