In that realm unnamed, soar they high,
Birds, hours, the bumble-bee pass by.
No elegy shall mourn their flight,
For they defy the grasp of night.
In that realm unseen, some things abide,
Grief, hills, eternity reside.
Yet their presence doesn’t concern my plight,
Their weighty existence veiled from sight.
And there exist those who rest and ascend,
Can I unravel skies that transcend?
The answer eludes, a puzzle complete,
In silence, the riddle lies, discreet.
:: 06.202.2023 ::
INSIDE the mind resides unwritten, unsung unworldly laws
—the dust meets the dirt the flesh releasing blood ;
a propensity of the circle called Life.
how we try and kill it all away only to remember
everything said, seen, felt and done has universal
purpose.
Oh sweet One how everyone climbs the walls
reaching for it all only to find it mud then we slide down.
We wear a crown of imprisoned madness
as most to never again feel a thing.
and we never break away because we’re alone
Each month, season, decade, century
we remove all that empire we call
humanity.
Once a ghost now hallucinations are more alive.
That we dreamt everywhere now just slaves
to annihilation.
:: 03.16.2022 ::
Poet’s Notes:
The opening line creates a space of introspection, suggesting that our mind is a place of “unwritten, unsung unworldly laws.” This could be interpreted as our innate sense of morality or the unspoken rules and norms that govern our thinking and behavior.
The line “the dust meets the dirt the flesh releasing blood” can be seen as a symbol of mortality and the inevitability of death, a theme which is often present in existentialist literature. The fact that the dust meets the dirt may reflect the biblical sentiment of ‘from dust we are, to dust we will return’, while the flesh releasing blood could be an image of sacrifice or struggle.
The following phrase “a propensity of the circle called Life” depicts life as a cycle, underlining its repetitive and inevitable nature. The use of the word ‘propensity’ implies an inclination or natural tendency towards this cycle.
The next stanza evokes an image of desperate striving and futile attempts to escape the harsh realities of life. The imagery of people “climbing the walls” only to find “mud” and “slide down” speaks to human ambition and the often disappointing outcome of our efforts. This can be a critique of materialism and the relentless pursuit of success in modern society.
The phrase “We wear a crown of imprisoned madness” is a striking metaphor for the human condition. It suggests a royal burden of insanity, possibly due to the pressures and absurdities of life that we’re forced to bear.
The passage “Each month, season, decade, century / we remove all that empire we call / humanity” implies that over time, we are slowly stripping away our humanity. This may refer to the loss of values, empathy, or our connection to each other and the world around us.
In the line “Once a ghost now hallucinations are more alive,” the transformation of a ghost into a hallucination could symbolize how our fears and worries, initially intangible, can grow to dominate our perception of reality.
The closing phrase “That we dreamt everywhere now just slaves to annihilation” concludes the poem with a sense of fatalism. The word ‘dreamt’ hints at past aspirations and hopes, now reduced to servitude to ‘annihilation’, which could be a metaphor for death, oblivion, or the destructive tendencies of mankind.
Overall, the poem conveys a bleak yet introspective view of human existence, filled with struggle, disillusionment, and existential angst, provoking the reader to consider the cyclical nature of life, the pressures of society, and our own mortality.
From celestial realms, I descend in glory,
Apollo, the radiant, I weave this story.
With words that burn and verses that blaze,
I shall compose the greatest poem that amazes.
In golden chariot, across heavens I ride,
A fiery muse ignites my heart’s pride.
With boundless ardor and artistic might,
I’ll sculpt a masterpiece with words so bright.
Oh, muse of epic tales and lofty dreams,
Grant me the power to soar in heavenly streams.
Let the heavens tremble and earth be still,
As my words, like arrows, strike with skill.
I’ll paint the skies with hues of cosmic art,
Unveiling secrets of the human heart.
In every line, emotions shall dance,
The tapestry of life, I shall enhance.
I’ll sing of love, both gentle and fierce,
Of whispered promises and passions that pierce.
Through longing sighs and tender embraces,
I’ll capture the essence of divine graces.
The wonders of nature, I’ll eloquently unfold,
Mountains majestic, and rivers untold.
From dawn’s first light to twilight’s embrace,
The beauty of creation, I’ll forever chase.
I’ll traverse the realms of myth and lore,
Unraveling mysteries like never before.
Heroes will rise, their valor untamed,
Their names forever engraved, never to be maimed.
From the depths of sorrow to the zenith of glee,
My verses shall flow like the mighty sea.
Through life’s triumphs and sorrows that wail,
I’ll breathe solace into every despairing tale.
Oh, Apollo, God of the lyrical verse,
In this grand ode, let all beings immerse.
May my words ignite a celestial fire,
And inspire generations with divine desire.
So, let the words cascade like a heavenly choir,
In this symphony of beauty, I’ll never tire.
For I, Apollo, the god of inspired art,
Shall etch this poem upon the human heart.
With unwavering spirit and limitless reign,
I gift the world my greatest poem, unchained.
:: 06.03.2023 ::
In the gritty details, where souls collide,
Beauty’s an extraordinary beast to ride.
Couldn’t beat that truth, so I fought on,
Wrestling with thoughts, tears streaming strong.
I ground those tears, every damn notion,
In the arena of my relentless devotion.
Sought meaning, dug deep in my mind’s dirt,
Struggled through the trenches, not one to skirt.
Yeah, it’s the soul’s nitty-gritty, the raw affair,
That makes beauty shine, I swear and declare.
In every scar, every gritty fragment I found,
A damn extraordinary tale would resound.
That universal truth, it had me pinned,
But I brawled and bled, wouldn’t let it win.
Tears and thoughts, a cacophony in my head,
Bukowski-style, I fought till they bled.
So take those tears, let ’em soak the page,
Unleash ’em, ignite the poet’s raging rage.
Embrace the details, don’t shy from the brawl,
For it’s in the fight, we find beauty’s call.
Yeah, let this poem bear the Bukowski mark,
With grit and truth, a poetic spark.
In the trenches, amid the tears that flow,
Discover extraordinary beauty, don’t let it go.
When I believe in love that
may never cease to be
the man I am has become me
Before the night has waxed
Before the candle leans forth
I hold upon the temple
a heart who made me my own
grassy knoll sleeps of love
and scents of nature’s romance
is when I feel complete
I have tasted the elixir
of faery power — the unreflected
love of my own happiness
to be just to be
to love and nothingness
is quite the feeling in life
Oh, dearest seeker of linguistic lore,
With ardor I embark on this poetic chore.
In a symphony of syllables, I shall impart
The marvels of English pronunciation, an intricate art.
Listen closely, Jenny, as I guide your way,
Through a labyrinth of sounds that often sway.
I’ll weave a tapestry of words, both bleak and bright,
And together we shall venture into this poetic night.
Corps and corpse, horse and worse,
A quartet of phonetic universe.
Your mind, Jenny, shall dance in dizzying delight,
As I unravel the mysteries, unveiling them to light.
A tear may fall from your sparkling eye,
And a delicate dress may rend with a sigh.
But fear not, for my devotion is true,
I shall suffer alongside you, as this journey ensues.
Now, let us compare heart, beard, and heard,
A triad of words that seem absurd.
Dies and diet, lord and word,
Sword and sward, with caution they must be heard.
Britain, retain, oh mind the way they’re written,
Let not their spelling leave you smitten.
And worry not, I shall not pester you so,
With words like plaque and ague, which bring much woe.
But heed my counsel, speak with utmost care,
For break and steak differ from bleak and streak.
Cloven, oven, how and low,
Script, receipt, show, poem, and toe.
Devoid of trickery, I enunciate,
Daughter, laughter, and Terpsichore, oh so great.
Typhoid, measles, topsails, aisles,
Exiles, similes, and reviles.
Scholar, vicar, and the lingering cigar,
Solar, mica, war, and journeys afar.
Anemone, Balmoral, a touch of grace,
Kitchen, lichen, laundry, laurel, embrace.
Gertrude, German, wind, and thoughts so kind,
Scene, Melpomene, the tapestry of mankind.
Billet does not rhyme with the ballet’s sway,
Nor bouquet, wallet, mallet, chalet’s display.
Blood and flood, they do not align with food,
Mould does not echo should and would.
Viscous, viscount, load, and broad,
Toward, forward, reward, let their harmony applaud.
And when your pronunciation rings clear,
Croquet, a game of leisure, let it appear.
Rounded, wounded, grieve, and sieve,
Friend and fiend, alive and live.
Ivy, privy, famous, clamor’s song,
Enamor rhymes with hammer, strong.
River, rival, tomb, bomb, and comb,
Doll and roll, some and home, find their home.
Stranger, anger, a subtle difference found,
Devour, clangor, their rhymes astound.
Souls and foul, haunt and aunt,
Font, front, wont, want, grand, and grant.
Shoes, goes, does, let them gracefully flow,
Finger, singer, ginger, linger, in succession they show.
Real, zeal, mauve, gauze, gouge, and gauge,
Marriage, foliage, mirage, and age.
Query, very, they don’t mirror each other,
Fury and bury, neither do they smother.
Dost, lost, post, doth, cloth, and loth,
Job, nob, bosom, transom, oath.
Seemingly small, these differences stand,
Actual and victual, hand in hand.
Refer and deafer, they part ways,
Feoffer, zephyr, a gentle breeze conveys.
Mint, pint…
:: 06.01.2023 ::
I
Whence does the self emerge, as I unbind from the glacial bloom?
What adoration lingers within that feminine reverie’s realm?
In love’s force, betwixt ecstasy’s embrace,
Where his palm parts the captured gull,
Unconscious eyes disclose intricate tales,
Veiling existence’s essence, that which conceals.
II
I hold affinity for all that resides,
Shadowy whispers of quotidian nourishment,
A vessel’s wake, fading into oblivion’s grasp.
‘Tis the tremor of the abyss, embracing abundance,
A woman donning stockings of ethereal velvet.
Arrange, we must, the waves, diverse and arrayed,
The melancholy, thou embodiment,
Or one who, world idolized, ventures forth,
Knees adorned with wings, poised mid passion’s flight,
Within love’s central day,
I shall never deceive, but embrace entirety’s plight.
Freedom, mine, in its cruelest form,
Behold the insular artistry,
Where danger finds solace, its taste revered.
Love, the transgressor of societal norms,
Customs yet to be acquired, in anticipation we wait,
Love, exalted, with all its rightful claims,
And the ever-transforming world,
Glimpsed through kaleidoscopic gazes, each day anew.
:: 05.21.2023 ::
As the sun, voracious and insatiable, swallowed my existence whole,
I embarked on a solitary journey, akin to a shapeless cloud, untethered and untold,
Drifting aimlessly, transcending the earthly realm, high above vales and hills,
Enveloped in a realm of ethereal stillness, where time itself stands still.
But in a moment of celestial revelation, the sun’s fiery gaze unveiled a surreal sight,
A gathering, an assemblage, a congregation of daffodils aglow in golden light,
Their radiant presence forming a host, a legion of nature’s finest art,
Bathing the landscape in hues of yellow, a masterpiece played out from the heart.
Beside the tranquil lake, beneath the majestic trees’ verdant embrace,
Those golden daffodils came alive, imbued with grace,
Fluttering delicately, as if whispering secrets to the zephyr’s gentle caress,
Dancing in harmonious unity, a mesmerizing spectacle I couldn’t suppress.
In the embrace of the sun’s all-consuming power, their beauty shone bright,
Each petal, a brushstroke, painting a portrait of pure delight,
Their collective presence, a testament to the wonders of Earth’s fertile ground,
A reminder that even in the vastness of existence, such miracles can be found.
And so, in the midst of my celestial consumption, a profound truth was revealed,
That nature’s symphony transcends all barriers, all illusions skillfully concealed,
For even as the sun devoured my being, a transcendent connection took hold,
Binding me to the daffodils’ dance, a memory I would forever behold.
Thus, as the sun continued its celestial feast, devouring me bit by bit,
I remained enraptured by the daffodils’ presence, their eternal spirit lit,
For in their graceful dance and vibrant hue, a profound lesson unfurled,
That even in the face of oblivion, beauty and life can forever thrive in this vast world.
:: 05.21.2023 ::
(
)…thin & sometimes –> t ALL pouring hourglass rains Oh All!<– she’s all within my mind orSome-suchSilly paIN___it’s killing me! & the silverRain falls upon eloquence with logic — ties me up and arrests me!
Oh, see! Will-be-was chasing Ever Is in plankTime /set aside mind\ and beachDREAM with green waves of lapping licking
seaTongues : my possessions were causing suspicion so i placed them all upon a raft and set sail to Dream it’s not over:
when the world Ends it is the flatEarth theory \how lovely it could be // seeing deflated memories inside a coffin are ever actually good for funeral folks doing a fine job making thoughts more alive than they’ve ever been.
:: 02-26-2017 ::rev: 08.09.2020
Poet’s Notes:
The poem plays with the themes of time, mortality, reality, and the human perception of these concepts. This is most clearly seen in lines such as “Will-be-was chasing Ever Is in plankTime”, “when the world Ends”, and the reference to the “flatEarth theory”. These lines suggest a critique or contemplation of human understanding of time and existence, and perhaps a tension between what is perceived or believed and what is reality.
The phrase “pouring hourglass rains” presents time as a physical, even overwhelming force, while “she’s all within my mind orSome-suchSilly paIN___it’s killing me!” introduces a personal, emotional element. This could suggest a struggle with mental anguish or heartache, which is consuming the speaker’s thoughts and affecting their perception of time.
The poem uses unconventional syntax and formatting (like “/set aside mind” and “\how lovely it could be //”) to disrupt traditional reading patterns, which may reflect the disorientation and confusion associated with confronting complex existential questions. The phrase “beachDREAM with green waves of lapping licking seaTongues” evokes a surreal, dreamlike state, reinforcing the theme of altered perception.
In the final lines, “seeing deflated memories inside a coffin are ever actually good for funeral folks doing a fine job making thoughts more alive than they’ve ever been”, the speaker seems to suggest that the end of life (or perhaps the end of a period or experience) can provide a new perspective, making memories and thoughts more vivid or meaningful. This could be interpreted as a commentary on the human tendency to value and romanticize the past or what has been lost.
The overall tone of the poem is ambiguous and introspective, reflecting the speaker’s internal struggle to reconcile their emotions and perceptions with the reality of time, existence, and loss. While it’s complex and somewhat challenging to decipher, its use of vivid, surreal imagery and innovative syntax make it a thought-provoking exploration of human consciousness and the nature of reality.
I dreamed a dream, but was it such a dream?
The sun’s bright flame was quenched, and every star
drifted in endless darkness without aim,
rayless, pathless, and the cold earth afar
swung blindly in the moonless void of space.
morning came and went, but brought no day,
And all men, awed by the dread despair,
Forgot their passions in this desolate fray.
All hearts grew cold, and turned to selfish prayer
For light to break this endless night of doom.
By watchfires they lived, while thrones and kings
Burnt as beacons, while huts and homes consumed.
Cities fell, and people gathered in rings
Around their blazing hearths to meet their fate,
Happy those who lived in the volcano’s light,
For all the world held naught but fear and hate.
Forests burned, and hour by hour, the night
Fell, fading all in its ebon embrace.
Men’s faces, lit by flickering firelight,
Wore an eerie, otherworldly face.
Some wept, others laughed in desperate grace.
And all around, the world descended to the dust.
Birds fluttered, beasts trembled in mortal fear,
And serpents hissed, but to no avail, for they must
Perish by the hand of those they once held dear.
War, which for a moment seemed to be no more,
Returned to glut itself upon the land,
Feasting upon blood and sullenly keeping score,
As all love fled from the earth’s barren strand.
Famine reigned, and every living thing
Fed upon the flesh of the dying and the dead,
Until bones and flesh alike were but a thing
Forgotten by time and all that lay ahead.
Even dogs attacked their masters in their need,
And yet one remained faithful to the last,
Guarding his master’s body, and with no heed
For his own hunger, he held off the ghastly cast
Of beasts and men, until at last he died,
Uttering a pitiful and desolate cry,
Licking the hand of the one who never replied.
The crowd grew famished, and yet only two survived,
Two enemies, who met beside an altar-place,
Gathering holy things for an unholy rite,
Scraping feeble ashes with skeleton hands and face,
And breathing their last breath to create a light
That mocked them both, until they saw each other’s plight,
And in their horror, they died, unknowing of the other’s name,
For famine had left them with only their mutual hideousness and shame.
The world was void, lifeless, and stark,
A chaos of hard clay, without tree or herb,
River, lake, or ocean, all motionless and dark,
And ships lay rotting on a stagnant sea, without a word.
Masts fell down piecemeal, without a sound,
And waves lay still, and tides were in their graves.
The moon had died, and the winds lay unbound,
As clouds perished, leaving nothing to save
The world from darkness, for she was the universe,
And in her shroud of night, nothing was left to curse.
:: 05.10.1992 ::
 | 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… |
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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