JOY or misery …
contain the storm that sets
within your eyes
Lights at night upon bridges
or a bed of nails at night
___/feel that torn twist in
your side\ and the beat of
furious wings in black air.
AND nightingale bird sings
whilst i dream i c o uld sing
but n’ver are the joys of its
Voice.
Until once a dream came with
a song like a this bird with
a song.
under wings
beneath the skies of my eyes.
:: 10.13. 2021 ::
Down went the bare-assed Sun
UP came the silver cock Moon
devouring light and eating
the twilight desert of that
insatiable monster that is
Between her thighs.
:: 10.13.2021 ::
SERIOUSLY LOVED that one, too.
i loved more than the heavens
and dirth. Than any deranged
brilliant animal stuck upon
Earth.
Is she. That, within my heart.
:: 10.13.2021 ::
SEXY untouchable woman
in her silk nun’s habit
One praying for God
the Other praying for Her
stuck her tongue in my mouth
while prostate i prayed
i creamed within my heavenly
prayers. She screamed.
:: 10.13.2021 ::
IN anguish i am alive. As we are whenever
a tear drop has always meant. Fiery and
at times absolute coldness – of all
recorded time and as our yesterdays have
confounded minds always forward toward
a dusty death of revelation.
Always (sometimes?) told by a poet full of
anguish and unrequited love —
that which signifies Nothingness.
:: 10.13.2021 ::
TEARS
. . . . . . TEARS // fear dreaming tonight
/-/ how my eyes drain these watery rivers
of aching fearing dreams tonight sleeping
i knew. ….oh dear my loving light
i wondered : \ : when as a baby i knew
how you held me. As you whispered within my
little ear, “you are my love always and forever
and as always.”
I believe your voice in my little darkness.
Mother.
:: 10.10.2021 ::
LOVER — Achilles’ soul
weeping the broken branch
atop braver souls.
Shouting words
weeping tears
watching those whom
tear the fruit from our
hearts___ no! that they tried
but did — beyond our reach!
how love died.
:: 10.07.2021 ::
AGAINST the cymbals of echoing blasts
became the embryo born-splat.
The squeals were louder than priests
calling for money upon silver plates
clanging with the clank and claps ensued
STD is the mother of lost souls craving
crunching love.
Yeah. Well.
WHEN i was sleeping but dead-living bangs
ding swish and swooshing rafters of whiffing whizz.
how the heart can ache after it is dead.
fwoosh.
Buzz and barking angry flies. went the mumbling brook;
warble song above a tree branch near the echo moan of yesterday.
where i lay.
Now. All alone.
:: 10.07.2021 ::
WHAT is love that love does?
Oh n’ver dies!
Shall by choice or cupid’s whim?
Our hearts decidedly care thou
art more lovely than itself as Life.
As when and then everywhere as rough winds
change life as furious seasons may,
as processional change touch brilliant stars
and as summer’s lease hath too kindly
memories of love without losing.
To be half a part of what life gave
this by chance or heaven’s course
untrimm’d; what o’ love is love
that love does?
oh n’ver dies!
:: 10.05.2021 ::
MY MOTHER said she loved me
and bar tended drinks to keep
me clothed.
AND ONE NIGHT: she was raped
and I fought two brute men
and they destroyed mother
and me.
I wept. She wept.
The howl of despair ate
our Souls.
Then there we knew humanity
and all its pain within our
heart.
She died recently.
I died then. Many years ago.
:: 10.03.2021 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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