I ne’er guarantee
surrealism through
tilted lenses —
it’s a thing in the heart
A twisted thorn bleeding
in the little lost child —
screaming for nirvana
:: 07-02-2014 ::
Category Archives: Awareness
A TWISTED THORN
THE MIND’S FURNACE
SALVADOR Dali
taught me
all I need to know
about reality
Its a canvass
moderately melted
in the mind’s furnace
07-04-2014 ::
I CANNOT SPEAK
I cannot speak
my little mouth
drowned for everyone
today before sunrise
I wrote her eulogy for
the dead yester-night
I killed the darkness
It rests inside my mind
a tombstone of brilliance
engraved the words I fear:
‘The morrow comes…
and it’s ensuing night’
:: 07-04-2014 ::
FAVORITE MEMORIES
Most of my favorite memories
are cast within the daily grind
a trip or two across the way
from morning to evening light
But if I am brave enough to say
and sometimes I am not
(but not today)
the very best of memories
are the ones I make within my dreams
And the rarest of all make their own
:: 06-22-2014 ::
I CANNOT BECOME
I cannot become but only be
that which is born inside of me
if one should ask that more I be
I politely say I am what I can only-me
a poor character acting human-be
to be the best inside of me
:: 06-22-2014 ::
A HUNDRED POEMS – 080
I did it! I stole the light
That child I am — so
[lay] I did for me
and myself cried
did you feel the river?
I fed it my happy tears
and my child-me ran
we did! Upon the fields
of our-my dreams
and life smelled
like laundry clothed
wind-swept dried souls
: 06-20-2014::
THE GREAT EYE
The Great Eye within
your closet never blinks
and the knob hardly
turned by your hand
but your life-clothes
need a change today
and the Great Eye
awaits your opening
the door for a change
it’s stare sees all ‘you’
and there’s nothing
you can do to hide
when you open that door
to the closet of your life
:: 07-07-2014 ::
THE ANCHOR STONE
When you awaken
do you get up into
the sinking —
inside of you?
it’s three feet below the bed
where you rest your head
at the foot of —
an anchor-stone
I can only ask because I know
the weight of that stone
kept me three feet below —
the resting bed
until one day I arose
up into the sun
when I awaken
that’s where I go
:: 05-28-2014 ::
A HUNDRED POEMS – 063
FOR one
incredible moment
nothing happened
and I fell in love
with that nothingness
:: 05-28-2014 ::
WHO ARE YOU
Is one’s past what one was?
or does one remain as ‘is?’
All flowers bend within the wind
as all souls commit their sins
Recent Comments
EPRobles on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE Adam Fisher on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE EPRobles on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… R. Marshall on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… Stefan on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV…
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
You must be logged in to post a comment.