wishing i knew.
i know nothing
but know
that i am
wishing this
something we
all know.
it with no name
but confines us
to the four walls
of this wishing
room of madness.
i sometimes know
this something
but it’s bigness
is larger than
all life.
And at this moment
of knowing what
it is that we all
are wishing i know
its beauty is more.
so wishing is more
than what we can
ever have when
wishing is something
bigger than us.
:: 09-15-2017 ::
this night the wind is speaking softly
to me as aloft as a feather never
touching the ground.
and my love is a distance away.
That love comes to me it comes
mainly at night; when night is
a determined Spirit as so Love.
So my love as we both endure
exhaust from growing emotions as
flowers from Spring and at times
flakes of brilliant snow in cold
moments it is your eternal
hands and heavenly fragance that
exceed all space and time.
It is we who desire to endure!
:: 09-15-2017 ::
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 ::
… 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?
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 ::
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 ::
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 ::
SINCERELY WONK
if WE were seven foot shorter
and older:
if we began now instead
of then — when we were
all more simpler
what would and could we
change.
No question. But a statement
of fact.
Nothing.
So, best to know all?
or to be blinded by time?
Let us be happiest not knowing
the rules of these crazy gods!
:: 09-13-2017 ::
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 ::
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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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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