That easy rhythmic sound is what i need,
a swing beat in jazz to touch and feel.
So I do my best to stay one foot ahead
of those lazy-crazy slices of falling time
of which some are stuck in the inferno trees
outside my window. A hellish wind fans them
but I rely upon Count Basie to sooth it all out
and I won’t look out the window anymore.
:: 02-25-2014 ::
What love lost did not gain
a pittance for memories
of a grand life remain
To see the mysteries
that such power gives
more than enough for tears
What love held never lost
but tucked away somewhere
between moon and stars
:: 02-23-2014 ::
IF all the world’s a stage
and we are all the actors
who then the audience?
we all perform
for the mystery of mysteries!
LIFE bitterly love bit me
a kiss that burned my heart
such love that sank its teeth
o’er my spirit it tore apart
the dreams that dream of love
in pepper-tears laced in salt
that born I be my only fault
life bitterly love-love me
:: 02-21-2024 ::
I ate the sun today
in all it’s glory fire
now inside of me
A quarrel ensued
between the two
light and darkness
ancient bitter foes
A deal was struck
a war not waged
if I choose to be
keeper of the two
:: 02-21-2014 ::
so queer that fear
can stretch out time
a stitch in mind
the needle pierce
what eternity avoids
we carry for life
:: 02-20-2014 ::
night falls, smother the frayed nerves of captive souls
like a penitentiary only a lock at the main gate
I crawl over the fallen
my heart in pocket and fractured spirit
a taste of crimson iron-spice in dirt
the ground swells and trembles below my hands
a pulsing monstrous beast come to life
and I, disturbingly intensely pass through
across these lines of densely packed bodies
like moon surface between cavernous crater
my wish like a snowflake above a furnace
to breach the gate and find my life over there
:: 02-20-2014 ::
SWALLOW my fear
before love taste
that pain of life
that you know me first
Then the pleasures come
more intense than first love
:: 02-18-2014 ::
(c) ep robles 2012
All blood and flesh the cage
— a golden gate
cannot you see
that keeps some dreams at bay
— a border close
to pure fantasy
when the Keepers turn away
a dip or two from reality
:: 02-17-2014 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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