WEEPING is a season at which lonely broken hearts die
upon hands and knees. they crawl and climb
toward steeper hopes and fall: some into fears
the monsters never named!
Aches and pains from human bodies
moving forward as mountains like magic:
from China toward the ends of Earth
as human spirit!
Queen! Her heart and Mind and Soul.
Jessica’s got a girl
‘s is dynamite to understand:
anytime reprimanded — you see her shake
avoiding complications as a Baroness
she B Low s men’s minds!
a fellow of soulMagical twisteandtwirless
so playful as a pussy cat and Queen;
a Class Queen lo –
e oh so full of
promise and extraordinary beauty!
:: 01.04.2021 ::
i crawled deeply within rolling tossing Earth
rolling Hills — hot is the Sun as your Temper;
but focused upon You __ when you left me; (like my jealously)
— the Seasons sang, “What with you? What with you? What
with you?” — sweet rolling & fallens: like a once-Living
jealously i possessed you and hated you___ the black taste
of Night — what with you what with you?
-=-it’s me it’s me outside the Window of my Soul
so dark so cold …
who against Death? against Light of Love?
i am reminded of one named Rimbaud — my mantra,
my sweet-one my Monster; never say good bye good bye
\but it’s me: i cannot help feeling E,motions and
ripping all t hings aPart.
Allow the gravity; allow the gravity (and ground)
to Grab you my beautiful dilapidation of RUINOUS
:: 05.10.2020 ::
Tomorrow is tomorrow and today much as yesterday–
smelling time tastes like frozen pipes
in winter-time. There, across the kitchen table
i see a beach of white sands and emerald waters –let us jump across the kitchen table and rush the ocean. Your hair is golden brown and your legs are tall skyscrapers with many talented tenants — I am the only tenant but pay nothing in hard currency.
You and me are One.
The birds no longer fly into the windows of our Souls — we have opened our windows to allow fresh beauty into our World.
TIME has eaten all the flowers
see how bare and desolate
the countryside screams
In my Eyes the sun;
within the air dispersed
digitalis — a heart bruised
with broken hands_____
And My Love holding
my Soul against her
Spirit of Goodness
WHEN the heart breaks
what then left? Not a sigh
nor a laugh;
a cleaving of Soul or
the need for Nature
—- it’s glory & beauty
covers grief —
the Spirit surpass!
EPRobles c 2019
I can never have you, nor will I have you
ever, this I know. Possession is fear,
taking is thievery, and love can never
become caged at all. I give you my words,
through poetry, and a kind photo at times.
But nothing more than most of me. You,
who belongs to science, philosophy, and art;
I commend your love of beauty and knowledge!
That most are born within a dream so deep
they shall never awaken; you are awake my dear.
The pleasure created by our conversations
gives an impression of being almost real.
So, I dream across this distance between
our hearts and for all the imagination, for
all that is a liquor’s magician, I kiss
your lips as well and wish, I wish,
to have your body next to mine at the end
of every day.
:: 12-17-2017 ::
this night is young
but i am ancient
in both flesh and
As fields older
than the dirt!
As winds slower
than God’s breath!
Oh! Thank you my love!
for your kisses!
And your tears too.
See? The flowers
have stronger stems now!
My oldest song!
My only true love.
We two are the oldest
;by life and love!
:: 12-08-2017 ::
The last of a songbird’s notes have fallen into the night’s purse,
and you have known my dances are behind shadows where some of
me has hidden to heal or die.
It seems there are no truths but only dirt and tears and at last
the only remaining mouth that spills songs into hearts
and tender arms is yours my love.
Where we exist there are no stationary objects but a wide orbit
that entertains the unknowable; to feel the butterfly awaken
is an infinite joy stooped upon the vast spirals of our Cathedral.
This love, our love, is universal and eternal.
:: 07-12-2017 ::
To which THAT one awakens: it is not just the “me”
but the flesh that covers my modesty / we call
it humanity | as though each flesh of island
requires labels to offset such nonsense
Being born is a moment; first steps then
tears and fears ensue /burst of self awareness
and as you knew: life is not short and you can
truly fly if you do not forbid something
indescribably precious for, “which no one ought
to see …”
i say life is not weird
but the human condition
the ribbon of perception told billions
of times within the lie of separatedness.
If i am alone then 7 billion too —
silliness! One is all and all is One
and all other perceptions shadows dancing
upon the walls!
:: 01-16-2016 ::