[even i could not speak
to those called, “Them.”]
so Now! (*)Dogs of war (+)and
men of hate
,so they come!
\and All it’s courtesy just
flesh and bone
which may crush so does hope
life & eventually Love
if not prepared./
:: 11-07-2016 ::
cheat sheet: (*) Act 3, Scene 1, line 273,
William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar.
(+) Dogs of War, Pink Floyd. A Momentary Lapse of Reason
(never should it be the same thing}
I ate the summer sky at night
bending reed and heart
shot the yellow jacket wing
tasted the poison of it’s sting
painted an image of my heart
upon the basin of the Mississippi
and I rode my soul all the way
across the bayou to the City
of Southern sin and drinking
the party that never ends
and I danced with the devil
and sang of Eros and Gomorrah
and god slapped my cheek
daisy faced women cried for me
as they watched my soul sink
back into the mud of the river
that rages within the heart of all
Praise the One who damns us
and the angels weep for all
and I dropped to my knees
wishing I never thought clear
where a world walks in haze
and all mother kill their babies
Is someone going to save us
is anybody going to save the world?
God? devil? Superman?
we need someone who loves
loves the filth of humanity
:: 10-03-2014 ::
The little poor boy lost a tooth
and awoke the next light of day
and found a shiny coin of rich
beneath his tattered pillow.
“Mother! Look what I have found!”
“Yes, all is very well, I see the tooth fairy
has visited you of last night!” She smiled at her thin and gaunt little son. A pain cut her beneath her breastbone. She sighed.
“I shall eat a lunch today at school now mother!” And off he went for the day and happier than he had been for quite some time. The evening came and the house was calm and all had retired for the morrow. The sun rose and horror crept over the hills and seeped beneath the door of the tiny dilapidated shack.
“Mother!!! Mother!!! Where is my money! I should have 4 dollars, 25 cents beneath my pillow! ” The boy’s mother ran into the room and saw her poor little boy toothless with crimson hope caked across his pouty lips.
:: 09-02-2014 ::
There you were, locked
in a wintry summer
that long cold
volcanic winter
by Mount Tambora
eruption
You spewed German
ghost stories
by German-French tongue
Your th ou ghts
fragmented
by the silky touch
of cold
a kiss from abyss
to heart
And you, Mary!
Born the Modern Prometheus!
And what say you, maker!
Mot of the clay of monster
but the soul within!?!
A brilliant mind of prose
Imagination beyond the horror
you created that day
A literary monster itself!
No thing that dispose!
:: 08-21-2014 ::
Countess
Elzabeth
Bathory —
Psychosis
or remedy
for tuberculosis?
You — eccentric
woman of red
drank the souls
of all the dead
And Mary Shelly
licked the dreams
a color of Carmine
— raw pigment
of creativity!
:: 08-21-2014 ::
There you were, locked
in a wintry summer
that long cold
volcanic winter
by Mount Tambora
eruption
You spewed German
ghost stories
by German-French tongue
Your th ou ghts
fragmented
by the silky touch
of cold
a kiss from abyss
to heart
And you, Mary!
Born the Modern Prometheus!
And what say you, maker!
Mot of the clay of monster
but the soul within!?!
A brilliant mind of prose
Imagination beyond the horror
you created that day
A literary monster itself!
No thing that dispose!
:: 08-21-2014 ::
My wooden staircase creaks
[a heart broken by feet]
and weeks the measure — my neck
What month long that noose stretched!
A hooded man in black
shared a joke — the pun a trapdoor
I fell —
|
|
_________
| |
for the line
a broken neck upon
a heart string
D
R
0
P
:: 07-11-2014 ::
DO not confuse my
sense of mystery
with Evil…
I keep them in
separate pockets
:: 08-15-2014 ::
SO delicately
I said to
the VOID:
“I love you.”
And quietly
I listened…
NOTHING
|
|
AVOID
:: 07-23-2014 ::
/wh/AT darkness
see(th) me(at) E my soul
I Drown c<at> the fis%sure%
@be@ low my soul lives
a dream so l(ow) l&ays
night /wh/AT darkness
:: 07-16-2014 ::
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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