In a great-small thing of no size but larger than zero I placed a bag of velvet life roughly the length of a rocky-road mile and away it dissolved into the infinitely smallness of my LifeBag and I shed a ghostly tear — the ones that never jump from the wornEyes of dying cultures but those dried eyeballs found on summer-baked roads for hungry vultures. I said, “farewell my dreams and fears and may your journey into oblivion be as pleasant as your stay within my soul.”
:: 09-02-2014 ::
A dead rose you say?
No such thing!
Perhaps the promise
died —
the rose remains
:: 05-16-2014 ::
GIVE So,(a)letchion
so //um//thing sow
itching —
bee(,)see-believing
a-tone-ing
so-tongue[um]-annoying
jay-sush dying
a C r o S S bleeding
His hole -lay spread
-ing (burst-life) morning
the rock removed -|-
corner(stone) bloomed!
:: 06-13-2014 ::
Textpert expert telling us how it is
a jumbo word manifesto sexpert
I see how a pig could fly
all you have to do is kiss a bug
bullfrogs have all died, oh my!
but the chemical plants
swear on their dead souls
a fish could have two heads
Darwin on steroids drank a coke
and the bomb loves your mother
Tell me a bedtime story
without politics and I’ll die
you are the Textpert expert
thumbing all through the lies
for the world there’s a word
and all the circus clowns have died
:: 05-26-2014 ::
I can’t tell you how to live
but I know what dying is like
and can say take each day
and hold it like your child.
kiss it, love it and never let go
:: 05-27-2014 ::
When you awaken
do you get up into
the sinking —
inside of you?
it’s three feet below the bed
where you rest your head
at the foot of —
an anchor-stone
I can only ask because I know
the weight of that stone
kept me three feet below —
the resting bed
until one day I arose
up into the sun
when I awaken
that’s where I go
:: 05-28-2014 ::
IF I were a bird and born
with no feathered wings
our skies would give me love
and the gentle rains
should cleanse my eyes
If I were born that beating heart
within my soul I’d find my wings
and my tiny-throat trilled songs
would lift my soul and there I’d fly!
:: 05-22-2014 ::
Despair is an anchor
with thorns —
it drowns the ship
and sinks the soul
and the hull,
a skin that bleeds
A heart — the oar
that paddles ashore
Best to use
a blessed life vest
when a storm —
that despair comes
and wisely glue shut
that gapping hawse
:: 05-15-2014 ::
i should wish to be, gain
from conception through
little feet, baby breath too
a clean slate of possibilities
i should wish to be, again
the admiration of loved ones
if i should be — again
what i was before the now
i would take a different path
such a dream i give —
my solemn vow
:: 05-16-2014 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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