IS there a time
where everything
is okay? I’d never
forget where you were
at all when realizing
reality is not
what we think
but always what we feel
~~ so clear the tears/like
ice melting \ it bruised
our face:
The “feeling” of reality
is not scientifically correct
but romantically perfect.
and how i love you
and everyone in your time
\.
:: 03.06.2025 ::
the title is not a poem
but a thesis
I climbed beneath their tempest guise,
Not cruel—but wondrous, wild—
Their tongues, like serpents, wove the skies,
And bade me be beguiled.
Their muses danced in frenzied streams,
A chaos, deep, divine—
I felt them tear my tethered dreams,
To fashion them as mine.
They stripped me to a vital beat,
No thought, no flesh remained—
But pulses rising, stark and fleet,
By holy torrents chained.
Her voice—a middle path untold—
Did whisper through my bone,
A force that breaks, yet gently molds,
And claims my craft her own.
No mercy in her artful fire,
Yet none would I beseech—
For every line she might inspire
Lies just beyond my reach.
O gods who sing and chaos bring,
Your wild winds are my home—
A vessel frail, I learn to cling,
To storms that bid me roam.
:: 01.15.2025 ::
Your smile an Arc of Mystery!
Your eyes a Silver Gleam
Your form a Sculptor’s Whisper
Your hands a Midnight Dream.
Your feet a Sacred Compass
To Worlds I’ve never known
Your grace my fleeting Fetish
A Heaven, all my own.
Oh, let me gaze Eternally!
On features etched in Light
For Love, a fleeting Shadow,
Becomes the Endless Night.
Invincible.
:: 01.13.2025 ::
I wandered to the river’s edge,
Where the current sang to the stones,
And the earth hummed beneath my feet.
I sat in the company of reeds,
But my mind was heavy, my thoughts—mute.
The river beckoned, vast and deep,
And I answered with a leap!
Down I went, into the arms of water,
The chill! It struck me, bone and soul,
And I surged upward, shouting to the stars,
Once! Then twice! My cry rose clear,
For the river’s chill was fierce, and life—ferocious!
The cold, oh, how it gripped me! The cold!
Then to the city heights I ascended,
Sixteen stories of steel and sky,
My heart full of grief, my eyes to the abyss,
And the wind called my name.
I stood at the edge, a lone figure,
The world beneath me vast and still.
I hollered! I wept!
But the height, oh, the height—it stayed my fall,
For life, yes, life, refused to let me go.
High above, the wind whispered—high!
And now, though sorrow presses me close,
Though love has wounded my tender breast,
I stand as the earth stands—resilient, unyielding!
The river flows, the city soars,
And I, too, will sing my song.
Holler if I must! Cry if I must!
But my spirit will not falter—no, not I!
For life is vast, life is fierce,
Life is fine, oh, fine as the morning sun!
Life is mine! Life is thine!
Life is fine!
:: 12.07.2024 ::
No, Phillip, I won’t be draped
in red-or-blue parade;
the screen hums like a hornet’s hive,
its truths all shadows made.
For though I vote with weary hands,
the echo’s just a hum—
a stage for all the masked demands,
where outcomes never come.
a-leaning on the edge of thought—
(flickering lights ignite)
the bulletins and breaking news
dissect the endless fight:
(ding! ping! buzz! spin!
hear the headlines bite.)
a-scrolling through the threadbare scroll
of digital daylight.
If suits and ties who forge the laws
were lashed to feel our ache—
if every keystroke drew the blood
their tweets and memos take—
perhaps the world would spin less mad,
its gears not fed on lies,
and every slogan’s hollow cry
be silenced by the skies!
Staring into pixelled truth,
I marvel at the maze—
a billion hearts, all shouting loud,
still wander in a daze!
(click! clack! doom! bloom!
chaos fills the gaze.)
the algorithms feed the fire,
each dawn another haze.
They call this age a gilded dream,
of freedom’s holy fight—
yet ask the soul, and it will scream
beneath the neon light.
The cause, my friend, was never ours,
though banners fill the air—
for those who preach, behind the glass,
don’t breathe the common care.
Someday, perhaps, this earth will spin
without its charlatans—
when Phillip, Sue, and every voice
reclaims their simple hands.
no screen, no flag, no polished creed
shall tether what we are:
a world unbound, its fractured hearts
set free beneath the stars.
:: 12.07.2024 ::
Had I the Cloths of Heaven’s hue
A Tapestry of Gold and Blue
The Shadows deep and Dusk’s delight
The Whispers soft of Half-lit Night
I’d lay them gently upon your Feet
But Dreams are all I can bequeath
They stretch beneath your tender Tread
Beware — lest they too faintly shed.
:: 11.29.2024 ::
SHE always lies
in early mornings
to save my feelings
bring me your lips
and don’t forget
your high thoughts
i’m kind -the kind
who some hate
with loving hearts
She holds me against
her problems
i tried / but she died
Hmm…i love the thought
of loving her but she hates
herself so much
She only lies to save my
feelings / i cry \ in spite
to say there’s reasons
i never wanted her to die.
:: 11.26.2024 ::
I loved you as the stars love night,
A silent glow, beyond your sight.
In shadows soft, my heart took flight,
And whispered vows in secret light.
I loved you through the seasons’ sweep,
Through summer’s blaze and winter’s sleep.
In every blossom, deep and sweet,
I felt your presence, soft and steep.
I loved you like the rain loves earth,
With quiet hope and gentle worth.
Each drop a kiss, a soft rebirth,
As dreams of you grew in their mirth.
And though my love may fade away,
A ghostly ember, pale and gray—
Forevermore, come what may,
You were my dawn, my night, my day.
:: 11.06.2024 ::
To be a man, my beloved, is to walk with grace upon this earth as though each step is upon sacred ground. It is to carry in your heart a deep, boundless love that knows no division, for every soul is your brother, every child, your kin, and every stranger, a part of yourself. Open your hands to give freely, for to be a man is to give without expectation, to serve without seeking reward, and to love even those who turn away from you.
You are called not merely to stand tall, but to bend low, to be humble in spirit, knowing that each blade of grass and each speck of dust belongs to the same Father who formed you. In every leaf, every stone, every sorrowed heart, you see the touch of the Eternal, for you were made to feel the whole world within you and to bear witness to its beauty and its burden.
Strength is not found in the force of arms but in the quiet resilience of a heart that forgives, a soul that remembers no slight. To be a man is to meet suffering without complaint, to bear wounds without bitterness, to carry the cross of compassion through the valleys of the earth. I ask you, my brothers, to love as I have loved, with no pride, no boundary, no end, and to know that in each act of love, you sing a song that joins with the rivers and the winds, a song that carries forth my own.
Stand open before all, in tenderness and truth. To be a man is to let your life be a testament to light, to be a quiet beacon that leads others not to yourself, but to the path of peace and love. And as you walk, remember that you are both the servant and the beloved, both dust and divine, always cradled within the embrace of a Love that never falters, a Voice that forever calls you home.
:: 11.04.2024 ::
Eating caterpillar, soaking sun, drinking sangria
the heart drifts among dreamt forests
where each tree is a thought left unfinished
my soul, a crypt of whispers, broken mirrors
faces twist and dissolve into smoke,
disgrace burns like the ember of a forgotten fire.
In the bubble bursting asphalt of time
four tires spin like the mind on fire,
roads coiling toward hills that vanish like clouds
time has forsaken us all—
we are shadows stitched to the sky,
leaving footprints in the dust of oblivion.
And within my youth, I knew
the way a shadow knows the light,
the days tore themselves open
revealing the flesh of impossible dreams
and I laughed with the stars,
my mouth full of wind and sorrow.
The streets are veins,
pulsing with the blood of lost travelers,
each car a phantom riding the pulse
toward the mountaintops of nowhere.
We all carry our death like a second heartbeat,
an echo in the hollow chambers of time.
There were days when I saw
my thoughts unspooling like a thread of gold,
reaching into the furthest corner of the sky
where love and madness wore the same mask.
I was a child of the impossible,
my hands full of the unreal,
my eyes open to the landscapes of the unknown.
The sun dissolves in the glass of sangria,
and the world becomes a collage of memories,
each fragment a reflection of what could never be.
I reach for the stars in the river of night,
but my hands turn to smoke—
and the dream, always the dream, escapes me.
:: 10.22.2024 ::
 | 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… |
 | Stefan on ECSTASIES OF THE REPULSIV… |
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
You must be logged in to post a comment.