Author Archives: EPRobles

About EPRobles

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Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love...

CHARLES BUKOWSKI’S SPIRIT SPEAKING

In the gritty details, where souls collide,
Beauty’s an extraordinary beast to ride.
Couldn’t beat that truth, so I fought on,
Wrestling with thoughts, tears streaming strong.

I ground those tears, every damn notion,
In the arena of my relentless devotion.
Sought meaning, dug deep in my mind’s dirt,
Struggled through the trenches, not one to skirt.

Yeah, it’s the soul’s nitty-gritty, the raw affair,
That makes beauty shine, I swear and declare.
In every scar, every gritty fragment I found,
A damn extraordinary tale would resound.

That universal truth, it had me pinned,
But I brawled and bled, wouldn’t let it win.
Tears and thoughts, a cacophony in my head,
Bukowski-style, I fought till they bled.

So take those tears, let ’em soak the page,
Unleash ’em, ignite the poet’s raging rage.
Embrace the details, don’t shy from the brawl,
For it’s in the fight, we find beauty’s call.

Yeah, let this poem bear the Bukowski mark,
With grit and truth, a poetic spark.
In the trenches, amid the tears that flow,
Discover extraordinary beauty, don’t let it go.


BEAUTIFUL WORDS

Abyssopelagic reminds my heart
of lost love at sea
/diaphanous without light\
breaking white and black keys
making melliflouous
waves ~~~~
\meeting quadrivium.

the world of beautiful words.

:: 06.02.2023 ::


Ode to Nothing

When I believe in love that
may never cease to be
the man I am has become me
Before the night has waxed
Before the candle leans forth
I hold upon the temple
a heart who made me my own
grassy knoll sleeps of love
and scents of nature’s romance
is when I feel complete
I have tasted the elixir
of faery power — the unreflected
love of my own happiness
to be just to be
to love and nothingness
is quite the feeling in life


BRAVEST OF WRITER DRINK PROSE

Oh, dearest seeker of linguistic lore,
With ardor I embark on this poetic chore.
In a symphony of syllables, I shall impart
The marvels of English pronunciation, an intricate art.

Listen closely, Jenny, as I guide your way,
Through a labyrinth of sounds that often sway.
I’ll weave a tapestry of words, both bleak and bright,
And together we shall venture into this poetic night.

Corps and corpse, horse and worse,
A quartet of phonetic universe.
Your mind, Jenny, shall dance in dizzying delight,
As I unravel the mysteries, unveiling them to light.

A tear may fall from your sparkling eye,
And a delicate dress may rend with a sigh.
But fear not, for my devotion is true,
I shall suffer alongside you, as this journey ensues.

Now, let us compare heart, beard, and heard,
A triad of words that seem absurd.
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, with caution they must be heard.

Britain, retain, oh mind the way they’re written,
Let not their spelling leave you smitten.
And worry not, I shall not pester you so,
With words like plaque and ague, which bring much woe.

But heed my counsel, speak with utmost care,
For break and steak differ from bleak and streak.
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.

Devoid of trickery, I enunciate,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore, oh so great.
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles.

Scholar, vicar, and the lingering cigar,
Solar, mica, war, and journeys afar.
Anemone, Balmoral, a touch of grace,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel, embrace.

Gertrude, German, wind, and thoughts so kind,
Scene, Melpomene, the tapestry of mankind.
Billet does not rhyme with the ballet’s sway,
Nor bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet’s display.

Blood and flood, they do not align with food,
Mould does not echo should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load, and broad,
Toward, forward, reward, let their harmony applaud.

And when your pronunciation rings clear,
Croquet, a game of leisure, let it appear.
Rounded, wounded, grieve, and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.

Ivy, privy, famous, clamor’s song,
Enamor rhymes with hammer, strong.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, and comb,
Doll and roll, some and home, find their home.

Stranger, anger, a subtle difference found,
Devour, clangor, their rhymes astound.
Souls and foul, haunt and aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant.

Shoes, goes, does, let them gracefully flow,
Finger, singer, ginger, linger, in succession they show.
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge, and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.

Query, very, they don’t mirror each other,
Fury and bury, neither do they smother.
Dost, lost, post, doth, cloth, and loth,
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.

Seemingly small, these differences stand,
Actual and victual, hand in hand.
Refer and deafer, they part ways,
Feoffer, zephyr, a gentle breeze conveys.

Mint, pint…

:: 06.01.2023 ::


BIFURCATED EXPRESSIONS

(in the form of a little sonnet)

In realms unseen, where dreams and truth entwine,
A sonnet born, in mystic verses wrapped,
Abstract surrealism finds its roots divine,
Within this cosmic dance of words entrapped.

In boundless thoughts, iambic beats prevail,
Oh sonnet, vessel of the surreal plane,
Moonlight’s silver veil reveals the tale,
Within your grasp, release from worldly chains.

Through tangled threads, our spirits take to flight,
Portal to the poet’s boundless soul,
In sonnet’s arms, surrealism alight,
Let magic thrive, forever keep it whole.

In realms unseen, where dreams and truth combine,
A sonnet’s power, everlasting sign.

:: 06.01.2023 ::


THE VOICE AGAINST REDDIT’S POETRY RULES

In shadows’ grasp, poetry fades,
As tyranny’s hand its touch pervades.
Words silenced, whispers repressed,
Art’s beauty robbed, hearts distressed.

Authoritarian terror tightens its grip,
Constraining thoughts, freedoms slip.
Verses wilt, ink runs dry,
Imagination caged, creativity denied.

But even amidst the darkest of days,
Resistance thrives, in subtle ways.
Poetry’s spirit, resilient and bold,
Defies oppression, its power untold.

For art, in its essence, can never be tamed,
Its whispers of truth, forever unchained.
In defiance of terror, it will rise anew,
Inspiring hearts, reminding what’s true.

So let us stand firm, united in rhyme,
Against oppression, one stanza at a time.
For poetry’s soul, a beacon of light,
Shall prevail over darkness, shining bright.

:: 05.26.2023 ::


The Eye’s Smile

The eye’s smile is a window into this Heart
Imperfectly held
Have not those who know — a poet is concealed
within the walls of solid words
for fear it be torn down

:: 0.24.2023 ::

Poet’s Notes:

  1. The Eye’s Smile: A poet would consider this as the soul’s way of expressing itself. The eye’s smile might stand for the inner emotions, thoughts, and soul of a person, which they might not otherwise express verbally. A Jungian perspective would also suggest that the ‘eye’s smile’ represents the conscious aspect of an individual – what is seen on the surface.
  2. A Window into this Heart: This phrase suggests a pathway to deeper, more intimate emotions or truths. Both a Nobel laureate poet and Carl Jung would appreciate this sentiment. A poet might interpret this as the capacity of art (in this case, poetry) to reveal the innermost feelings of the human heart. Jung, who believed in the concept of individual and collective unconscious, would interpret this as the possibility to access deeper layers of the psyche, beyond the surface level that is immediately visible.
  3. Imperfectly Held: This line might be understood by a poet as the human inability to perfectly contain or express emotions. Jung might see this as an acknowledgment of the imperfect nature of our conscious awareness, and the constant tension between our conscious self and the unconscious.
  4. A poet is concealed within the walls of solid words: A poet would interpret this as the idea that a poet’s true essence and spirit are hidden within the poetry they create. Poetry is often seen as a construction, a ‘solid’ creation made of words that both express and hide the poet’s true self. From a Jungian perspective, this could relate to the idea of the ‘persona’ – the mask or role that we present to the world – being used to conceal the true self.
  5. For fear it be torn down: Both a poet and Jung would recognize the fear of vulnerability inherent in this line. The poet fears that their true self may be exposed or misunderstood through their work, while Jung might relate this to the fear of confronting and integrating the shadow aspect of the psyche, which can be a difficult and fear-inducing process.

SED AMOR NUMGUAM OBLIVIIONE DELEBITUR

(But Love Never Forgotten)

In twilight’s cloak, I sit and ponder,
As raindrops fall, the world grows fonder.
Thoughts of thee, the city divine,
Thy cheeks adorned, where smiles align.
Half-thrush, half-angel, thine eyes do gleam,
With drowsy lips, where kiss-flowers dream.
Oh, how thine hair pirouettes so shy,
A dance, a song, my soul’s sweet lullaby.
Rarely beloved, like a lone star’s light,
In darkest hour, thou guide my sight.
In whispered breaths, I conjure thy grace,
For thee, dear one, my heart finds its place.
Oh, dead lover, with words profound,
Thou’d understand the love I have found,
In nature’s realm and depths of the mind,
Where longing whispers, and solace we find.

[PERSEVERO]

Rarely beloved, like a lone star’s light,
In the darkest hour, you’re my guiding sight.
In whispered breaths, I conjure your grace,
For you, dear one, my heart finds its place.

Oh, Emily Dickinson, with words profound,
You’d understand the love I have found,
In nature’s realm and depths of the mind,
Where longing’s whispered, and solace we find.

:: 05.23.2023 ::


CADMIUM DIFFERENCE OF DAWN

I like it WHEN YOU STAND HERE

  cause when i lose my mind

half of migratory birds

sing within a circle /

Round about
 
  inside my molten volcanic mouth

as Beauty deafens

then Makes them follow the appearance
of a burning shadow of their echo’d
unknown ~~

The personal echo is wide to blaze
The carriage of mine canary birds
dying but singing, “I feel this one”

The carriage defends its passengers alive.

Calcium passengers

CADMIUM   difference of dawn
without her permission

Hot rigid detached dreams
Legs as if they speak in her two herself
And she answers herself as she herself runs
How can she fly in role of invisible island

I am the dead I am the living I am the poet
I am the sun I drown your parched throat
inside our heads we keep living and dreaming
and crying and weeping

One dream is simply of love.

:: 05.22.2023 ::


MY SWEET FRAGRANT FLOWER OF LOVE

My Beloved Flower,

With each stroke of my quill, I strive to capture the essence of our love, a symphony that defies mortal boundaries.

Above the chessboard city, our love reigns, thundering like polished leather, illuminating our world in a burst of radiant light.

Confusion and wonder intertwine as I stand amidst waves, snow, and the brilliance of a gathered hand.

Within this surreal realm, I yearn to hold you, my jungle child, in the depths of my half-opened heart, a diamond of ecstasy.

Your presence fills me with boundless delight, igniting words that transform into a phosphorescent fern, a delirious dance of change.

You are my lost goddess, guiding me with your enchanting song.

Between pillows, your eyes hold a reserve of air, defying logic as a woman without arms or a star without roots.

Our love resides amidst the petrified rain, where pleasure lingers, awakening the dawn with two doors, moving and informing the winds that beckon the tigers.

Amidst misfortunate furniture, our love intervenes in fierce dreams, defending against venomous snakes. It emanates light, illuminating like a bud from a silver tree, leaving unique footprints upon the vibrant carpet.

In this realm, shadows graze with sparkling vanity, mirroring maritime volcanoes. The tumult of stones echoes through the depths of my soul. Hear, my love, for this symphony is composed solely for you.

Yours forever,

This Gentle Poet