poetry is more than words
it is a stage
it is a canvas
it is the sky
and more
by colliding objects
by smothering silences
by squelching shouts
there is the rhythm
of a post-language
with images
with idea
with signs
eventually born
in eternal force!
:: 05-10-2019 ::
e.p.robles(c)
Marmara teasing, ‘do you see me?’
the black sea among
tables more empty than tombs
to yet born emperors as black tie
waiters serve solitude in peaceful
nights and to know the artist
who has sprinkled dots of fiery
light across the heavens!
Over there, the beach is empty
shall we run there together
hand in hand and heart within heart
tears of rejoice that i have found you.
:: 04-27-2019 ::
regret rides in upon a ghostly carriage
no, nothing within it’s shell but darkness
which done to me that all is equal
the driver a bald lie of pain with memories
which road i no longer ride.
:: 04-25-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c) 2019
THE world is committed to insanity;
our words stacked as skyscrapers
allow ants characters to escape
flooding water
as drowned bodies float
past the windows of office space.
:: 04-25-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c) 2019
tiny Mountain. Big hill. f l at lungs
won d e r f u l -~ no thing new ,,,
except age. 16th’s in n o t e s 32nd’s
and 64th’s to die at 128th’s! Ten finger’ed
or 12? my bled heart ||-> soul and broken
fingers … who EATS shattered thoughts
and pieces of tiny angry bumble bees : ghosts
with flesh. Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2 yums.
dessert is Clair de Lune.
:: 04-20-2019 ::
Tongue. Binded by intellect.
e y e s obscured by modesty
and lips tied by severity.
Sensual presence untouched
but begging love.
is poetry of my own thoughts.
what is ‘i’ have given two
mortal women my warm gift
of brilliant Love; t`hey
gave it back.
No more. the smallest
shattered pieces are bigger
than the smallest piece.
And Peace?
a cold loneliness.
Only Emily, my Emily
could understand. /her
eyes are elsewhere.
My heart with her!
:: 04-13-2019 ::
my life is and will be bitter sweet there on a road
and any road it goes. Waving hello behind me and
many goodbyes before me. When a child my mother rubbed
eggs upon my sick body. The mystery to the universe is
nothing more than ignorance. We are less than children.
And most born so deeply within sleep we never awaken.
Hello. Yes, today was cold and full of tear drops
from a swollen sky. The water broke and the child
was stillborn. It lays within a ditch next to the
homeless squirrel. The dead birds have been dying
mostly near a house close to my heart. My footsteps
are at least two feet from terror and one from
resignation. Humans. We are.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
i have eaten the face of god whose thick
body created the mega-verse. The fly upon
the dank wall accuses me of creating sin;
but only dark matter is to blame. It hides
within the jewels of Creation. My libido
murdered untold numbers of unborn sperm
and ovulating women conspired to hide
this truth deep within their vulva. We
are all murderers eating the flesh of
fallen innocent creatures that cannot
speak to their defense. Even a plant has
a voice if we only carefully listen.
The world of humans is an asylum of
demented souls. Do not visit us.
:: 04-02-2019 ::
it comes at night and seems to
, it seems to grip my heart ; i
die? –>so, case in point –>
i’ve been so bad, but not as bad
as this world: my mother said
i too shall suffer for all my sins
(ooh oh ooh) oh love! And now
Heaven save me from my evil deeds
and oh hell help me while i clean
these wounds : what i am is all
anyone could be /a victim of
being human ///…////keep away
from me man! MY lover is an angel
that kiss-tells me all i need is a
good defense against ewe-you, ha,
uh hmm. \\\
:: 02-28-2019 ::
 | EPRobles on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
 | Adam Fisher on OWL MILK AND INDIGO SMOKE |
| EPRobles on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
 | R. Marshall on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
 | Stefan on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
SCIENTIFIC PROGRESS EATS HUMANITY
Edison was an a$$hole but Tesla a true gentleman of scientific progress and
even though they do not know we are simply looking through the papers of life”s
nature; life flows like…
B u t t e r f l i e s –> and someday rocks will sing ;
‘we wish you love and we wish you peace’
yea oh
yea
oh yea wish we lived within a better time than now now-now no hearse pulls a u-hall behind it now-now if you give it away give it all away i say and moths have no feed-time on a closet of emptiness as empty heads require no hats — there-there;who wears a real hat these days? Sinking waters hold ships tighter than leather-skin and she was a grand woman with a long neck and longer abdomen– forgive the orchids for they ate her and spat up fluorescent pink angel hair.
::02.22.2020::
Leave a comment | tags: #edison, #history, #ink, #love, #poetry, #prose, #science, #social commentary, #Tesla | posted in #poetry, #words, Uncategorized