Being born into Sin
for being born human
i lose my sight
so i cannot taste lies
and left my tongue alone
Leaving my legs
so i cannot talk
denying my ears
so i cannot hear
i forgot the pin
for my plastic card
oh no, hell no,
no wine, cigs or
chocolate bars
Before today there was
nothing but a zero
tomorrow is one
lets minus stupid
and regard love as One.
Love as One.
:: 11.08.2022 ::
CYctors of Myrtle-Brilcy,
Of wong with blIes strewn on the shore
was not all that heard me then;
The manly roar of battle,
the deathly war cries of my fellow-men
then wandered we round the bower
of Myrtle, Archon by my side,
Clad in armed wreath, standing on the heddles,
Each armed with a sword
With Orchil, the pitch-plant,
with Herms, the samesid rose,
with VassilIa, Laurel, with the laurel
with YneriId and with Boulstas,
Each was criomo~us bower.
Tolemn still I tr~rised before me in mind,
giving my voice and speech through my breast
great thou sound was, with nobler speech,
Thou dost remind me of things long past,
Profound and blissful are thy echoes.
There I was weared down ere nightfall,
where Tiresias had feasted before
Now to cannot recall or see I came at noon,
where this spot was, which I remembered,
of which Siolphon I sung as he spoke
before, with the 8 oak leaves bent
at ere, with her child’s blood,
in this house I fell to live a beast,
or else to die at the stake.
We bore it to the penae,
bought it with our lives, and took it,
lengthened now the dreadful holly’s gaze,
that had casted on us a dark ray
of ill omen;
yet, as another walked with arms loaded
And this party not minces their flesh,
Despite its frozen grove, its verdure
Which once had been verdure
To all I say: Nenth transiMos stand
There, with others, hade the sword unsheathed,
Where the legions cowed, and the Ionian broils
Had spoken their pure words:
“Now in all Delphi had sprung a new fell
Womb of life and birth, which had ro
retroced them, or at least lessened their foot.
:: 11.03.2022 ::
I’D give up heaven to be close to you / but sooner
or later fate decides \
How i never wish the world to see my heart’s so broken
INside my Heart a forever rain
that never seems to dry
so every moment of truth & lies
can never understand but understand
i wanna know when i fell down the rampart of
horror’s unknown )inside + out( to strive
hard my angel wings so bruised from this day
Who i am
Who i am
is the
No One
within
Life.
:: 11.01.2022 ::
WHEN i write of sleeping/lives Christ, i see him at midnight
in a crucified way, love wrought-out with grace:
the blood on the walls, the lusty grief,
the artist lying on freezing pavement,
like a drunk in an apartment.
Always?for whom
in whom: for the Lord.
Over it, dreams are made, then screams are made, grief, pain, loss, longing, fierce promises of life; a skull.
i try to create a shield, clinging to the truth of prose, where every word can express with precision an unreachable.
For how can i say?
THiEF!
A sharp wit?that haunts me, rattles the prophet.
i should write poetry. At first, i thought that a rhyme might distract my readers.
Then i thought it might frighten them. This thinning armor
is the price of the art of memory:
i go to my poems now like refugees crossing a flooded
river.
What is the music of the poet?
Nothing, a voice, the absence of a voice, as i write, the sound of a key in an empty door, the charmed silence of an oasis.
Even this room where i try to be alone, tortured, longing to die, might fade away into a memory, and this empty room with my dead dead body.
My childhood was warm, it was a long summer. i stayed indoors for weeks. Until the evening sky weeps, a smell that is sad and sticky, my brain yelling my mother’s name:
Hoelun!
Hoelun!
Father crosses to the bank of the river –i drown, he swims to the other side.
i leave this world with the stench of paraquat.
it kills all my green and the flowers die.
:: 11.01.2022 ::
The wound becomes inward like the pink moon
after a little rain. It glows and then becomes
red as the blood and the wool of the wail
dangling white like a sheep in the wind.
And this thorn that now curves in your breast;
you will not bring to the garden
nor to the throned light.
It lies at your breast
as a bone of some lost horse.
It will not bring Light to the growing mooring-post.
Nor will it exalt in any way the twining winds that move
in the night.
:: 10.31.2022 ::
I prefer pain to death even in deep regret!
Over frozen feelings that feel summer’s breath.
Do i, yes i do. I love and hate kissed me |
we wept in a small closet upon the second floor
of the house i was born. Oh, love! Oh hate!
How to feel different. When my tears fall
upon the wooden floor of my room.
Dear, love. How I never knew you.
Fearing lost from love. Never fearing Death.
I embrace the cold fingers of lost wishing.
The one who never came — false ones did.
And buried me deep. Within my wishes of
tears and dead hope.
::<>::
There are darknesses in life and there are lights
and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.
You are an example to all of us who love you.
He wished to kiss me again, and I resisted it this time,
but in the back of my mind it seemed to me that he had
almost been in despair.
You don’t hear or see somebody talking in this way unless
something terrible has happened to them.
I told him I was there. The man he wanted. I wanted him.
And then, feeling ashamed, I hugged him.
Now he was getting the message: I loved him!
That’s the last thing he needed: to feel loved, then to realize
it, then to die!
Suddenly I didn’t feel tired anymore, and we went on our way.
Him unto dirt and me into the world naked.
The next days I was determined to get some news from him, any news,
by his ghost but there was nothing.
As such I expired my body by blade. Bleed. And became his
as he was mine and I was his.
:: 10.29.2022 ::
[Cosmos] Does the idea of death afflict you? Does it, coward?
[Humanity] No-no it does not!
[Cosmos] This prospect is inevitability.
And watch: all the skies are chrysanthemums
and the stars are little fish . Dreaming wishing
to awaken you wished to die many times over, but now
it is no matter — all violent are skies of your
heart turned red to purple.
[Humanity] To die requires more than living.
[Cosmos] Then begin at the beginning and release the colors
of your art. It is the beginning!
The weaker artist will say and ask:
“That’s why I asked you, because you are the only person I can ask
without scaring you away. If you can do it, I will give you all
the money I have and say I will do it myself.”
[Cosmos] Then you shall never create but reproduce.
[Humanity] This thing must be arrested; that is why I am asking you.
–silence–
:: 10.29.2022 ::
P O E T R Y
P O V E R T Y
P O S S E S S I O N
P O S S I B I L I T I E S
:: 10.29.2022 ::
WE are the trees that never change
We are the rivers and creeks that always flow
in our hour
We are the crown of the white chrysanthemum
and the brilliance of the sky
and the shadow that crept under my window
and how can the memory of those moments ever be wasted?
Without any help from you there is nothing here
can I write.
If a bee breaks the buzzing silence
the silence itself will roar with its own size.
After the waiting of man
the forest refuses to wait
Who would have thought the forest could be waiting
for longer?
No longer long in the curves of the canopy of its green.
What must the saw-whet owl in the felled tree
swoop to listen in the long grass
Who would have thought the air would be so full of bee and dusk?
No human in the forest lives alone
only forest and meadow, and me.
No man in the forest gives life.
No man in the forest gives and takes.
No man in the forest fights the trees.
No man in the forest tears to see
so the forest goes.
And trailed roots leave their soiled path.
:: 10.27.2022 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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