Category Archives: Uncategorized

September 17, 2017

THE PUZZLE OF THE BUFFALO

By EPRobles

THIS dream.

I am walking through a tunnel between the streets.  Air as thick

as my misconceptions of life.  The gutters are gone but my fears

fulfill the deed.

A passing light of brilliant orbs dazzle me then I am walking

across a cache of weapons and I see my feet amongst others.

The wolves’ den.

“Who are you?”  One asks.

I am a dream walker.

“Are you crazy?” asks another.

No.  I am here for reasons unknown.

“Kill him.” says the one with shifty eyes.

Why would you wish this?

“He’s a pig.”

No.

“Bro, do you have buffalos running around within

your head?”

Yes.

“Let him go.”

I love you all and please learn from this:  if you

do all that is told then you are not living a brilliant

life as you can.

And the buffalos will trample you one soon day.

I wake up.

:: 09-17-2017 ::

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September 17, 2017

THERE ARE AT TIMES MORE SAID

By EPRobles

Such firey autumn colors are
within the eyes of this love
she is the season of all that
becomes a singular reason:
joy.
AND then some are storms:
the moments of ozone
burning that burns the lungs.
the purse oxygen of destructive
rebirth. But I am laughing,
sometimes crying and mostly
listening. There are at times
more said in silence than all
that has ever been spoken.
In all of history.
By the shores are waves
clapping from angel’s wings
flapping as they watch those
which are a little below them
but higher in esteem by a
Creator.
The Only One.
Above All!

:: 09-17-2017 ::

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September 16, 2017

in vain we search truth

By EPRobles

who knows? we greet the growing greens
each spring that grow.
loving how nature keeps life growing
and growing is many things for
every mind that seeks just a single
answer. It is the single mouth
hungry for truth.
These legs we walk upon are freeing
themselves when walking through
mysterious paths of greenry and
then, sometimes we find a nest
or fallen trunk o’ tree in front
of our path. Do we stop?
All a part of the mind.
But the heart which knows;
has taken the bark into its
mouth. And the mind endure.
It is how the tears of clouds
fall toward the skies below
it’s bent knees. And by due
exchange chemistry for love.

:: 09-15-2017 ::

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September 15, 2017

A Poor Man’s Memory

By EPRobles

a poor man’s memory. let us count his worth:
Memory: i lost my way within this world.
and i have pockets with nothing but holes.
but then night comes and something stranger
than life itself becomes me:
dreams.
then, within that terrible dream i can
purchase something and anything.

But it is poor.
because its worth is equated.
to money.
this is the poor man’s dream:
a dream based upon money.

Oh Lord allow me to dream
a dream where worth is based
on love.

love is priceless.

This is real. right.
okay. tonight i dream
of love.

and my pocket’s holes
become mended.

As so does my heart.

:: 09-14-2017 ::

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September 15, 2017

C O N S U M E R D E A D

By EPRobles

 

… and then every foot step becomes a monster.
and ‘me’ the simulacrum. it had no
matter where the legs took my theater:
my head-projector focused on the entities
around my case of skin.
I was the trapped. The epitome of
consumer in a strange twisted world
I once had known as home.
and then one day everything became
digital.

I died.

Reborn as the die-hard reluctant.
shopper || .. –>
C O N S U M E R
D E A D

:: 09-14-2017 ::

it is the fear i fear more than the dream
that the dream is a fear is not a fear i
should ever dream. i dream. nothing more?

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September 15, 2017

POLITIKS AND DISEASE

By EPRobles

AS everyone on one side of the party lines sang
the other were dead; and while everyone on the
other side of a party line died the other sang.

And this is how rot creeps within society;

to believe that beliefs are division.
that a whole can become fragmented by
philosophy and that one is evil over the other;
that in similar logic all separate parties are
in all insidious fact are evil.

And like the dead who have living bodies and
have become old through media saturation:
the magnificent mausoleum of a natural
world outside mourns the Children of God.

the tombstone of a moon.
the rosery beads of bloody tears.
And fear is King and the Queen a forgotten
truth we may never again remember.

:: 09-14-2017 ::

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September 14, 2017

CHILDREN REFRAIN AND GHOSTS TOO

By EPRobles

THERE I have become a vanquished angel by
awakened eyes so dull by milky shade:
the moon gone before her majesty of Sun
and now morning bright! As ponderous
voices in hallways of books by lined
insecurities: the geese with stiff
necks and her baby followers: we
are everything we see and have been.

Sometimes by the back of wishes
and the promises of forward future:
we can become the better of ourselves
if only we forgive the many who know
us. And we sing like the gawling of cows.

THAT is every this and we cry completely
when we are collectively true: but
little children refrain and ghosts too.
The printed word is more secure
than the act of organic thought.
But love: of no equation
nor of linear true.
And consciousness as a jaguar
touching leaves and puma speeding
through branches of truth.
WE are the journey
WE are the love
WE are the Life
and we are the living.

:: 09-13-2017 ::

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September 14, 2017

TWO PAWS CAT

By EPRobles

WHEN as if –> time
that when no other
was this one: love
and that when I
as my mind thought;
this one.
That love is nothing
but more of time.
THAT memory —
of each other silly,
giggling and plainly
talking and making
love by innuendo
; that we were and
are and were and will
be everything that
is. Isn’t it all
that was wanted?
Yes. It is
the sky and tears
of rain falling
speaking secrets
that only we
have ever known.

Love.

two paws cat.

:: 09-13-2017 ::

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September 14, 2017

THE TASK MASTER

By EPRobles

THERE is a wheel in the garden
a garden where roads have
traveled by love and tears.

There within the attic are
toys whereby children have
grown — grown to know how
to share and forgive enemies
who love the things they love.

And then there is the field
behind the house; where often
what has been said is no longer
remembered but still felt:

forgive you. Do you forgive
me for hating you when you said
what I cannot remember now?

Yes. A different time
but the heart always knows.

And time is the task master
that never forgets.

But then, we shall always
know.

:: 09-13-2017 ::

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September 14, 2017

NOCTURNES BY MIDNIGHT

By EPRobles

AND for every memory whose hands have touched
my hungry lonely moments; I am always here,
between laughter and weeping; singing and
shouting. Just today (which I realize is
everyday in eternity) I walked across a crack
that contained my soul; the sidewalk made of
gold. And while I write feeble words to express
emotions that are unobtainable the other more
whole piece of my heart is sleeping in a distant
land; a place where upon the grace of God
laid a golden egg that born my true peace and
happiness. Her love constructed my world
before she was born and before I knew her
human name. The indescribable has a song
and colors and feelings; the light between
swaying branches of a tree; the smell of a
new word; the touch of tender sight and
undying kisses from a breeze from nature.

Knows.

And we are the children yet to be born.
And some who are grown but dead children.
The unknown.

:: 09-13-2017 ::

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