i knew by culture, Death.
No man, if men are gods,
i met life in meager words.
And too, i met Love in ‘it’
the notes of dead Men.
I, too, met precious Life
in scribbled notes of Man,
the two women of my Heart
they keep the grounds neat
in famous garb. I should meet
them too, one day in the shade
we have much to say:
did you mean ‘Love’ or ‘hate’
was it ‘death’ or ‘date’
:: 01-24-2015 ::
that my heart is a song
between the beak of a bird
where secrets of life are,
whomever disparages souls
are like humans who never learn!
like the feet who never knew
wings, so fearless and thirsty
soaring, and on Mondays I may
be wrong for many souls are
searching for their lives.
and my hands are my feet,
usefully loving one’s self
so more than truly
feeling. I’ve never seen
a fool who could fail
soaring above the skies
pulling the veil over eyes.
:: 01-25-2015 ::
The weary seams of soft-silk souls
seem too loosened to visit my world
but they do. And often by haunts,
their dreams become my own; as
a sin unowned; rarely my feet walk
within God’s garden silently.
The uninvited adore my skin
and breathe especially at night.
As many intervals between life
and There, so too my awareness
of Them, those who with ghostly
sculptor-hands, turn heads
and minds too. It’s my words,
my word, too, They built the
bridge across which I now go
while I sleep reading the
dark book of the Beginning.
:: 01-22-2015 ::
AND when the world has fallen upon the cavity
of your sunken chest go out into the day,
feel the sunlight and how it’s warmth has
become lit sheets of icy fingers upon your soul,
and know the bright yellow bulb in the sky
is a world of fire and ice.
And when your soul has slender-ed, into a pencil
without its lead and your mouth is no longer
able to spell or speak nor write, then the world
is an unspoken ill without its Scribe; some
say He has died or was never born and others,
that he died nailed upon two pencils upon a hill.
And when you have grasped this meaning and you will,
then allow the world to fall through you,
and all the kisses, wishes, and well-spent days
of your life…
:: 01-22-2015 ::
AND where does
love go
When upon the last
ember of life
a lover sheds
her golden cord
and takes flight
I call you, sweet face
By day and not just night
and between the moments
where two knees do fall
And too, I go! There!
upon the waves of
eternal love
:: 01-20-2015 ::
to catch the gleam
bird-eye dove in
flight
and crashing river
over-pours my
cup of Life
i knew the nest
of crackedEggs
to watch the gleam
of baby eyes
the Feathers
of hungrySouls
always wishing
gentle winds
and yetScreams
the jet streams
of current’s life
:: 01-11-2015 ::
y IS a nothing, little KNOWN
childPAIN dead while LIFE
walks in [EXPLODING room]
walk! cry,
i had a spoon
babyMouth and SHOUT
‘why!…oh why! Meaty-hand
across the tender skin ofTears
sorry you forgot Jesus and
angels; Pontius saved me
and I ate tree bark days
so sorry while i sing
‘I am so me, alive
i am so child…’
the boss walks through
in my remembered blood
blood, song, words, pain
and i (h)ate the flesh
of my life!
y IS a nothing
little known child
dying each moment we
question, ‘is it so
is it so, so? i’m
still alive so alive
and i burn so burn
burn burn burn burn
all the lost hopes
of love that never
tried as hard as me,
just aFreak needing
the love of Jesus
:: 01-09-2015 ::
FREAKS!
Wonders. The bizarre,
like astounding dreams!
It’s terrifying
such enchantress:
the beauty of hearts
It’s love kissing
life!
:: 01-09-2015 ::
The true monsters
are the beautiful oddities
who live in the towns
we past on Interstates
The normal lives
in exit signs
that we never detour
:: 01-09-2015 ::
i have seen that sun of you like
the light
(my heartMOTH drawn by warmth-fields
and honeyWORDS i hunger in eagerSoul…
…. . …
. .. . . ………………….*
the weak muscle (i never knew strength)
beating inside the castleChest breast
OF too many battles of courage
and weakness fell these walls of life
the stir is unutterably a broken wing
dreams of thrilling life never known
forever
my phantom feeling Fields
when summer is born
–in the mouth
where wet souls
kiss the body
of
love
should
we die
:: 01-01-2015 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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