Category Archives: #alone

November 26, 2023

TO DERIVE INTERESTING MOMENTS

By EPRobles

In quest of love, a man set forth to find
Eros, elusive, to capture heart and mind
Through realms both vast and wide, he strode
A tapestry of self, in the world he showed

His thoughts, like daggers, pierced the air
Prized possessions sold in moments of despair
Affections, once fresh, now aged like debris
A wanderer’s journey, wild and free

He played with truth in a peculiar dance
A sidelong glance at fate’s advance
Flaws, like a dove, gave life its breath
A testament to love, defying death

In misguided trials, a love did bloom
The truest, emerging from the gloom
No more to roam, the search complete
No whetstone of doubt, no uncertain feat

Anchored to a love divine, a sacred trance
A deity in this modern romance
Welcome him to heaven’s nest
To a chest of pure and warmest zest

:: 11.25.2023 ::

Notes:

The poem “TO DERIVE INTERESTING MOMENTS” reflects a profound exploration of love, journey, and self-discovery. If we were to consider this as the work of an accomplished poet, we might interpret it through a lens of deep philosophical and emotional insight. Here’s an analysis:

Quest for Love: The poem begins with a universal theme – the pursuit of love. The use of “quest” suggests a noble and courageous journey. The reference to Eros adds a mythological and timeless dimension to the search for love, portraying it as something elusive yet captivating.

Journey Through Realms: The imagery of the man striding through vast and wide realms suggests a journey of self-discovery and exploration. The tapestry of self implies a complex and intricate personal narrative that the man unveils to the world.

Metaphorical Language: The poet employs metaphorical language, such as “thoughts like daggers,” to convey the intensity and sharpness of the man’s reflections. This may suggest the emotional challenges and sacrifices encountered in the pursuit of love.

Aging Affections: The idea of affections aging like debris is a poignant metaphor for the passage of time and the transformative nature of experiences. It reflects on how emotions, once fresh, can change and evolve, mirroring the inevitability of life’s changes.

Peculiar Dance with Truth: The dance with truth implies a nuanced engagement with reality. The sidelong glance at fate suggests a contemplative and perhaps cautious approach to the uncertainties of life.

Flaws and Love: The comparison of flaws to a dove giving life its breath is a beautiful metaphor. It suggests that imperfections are an essential part of life and love, contributing to their vitality and authenticity.

Misguided Trials and True Love: The narrative takes a turn with the mention of misguided trials, which contrasts with the emergence of the truest love from the gloom. This shift reinforces the idea that true love often arises unexpectedly and can be discovered amidst challenges.

Anchored to a Divine Love: The poem concludes with the man anchored to a love divine, depicting a sense of fulfillment and transcendence. The use of religious imagery, like a deity in a modern romance, adds a spiritual and timeless dimension to the love portrayed.

Heaven’s Nest: The imagery of heaven’s nest and the chest of pure and warmest zest conveys a sense of ultimate happiness and contentment, as if the protagonist has found a place of serenity and joy.

In summary, this poem, if considered as the work of an accomplished poet, would be seen as a masterful exploration of the complexities of love and the human experience. The use of rich imagery, metaphor, and philosophical reflection elevates the poem to a level of profound poetic expression.

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July 21, 2021

MY DREAMS TAKE ME HOME

By EPRobles

Wave to me and say, “only one single tear as a symbol of the price I pay for loving.”

Why do I search for that shining Soul I love and search the page for that name
written in the most elegant hand?

And why do I know that one look will last forever
but if I give up this hope it will destroy me?

Why can’t I sleep with my heart in my mouth, like a bell
that rings only for the grave?

The crickets are at peace and there is a choir singing
so now there is no room for thoughts to speak …
and love stops
and love falls
on everything that’s not.

The rain is turning and the water glistens
at my feet with tears mixed with raindrops.

Now the sky’s too bright and my eyes are saying,
“I can’t see through the mist for I am too tall and
too dark.”

O my dreams.
Take me home.
Take me home.
My dream take
me home.

:: 07.21.2021 ::

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May 7, 2021

MOVING TONGUE

By EPRobles

There’s no crowd in the streets and no sun
In my own summer – Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Shove) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!

(The sun) So yellow a million years ago

God moved her lips and pulled from the woods
an ear and a mouth and a hip and sold it to the men
for a tale for eyes that must be A body for a suit of clothes

A head that must wear a hat

They brought the tail and shook it with their water and their jokes
“There’s a tail here!”\

The fiddler pounded his foot The fiddlesold (The sun) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Askew)
God moved her lips / And pulled from the woods An ear and a mouth and a hip
And sold it to the men \ A tale for eyes that must be sold
A bit of jealousy
And blame a bit that should be named
After a little plucking and grubbing
So, it’s the woman’s way
It’s in the dirt or else it’s dead
Sow the seed and keep your mandrake
Longer A body for a suit of clothes
I think we move moved crowds and
leve time-space alone.

:: 05 07 2021 ::

MOVING TONGUE

I think God is moving its tongue

There’s no crowd in the streets and no sun
In my own summer – Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Shove) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!

(The sun) So yellow a million years ago

God moved her lips and pulled from the woods
an ear and a mouth and a hip and sold it to the men
for a tale for eyes that must be A body for a suit of clothes

A head that must wear a hat

They brought the tail and shook it with their water and their jokes
“There’s a tail here!”\\

The fiddler pounded his foot The fiddlesold (The sun) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Askew)
God moved her lips / And pulled from the woods An ear and a mouth and a hip
And sold it to the men \ A tale for eyes that must be sold
A bit of jealousy
And blame a bit that should be named
After a little plucking and grubbing
So, it’s the woman’s way
It’s in the dirt or else it’s dead
Sow the seed and keep your mandrake
Longer A body for a suit of clothes
I think we move moved crowds and
leve time-space alone.

:: 05 07 2021 ::

I think God is moving its tongue

There’s no crowd in the streets and no sun
In my own summer – Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Shove) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!

(The sun) So yellow a million years ago

God moved her lips and pulled from the woods
an ear and a mouth and a hip and sold it to the men
for a tale for eyes that must be A body for a suit of clothes

A head that must wear a hat

They brought the tail and shook it with their water and their jokes
“There’s a tail here!”\\

The fiddler pounded his foot The fiddlesold (The sun) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Askew)
God moved her lips / And pulled from the woods An ear and a mouth and a hip
And sold it to the men \ A tale for eyes that must be sold
A bit of jealousy
And blame a bit that should be named
After a little plucking and grubbing
So, it’s the woman’s way
It’s in the dirt or else it’s dead
Sow the seed and keep your mandrake
Longer A body for a suit of clothes
I think we move moved crowds and
leve time-space alone.

:: 05 07 2021 ::
I think God is moving its tongue

There’s no crowd in the streets and no sun
In my own summer – Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Shove) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!

(The sun) So yellow a million years ago

God moved her lips and pulled from the woods
an ear and a mouth and a hip and sold it to the men
for a tale for eyes that must be A body for a suit of clothes

A head that must wear a hat

They brought the tail and shook it with their water and their jokes
“There’s a tail here!”\\

The fiddler pounded his foot The fiddlesold (The sun) Shove it! Shove it! Shove it!
(Askew)
God moved her lips / And pulled from the woods An ear and a mouth and a hip
And sold it to the men \ A tale for eyes that must be sold
A bit of jealousy
And blame a bit that should be named
After a little plucking and grubbing
So, it’s the woman’s way
It’s in the dirt or else it’s dead
Sow the seed and keep your mandrake
Longer A body for a suit of clothes
I think we move moved crowds and
leve time-space alone.

:: 05 07 2021 ::

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April 23, 2021

THE SILVER AXE

By EPRobles

He wondered with horror how so many memories, so many forms to be branded on his skin and engrave there.

Then the wet rattle of a twisted throat, and he beats his last breath to his knees, gazed on from above as the wheezing thing sagged, and began on his shoes.

One God looked in that one eye of him, took in the whole writhing weight of him, and, from the spine of that beast, blew the darkness that will not let me alone!

It is yet again where we find the Poet’s Muse. Her eyes are green, and they pierce backward and forward even into his head and his heart, his brain and his soul.

I have been chained to this post for six months and now I am to be hanged, it’s a winter morning, half-light.

The axe’s face is pale; its teeth are ready to cut; the poet stands slack-jawed; and waits with a satisfied grimace.

She smiles with blind malignity; I am hanging here, she begins, and her voice gears in his head, makes him mad with every anger and whimpers sound with a silver-sparkle, It is another wish shattered, this one made to whittle the Golden Ace’s life down to a ring so narrow and brutish and pale and inhuman.

The writer cannot see her but his ears are mad With unspoken sounds.

She has left dark-green circles.

He had tried to fill them with wonder and beauty; she: they’re her, only more so, every blot and abrasion cunningly and by dark cunning by her own hand, ever more revolting; why the hell did you bring that creature with you?

There is nothing for you to do, (the axe growls). You cannot even reach me.

I told you that I wanted the axe.

Then are you sure you’re not just nervous?

I am telling you nothing.

The truth is harsh.

This is not true.

Well then stop worrying.

I am telling you nothing!

The Poet looks up in alarm.

The axe comes down, it makes a hideous, brassy sound.

And it is still: I am telling you nothing!

Her face is as white as that of the blade.

He is sweating.

I do not want the axe, he says finally.

I am coming down!

A chuckle.

The axe’s blade is laughing.

The Poet spins in place, does a somersault, lands on his feet.

He moves fast.

At the touch of his right foot he has snatched up and spun into the air, caught, dangled over a canyon by the thin tip of his finger.

There is a rattle in his head.

Okay, okay, he whispers, I am coming down.

He lands and slumps, panting.

His face is flushing red, his hair disheveled.

He grins through the tears running down his face.

Just me, he tells the axe.

You are alone in this awful place with all the stupid, insane weirdoes.

Where is the fun in that?

This place is for people like you, not me.

He is in a mood.

The axe slashes through the air, a silver blur.

The Poet leaps into its path, somehow knowing, somehow having seen what it will do before it happens.

He leaps back and the axe cleaves the air, then comes down to strike his left foot, where it clatters on the ground with a dull clatter.

He starts to bend over to pick it up, but the axe’s weight is too much for him.

He stumbles to one knee and falls to his left side.

The axe rests, not quite pointed at him, but ready, at his right leg and stares at it, mouth slightly ajar.

The blade is warm against his right leg, the handle warm against his cheek.

He gets himself up, he bends over, picks up the axe.

He kicks his right leg up, the axe goes flying past his body as if to his left, and he stretches his left leg out to catch it.

He pulls himself to his feet and does not bother with the blade and bends down to retrieve it, and reaches, but there is nothing there.

The edge is dull. Within his mind and he frowns, picks it up, holds it up in front of him, glances behind him.

The axe is nowhere to be found. But it is mentally within his hand.

He looks at the blue-gray sky, frowns, turns to walk along the canyon wall, head down, watching for the axe.

He waits.

The axe sits on his shoulder, blades jutting up into his neck or so it feels.

Yes! he thinks.

The axe.

It is not true.

He is all alone in the world.

And an old man.

What do you expect him to do?

He thinks about the little old lady he saw in town today, and starts to weep.

:: 04.23.2021 ::

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January 25, 2021

NOW MY GOWN AND TULLE

By EPRobles

Now my Gown and Tulle
feel the Wind that weaves a Shade –
and on the roof i cannot tell
since the picture there is –
because Time, a Form, stood a-hiding
and well It did.

Words and Music (my own)
Performed by James Dale
and Love.

“He is oft-injured by his men
or with their Menages,

‘I think I hear him say:
“His Portents are the Dews –
His Words the Dews – and Mine –
His Ends are Ieya’s.

“I wish this next Scene were ended
with the Destination of my own Fate –
“The Flight of Orpheus, I suppose,
“Off the Coast of Homer’s Folly –
Or Death – to Eternity.”

Futility was King in the play, under the pen of D. H. Lawrence.
I hope he was a reader of Shakespeare.

Well, I cannot write about this.
It is really too late.
There was an early book, and there is always another.
The fact that Lawrence is a poet is very well known;
and many of his poems have been put to music.

i have heard those – sometimes for many times – though
i should hate to go against the dead.

A great deal is being written about D. H. Lawrence
in the second decade of the twenty-first century.

:: 01.26.2021 ::

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January 7, 2021

WHAT IS LOVE

By EPRobles

There is so much a man can tell you, so much he can say
You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain
To me you’re like a growing addiction that I can’t deny
Now won’t you tell me, is that healthy, baby?
Now won’t you tell me, is that healthy, baby?

My power and my pleasure;  an addiction…

So “God is here, with you, and in you.”
 There is a supreme and infinite pleasure that fills your heart.
Some languages of love will only permit love as a verb or simply a noun.

You are part of everything; you are not separate from anything.

Everything is part of you; you are part of everything; you are not
separate from anything.

So, i am and should fall large and in light that you shine,
can you see me?  So baby, I compare you to a kiss from a dream
i live every day.  

You may feel your experience of the world is disjunctive – somehow
disconnected. What is the actual nature of our existence? Is it
static, or in constant flux?

Maybe that is just your individual perception.

But we can try to figure it out by seeing how things affect us

  • and how we can do that.

This path we choose is about learning how to communicate effectively
with what we find, giving it meaning, and acting in ways that contribute.
If we are engaged in the pursuit of love in a real, open and collaborative way,
we can witness how relationships change and grow.

We may start with a story, but we are essentially learning how to be a partner.
We can see in our interactions how we are unbalanced, not yet aware that we need to change.
Over time, we discover what we are trying to hide, and begin to open up in our relationships.

The inner change begins with our hearts!

:: 01.06.2021 ::

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December 21, 2020

THE WOMAN

By EPRobles

SHE can bring love with her smile and devastation with indifference
and ruin faith with the turn of her face;

SHE can bring paradise with her arms and paint masterpieces with her lips
and only reveal what she wishes you to see

SHE can bring passion to your life or steal the meaning of all things
breath the deep blue skies and bring a perfect day

Oh, mystery is beneath her footfalls and how her dress bellows while she
never gives out or gives in — she just changes her mind while promising
the Garden of Eden

So love i followed every motion of your emotion as you took care of yourself
and waiting as you want — ooh, she never gives in while singing angelic songs
and cuts you while you bleed

Hmm, hmm, hmm, hmm.

She just changes her mind while so kind does anything but gives hope to the lesser
Souls who ache for Love.

:: 12.21.2020 ::

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July 20, 2020

A HUNDRED POEMS – XXX

By EPRobles

MY part a half of whole
a thought a slice of more
that my life lived and soared
my part your half our one
an emotion that wave of ocean
that my dreams becomes Life
and as one what more
than one and whole?

:: 04-03-2014 ::
rev 07192020

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July 15, 2020

EYES OF IBEX

By EPRobles

WATCHING the animal within her cage;
eyes of ibex and look too closely
into an eye –> it is the sound of the class
you are / e v e r y t h i n g is where
it belongs\ all inside
and all — right where it
belongs as if everything
around you aren’t quite as
it seems )( negative reflections
: a l l you wish to be | but if you
could look right through Christ —
would you find yourself afraid?
to see as Narcissus staring and
hiding within a tree — so everything
around you are not quite as it seems
and the world you used to know
was an elaborate dream.
hey! wait! i have a new complaint
dressed myself within angel’s hair
and baby breath /broke your hymen with
-in prose-purple noose.

:: 07.15.2020 ::

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June 30, 2020

A HUNDRED POEMS – VI

By EPRobles

SEAS undulate a heavy wave
I see —
one too late
my fall-season life save
what a tear
— in that vast ocean
one who counts such sorrow
HE knows — comfort come
my seas pull me in that satin
bed sheets to eternally sleep

:: 03-13-2014 ::

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