I would fear for the world,
yes, I would fear.
If not for the smile
of your kind soul.
I would fear for the world,
yes, I would dear.
but not for your soul,
you’re Love — I’ve told
I would fear for the world,
yes, I would fear.
If others were not so lucky
to find one as you.
But there’s no fear
when there’s love,
and even a snowflake
could survive hell.
:: 08-26-2014 ::
I mouthed the morning,
and dew and petal!
I ate the soil but not
the bee, but even thorn!
I saw the gnome too,
inside a root of tree!
I kissed his conical hat
and kissed his feet!
This I did all before
but never in my sleep!
:: 08-26-2014 ::
My dreams! Oh! My sweet dreams!
Each night so many scenes!
I dip my eyes into ink-night
and blink and there’s the stage!
The actor’s call and there we are!
All our lines thrown to the winds,
and the props do change on a dime!
Last night I kissed a whale —
and then flew my car into the moon.
I laughed and then I cried tears
as I turned around and saw Mother Earth!
It’s a lump in your heart when you see
no countries or war or death,
and only one world as a whole!
My dreams! Oh! My sweet dreams!
:: 08-26-2014 ::
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! Love in a white-feather soul
And I saw you in my dream a mourning ago
I fill my feeder with sugar liquor
And last week you flew to the beak
The surprise of a golden heart
when doves take flight they give
a silver-pitched whistle…
My mourning dove wing whistle!
:: 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 ::
The road built by fire
cleanses the soul
but the one by flower
can steal the soul
:: 08-15-2014 ::
 | EPRobles on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
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| EPRobles on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
 | R. Marshall on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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