Tag Archives: #darkness

FRAMELESS HEADS UPON EMPTY WALLS

On the single side of my art song—my parodic air—the loveliness is perfect
because I am “last in the line.” When you sit there pondering how you got
from here to there, you forget to be there, and the years hurry by like birds,
yet without wings.

Maybe that is what poets mean by the grass between the toes: it is the kind of beauty
that strikes me as singular, and then makes me forget where I was going.

Could that be the air I am inhaling, that gorgeous little dew, the sort of fragrance
that one asks questions about. That one is good, and leaves you for another week.
I am not asking about the individual, about the wit or the sex, that one; the other
thinks she is too good for poetry and wants to hang out her pants.

The trees on Central Park West have not only dimples, but very high struts.
Many passers-by make like jumping spiders and creep along the white beech bark,
tearing off the strange multicolored pods that are the leaves of the American locust
and varnish the unenclosed bark.

For a while they seem to be all yellow, then the green reasserts itself and they all turn red.
Red like earth, red like hell. I say what I mean. Why do we make so much of appearance
and so little of meaning? If you were to sneeze on a weekday you’d make a million dollars. I’m lucky
to get one or two dollars a day for my poems, and that’s all. All my life, I’ve been scraping
and clipping in hundreds of un-sexy places. I once walked out of an interview with a magazine
that had hired me because I was willing to work for peanuts. So I said to the editor,

“I think you have the wrong guy. I’ll get a job in a steel mill, or on a frickin’ airplane,
anywhere I want.” He seemed to like that, but I can’t remember what the magazine did later. I suppose
it was less than they wanted. But that’s what I mean by avoiding the cheap. I mean always for the mind
and the intellect, as if one day the outer world were going to fall apart. When it does, maybe it will be like a tenement balcony—the floor’s going to fall out from under us.

My best poems are about love and death. I think my best poems are about women and death.
The romantic poems give me pleasure. I don’t want to forget about them; I want
to love them. I don’t want to kill them; I want to hold them.
A love that is not really love doesn’t interest me.
It is interesting to see the Queen of Sheba swat away a red and yellow butterfly that comes to you
and likes to rest on your shoulder.

But there are different kinds of love—one that wants to hold someone in a tight embrace even though
you both know that someone is going to shake loose—one that wants to hold someone
even when she’s going to leave—one that wants to hold someone when she has long learnt the fine art
of saying no.

I’m always looking for “the little door.” But there is no little door, and if there were,
I’d probably find something I’d rather do.

:: 03.24.2021 ::


PHOENIX OF SPIRIT

could a Heart made of Poetry
ever die ; into the ferocious
tied-lips of Life?
as a free bird —
poets are c l i ng
to me dear and sir:
as a bird
as life washed me clean
so warm and dry ; cleansing all
of the bluish wine-stains
and splattering’s of vomit,
we never lost the touch
that meant to mean so much
–dying embers of deliriums
and grinding rhythms of my
Love; i came to know the
skies and even the rock below
; i know the evening, and like
rising Phoenix of Spirit
as stress and fear roll back
as waves into the distances —
their eyes crying regretful
tears.

:: 07132020 ::


FROM FRUSTRATION TOWARD SATISFACTION

IF,
my angel, hear my-self (too wonder: why
this profound sorrow?) when i think; secret
thoughts of you as though necessity
never spoke unnecessary thoughts:
demanding the most beautiful gifts from
me
which i may never return if then — in
kind?

:: 07.14.2020 ::


FEAR AND TYRANNY

MOTHER, all the monsters are now gone as Love and Spirit have \defeated them;
and what is left is a gaping holethat can only be filled by Light and Soul.

Gripping my throat / gripping my soul / gripping all life;

Is my fear\is my fear\is all my undying fear

AND my lover, the other; a woman who stole my heart — i gave her all
that of good & bad; and my heart — always one too!

Don’t you breath upon me my fear!
don’t you tread upon me evil one!

If I could cry and I’ve tried
If I could sleep and I would
I would never belie this fact:
that many hearts are darkly lit
but never within my own heart!

:: 12-01-2017 ::
Rev: 02.24.2020


THE PROMISE OF LOVE & PAIN

Between the frost and dreams of my afternoon,
while sitting waiting so patiently for you
I saw the scene arrange itself
as though by your will; a flower here
and the sun there and love within my heart

I grew a stem-lit candle by my fear
the wax bled through my life slowly
and Romeo echoed all the pain my dear
my ceiling caught the dancing flame
and the corner shadows sang Juliet

And the table of dinner by the wine
and the windows opened for the ghosts
sat Rachmaninoff my intimate friend
That I think should be my soulMate
Should be resurrected for this date

And time stood silently by the gate
while mere mortals like God’s heart
defied the laws of human-fate
I chose the soup and crumpets
and watched the world die this night

:: 11-08-2014 ::


VAMPIRIC TURMOIL

but it was you who asked
for eternal life my love!
Sacrificing sun for the moon,
the lamb for the creeping
thing.  Now you say you want
to shop on rodeo Drive during
the day!

I just want to bite you
all over again!

:: 09-19-2014 ::


OF LIGHT & LOVE

LIGHT removes hidden secrets
those dark betrayals of life
love begets that soft truth
and gives, thus heals all scars

:: 03-11-2014 ::


MY BARE WALLS

Image
(c) E.P. Robles (2010)

I NEEDED someone
strong to lean upon
so I leaned upon
my solid bare walls
Such held me —
with strength
and did not
cause me pain
So I lean and cry
upon the surface
of those solid walls
and wish to heaven
that my walls
could hug me back

:: 02-03-2014 ::


MOONLIGHT PALE

A SLUMBERING breeze blows
beyond clambering hills
and conjures a song
So somber from trees

Beneath…

Crystal silence sings
a painful burning flesh
and threads in dreams
devouring numbing stings

So stiff the twilight
that constricts my throat
I muffle a yawning cry
from dawning fright

The moon…

Lay pale in listless shroud
and death is no wonder
In varnished white clouds
comes rumbless thunder

Never a stretch in mind
Oh, fiery blood, crackle bone
Only limb, neck and hair
Sharp fangs– a soulless moan

And you…

Forgive me, for I am cannibal
so romantic and tragic is my tail
Slaying both human and animal
always beneath a moonlight pale

I am the shadow

Beneath your footfalls
and dark cold light within
In tearless eyes of yellow
My hunger screams for you

In your dreams

I come, nimble and serene
Prancing first for smell
toward scents you resemble
and within your morbid dreams

I will always scream for you

:: ancient ::


BLUE RAINS

BLUE rains falling
— a taste of pain
Mother Earth smells
— her moist soil…
pre-natal assault
reminds me of you
I was born
before I had a soul

Laughing rays
— the sun is a whore
— she gives her light
to everyone…
I don’t want you
to be a star
unless you shine
just for me

Blue rains falling
it drives me insane
Blue rains falling
we’re one in the same

I can’t even walk
— a cobble stone
let alone
— a lifetime alone…
unless you give
to me your love
Who says two lovers
can’t be the same

Blue rains deliver such love
you will see such love in darkness
And you will find such love
when you find your heart in him

::01/03/2014::