The morning eye dew
i love it sees a new day untouched
a breath of sight so grand
a peace-inner speak-eye!
Tussle the bed sheets;
a flag that Nation for the sleeper
my Anthem made of murmur whisper-speak
my tender love!
And each morning to awaken
do i see my Nation
next to me that Anthem
her name and lips her voice;
angelic bliss!
:: 03-26-2014 ::
By this time she began to pant with the effort of speaking and died. The grief of her children was doubled, as was that of their father, and he swore before the woman whose heart had broken that he would never again be destroyed by fire, and would walk out from his house to dwell by the sea.
The gods were shocked to their foundations. They believed that they had truly killed Zeus and had been giving his body to live; for the children would come to the holy site of Delphi to praise him as they remembered his glory and proclaim their great dread. On their approach they met the priests in the street, but the fathers waved their children away, and said ‘They think they are honouring the Greek gods. They are not worthy of our esteem!’
‘Why not?’ asked a young girl who wanted to know, ‘Why should the Greeks think we are honouring Zeus? We are honouring a great man, the greatest being in the universe.’
Her mother, an oracle, retorted:
‘You are saying foolish things! Your father has sworn, and your sister has sworn, and so have I! So let this death of our mother be an eternal lesson to you! Whoever else shall say such a thing, shall by my hand or by the hand of your children be flayed.’
This brought him to his senses, and he put his arm through his daughter’s, and declared:
‘I would die gladly for the Greek gods, but we shall stand together on one side or the other, and offer the fire to the gods of Zeus as a sacrifice for the foundation of their city. If they refuse it, we shall always come to their aid, as we did in the great and terrible earthquake that was prepared for this very day.’
He died in peace, though at first it was rumoured that the gods had destroyed him, when he refused to go against them.
:: 03.16.2021 ::
The Gods withdraw, and he comes forth; wherein four are crammed, the “Great Ones”.
In Earth then he dwells, but his presence sends and clouds o’er the mountains, exalt’d with light, and in rays that run all night long appear.
He looks from out the circle of his globe; the fires gild with his sweet smoke, and gladness e’en may-blossoms blush.
To Iast he draws light and prosperity, and his studious song enlivening the night.
From miles away, echoing echo, to the plain, and then a merry note trills, from his bright tongue.
Songs are breathed to him the flower of Earth, and he wings all the cold, and flying creatures:
he also enkindles the heart of birds, and all the earth with a shower of star-bites.
He fondles the earth and sees all the change. He makes mountains rise and rock the water,
and make paths for animals and swine alike.
“O fickle sere,” thinks, “I may make you melt!
i will change your position; I will trample on you.” A lovely shew, flashes on his face; the matter heats, to a heat far greater, and changes its own form.
Girrrl, who never saw the world, methought it nigh this majestic beast;
it now before her than she had met.
:: 03.16.2021 ::
Thus men tumbled, whilst each struggled for peace;
And the lives of one overlaid and those of the other,
and fortunes of two falleth to the first:
which, when few lived, did vie with one another;
and now half died, so that now one lives.
Tho’ to each a body to live, yet they grapple
upon one common body; thus this strife
of gods, and men, and air, and water,
the product of long labouring labour,
bringing tenfold glory to Caesar’s era.
Then seeing which only worked greater grief
and loathsome toil, what I should in this short space fail to copy,
i reflected on those works that I thought most difficult,
And composed the poem above, to divide the toilsome march
with one finished task to be done; and yet to finish
with a sigh and a droop, a little less evil than it began,
but therefore nobler in sentiment than it began.
So therefore, last rites and unhappily now,
this song, until next next time, alas! thus sad.
Oh but these thrills and comforts that Nature gives,
which every hour she bestows, are, alas!
Till last year, little could reach those whom Nature
possessed by the book of science, but such
as she leaves behind for the end of time!
:: 03.16.2021 ::
TAKE the morning
take the night
as you will!
BRING the mud
dredge the water
filled to brim!
of life with death.
i took the sun
i took the moon
as love commanded
and lived my life.
How the world grew
How hearts grew
How my Life became
–> all I knew!
:: 03.06.2021 ::
I want you to know
one thing. You know how this is: if i look at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window, if i touch near the fire the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals,
were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life,
and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots,
remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.
Those moments when your heart stops beating for me like the moment when I first stepped
on the moon, the time I got a colostomy— those moments are what I treasure most,
the flow of blood in my veins, the enveloping of my heart.
I have been longing since the first night that I spoke to you.
My body had always been content, and had always had the sound of your laughter.
In the first thousand times that I touched your hand, I kept them still.
I could feel my body, I could feel the blood flow, I could even feel my heart pumping,
and still I could not say a word.
And I still do not know why.
Now I always speak. Now I am not content, I feel more pain.
My tears freeze like those on the glass of a window, like tiny crystals of ice.
Now my body is not content, in my mind and heart not in my soul.
Perhaps there are moments when I know that your love for me is more
than I can bear.
Perhaps it is in the hour when I see my life descending,
when I smell the last breath of summer, when the daily walk on the river takes me far from you,
perhaps it is in these moments that I cry for you.
And as long as you hear me, as long as I am alive, my tears are filled with your blood.
Sometimes in my heart, I am so full that I burst, and I think that my heart has come to an end,
and I understand, through my tears, that you are the one who is dearer to me
than I am to myself.
At that moment my heart feels as if I am one of those saplings that have roots in the earth,
and as long as your love does not die, your roots will not die either.
That is the truth. And if the day comes when my roots set off to find you, and your love dies,
my life will come to an end, and I hope that at that moment even if my heart is in pieces,
the sound of your laughter will echo in my mind, and it will say “I remember.”
Nothing in this world can make me happy.
Nothing in this world can calm my fears.
I am never happy. I am always in pain.
I have tried for many years to find the way through the darkness
and the cold, but my soul cannot accept it.
And there is no escape.
I dream of something that will make me happy, and I wake up and find myself with my heart in my hand.
And I can not cry for happiness, and I cannot cry for death.
I cannot cry for the things that I love.
I cannot cry for the things that I have lost.
I cannot cry because I am afraid.
And so I cry, and I weep, and I am weak, and I am so very alone,
but I cry and I weep, because you are not there, and I do not know
what is right.
I have tried to love and to hate, to live and to die, but I cannot understand
or love or hate.
You are not there with me, in my love, in my hate.
You are not there in the sea.
You are not there in the sky.
I walk in a place where no one knows me.
I walk in a place where no one needs me.
I walk in a place where no one can hear me.
I walk in a place where I do not fit,
I walk in a place where I have no place to stay.
But I have so much love, and I have so much pain.
And still, I will not let you go.
You are so near to me, so near.
I cannot run.
I cannot hide.
I will not let you go.
I cannot explain.
I will not explain.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
You are not there.
You are there.
You are there.
In my mind.
In my heart.
In my soul.
In my very soul.
You are there, with me.
:: 02.25.2021 ::
INSPIRED BY ANDRE BRETON
(1896 – 1966: Freedom Of Love)
My wife with the eyes of an archangel of the nude
asking me to come to bed.
with the eyes of a unicorn riding on the back of a dragon
whilst i am the beggar upon a donkey
with the eyes of a column without mortar and of hands
My wife with the eyes of a lake the ocean flowed into
With the eyes of a pen and with the eye of a child
telling me wonderful bedtime stories of Life.
My wife with the eyes of a butterfly
of a woman who is just stepping off her horse
My wife with the eyes of a fox of the panther’s head
with the eyes of a snake
hissing at the inequalities of life.
My wife with the eyes of a cold drink of water
quenching my thrist for love and life.
with the eyes of the beak of a dove
with the mind of a bastard twin
with the skin of a smooth-jacket’s boot
with the brilliant smell of a green ear of corn
speaking through Nature with her heart.
My wife with the mind of a simile
with the body of a handful of sea-pearls
and with the Soul of a sun with a tail of serpents
My wife with the eyes of a broken dagger
and with the feelings of a smouldering petrol-bomb
My wife with the eyes of a pain in her thumb
like the swollen member between my legs.
My wife with the eyes of an exclamation point
My Love with the eyes of a box of bottled messages
as the curves of a wheel of apples
My wife with the eyes of a ring-gargoyle
My wife with the eyes of the German eagle
My wife with the eyes of a cannonball dropped into the rocks
carving love into the mountain of my personal Life.
My wife with the eyes of a crane weeping
My wife with the eyes of a nightjar’s feather
My wife with the eyes of a sceptre
My wife with the eyes of an ice-bucket containing a koi
My wife with the eyes of a house-smoker’s chimney
feeding all who come to know her kindness.
My wife with the eyes of the olive and of the lotus
My wife with the eyes of an eel and of the slipper of a cow
My wife with the eyes of an abacus containing a scarab
My wife with the eyes of a seagull
is my wife is my love is my own inspiration in this Life.
:: 02.07.2021 ::
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 ::
TOASTER oven sandwich grin on the family corner market keeping all the secrets within your baby warehouse teach your kids about love. Take 30 percent off their soul and i like your mouth come on in; let life fill your pie hole-soul & don’t go bacon my heart
: i couldn’t if I fried! and you can’t drink all day if you don’t start in the morning! and T.Troup was a chemist i’ve been missing life reading-seeing soundbite lies; the first concentrated lies come from roadside billboards like-life riding in a Chevrolet.
THE thing what IS IT? a golden opportunity sale family fun! shakes & funnel cakes ~~ beef jerky too! and Wall Drug sells coffee for 5 cents a time ago
“YOUR MESSAGE HERE”
for 300.00 a month
:: 07-05-2015 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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