i dream in prose
my mind the inkwell
my life the quill
(so human)
i suppose the unreal
until and i feel
a certain disregard
here…
Until she; the waking
dream, comes to me with
a song
within her bosom
until then and then
i write my prose
(to the world) with
mind and suppose the unreal
until and i feel.
:: ~~ ::
A tree in my head produced
leaves of words //green”
\\ OOH if “if” is a rotten
twig squeaking against
bobbing winds —
characters should & best
be surviving a hundred
years at least.
at least (as long as i
think) for as long as
i’m here!
:: 03-25-2016 ::
sECOND aFTER SeCOND
does anybody care?
He is the poet
upon the hill
with the moon
suducing him
And all day this
man of a thousand
voices took in
the sun to forgive
the horizon and how
the moon is as eyes
in his head
Oh, oh oh oh oh!
Precious lady do not
cry BEcause my blood
approves and so perfect
-ly still And the best
of my Soul is within my
heart fluttering brain
broken thoughts is the
man of a thousand
voices but no one ever
hears him like the
fun waxing and the
sun going down.
:: 03-25-2016 ::
MY feet are wasted
i have relieved myself
upon them.
In powder-blue
all my gross innocence
pulls back the dreams
of my youthful days
My youthful dreams
that i knew close the crypt
upon the somber skies
And the Book of My Life
have many torn pages
just pulp scars of living
actually all by the power
of love fallen so it’s
me i’m writing of
you can take me to a place
called hell i have a hat
hanging on it’s wall
So then, my expansive unknown
always be! That we all
can dream a dream
and eventually meet the day
we try to excuse all our
regrets while love ones
lament on such a beautiful day
:: 01132016 :
rev: 03.03.2016
My longest morning begins
without you
The cherished sun-smiles
that hides with expectation
the cloud bellows white
the sheets wet by fitful
dreams of losing you.
WHEN did moments charge
in blood? And between spaces
bent fingers reaching for you?
Oh where, where is this “YOU?”
My passion –>
(larger,
shrinking)
dearest love
[perhaps a heart caught
in the throe of passion
is a blue-jay egg within my
throat!
:: ~~ ::
By gracious
ancient love
and above all
things that are
gently pleasant
life paused
Just if(for you)
and like all
young new hearts
impatiently moved
by his and her
minds all mysteries
are likeMaking new
memories; by
flesh and kisses
walks and talks
hands over bridges
eyes across love
whose sharp horizons
divide the days
and nights of light
and secret missions/
away together as One
away together in Love
is where our minds
take off\I’d rather
live and sometimes
even hurt if Love
at times tenders me.
:: 03-02-2016 ::
…was the one
with a poisoned
tongue
saw the soul with
a gun and a pill
we fulfill our own
tragedies///whatever
addictions –>
are the mechanisms
that allows us
t
o
die\
and all the dollars
all the glam it’s
a chest full o’diamonds
won’t tear away this
h urt
and another gun thrown
down Mother Mary of
Secrets i looked into
her eye;a man by her side
just another way to die.
:: 03-02-2016 ::
i started a poem
which made the
whole world cry
— i did not know
how cold the night
had become until
i found that i
had past
from this world
into the void of
possibilities so
i cried and followed
the golden road to
the realm of peace
and met many a fellow
who were as me;
we read the last
stanza holding hands
and greeted the One
behind the Light
and we watched Him
cry while His tears
fell into the soil
which grew so many
flowers i too started
to cry knowing i left
the world behind
but a piece still
lives within me.
:: 03-03-2016 ::
you are indeed beautiful.
I bet your soul is even that more
(more than beautiful)
As a poet I would express the visual
delight of having watched the sun dance
from high to dusk and then watching
bright biggest lights dipping below
the horizon — to witness this within
your eyes (reflections are decisions
we made!)
and exhausted I whisper:
enough. enough! do not slay me with beauty tonight!
Allow my mind to proclaim sunrise in the morrow.
I suggest: teach lovers a new terror
whereby many good hearts flee toward
their lovers.
:: 02.23.2016 ::
i felt you change floatfloataway
hola i see your fingers
gripping the flower and eating
the bee
so i look away
&a pair of hungry lips licking
love and despair
spectators look away
And i watch you too never look
away i’m so alive watching you change
i pull off your weeks and years
from fall
ing)fall
ing through time
the space is stillness(seized
among those lovely faces wishing
love by night or day
and nothing) becomes bigger than
a hungry craving for true love.
white with madness winds i kiss you
with writhing alive skies too —
and i felt you change float-floating
away hello i see your fingers gripping me
a while<and what shall carve
time so we are One? So we’ll before
say what is death come> in one bed.
:: 02.14.2016 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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