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By this time she began to pant with the effort of speaking and died. The grief of her children was doubled, as was that of their father, and he swore before the woman whose heart had broken that he would never again be destroyed by fire, and would walk out from his house to dwell by the sea.
The gods were shocked to their foundations. They believed that they had truly killed Zeus and had been giving his body to live; for the children would come to the holy site of Delphi to praise him as they remembered his glory and proclaim their great dread. On their approach they met the priests in the street, but the fathers waved their children away, and said ‘They think they are honouring the Greek gods. They are not worthy of our esteem!’
‘Why not?’ asked a young girl who wanted to know, ‘Why should the Greeks think we are honouring Zeus? We are honouring a great man, the greatest being in the universe.’
Her mother, an oracle, retorted:
‘You are saying foolish things! Your father has sworn, and your sister has sworn, and so have I! So let this death of our mother be an eternal lesson to you! Whoever else shall say such a thing, shall by my hand or by the hand of your children be flayed.’
This brought him to his senses, and he put his arm through his daughter’s, and declared:
‘I would die gladly for the Greek gods, but we shall stand together on one side or the other, and offer the fire to the gods of Zeus as a sacrifice for the foundation of their city. If they refuse it, we shall always come to their aid, as we did in the great and terrible earthquake that was prepared for this very day.’
He died in peace, though at first it was rumoured that the gods had destroyed him, when he refused to go against them.
:: 03.16.2021 ::
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INSPIRED BY ANDRE BRETON
(1896 – 1966: Freedom Of Love)
My wife with the eyes of an archangel of the nude
asking me to come to bed.
with the eyes of a unicorn riding on the back of a dragon
whilst i am the beggar upon a donkey
with the eyes of a column without mortar and of hands
My wife with the eyes of a lake the ocean flowed into
With the eyes of a pen and with the eye of a child
telling me wonderful bedtime stories of Life.
My wife with the eyes of a butterfly
of a woman who is just stepping off her horse
My wife with the eyes of a fox of the panther’s head
with the eyes of a snake
hissing at the inequalities of life.
My wife with the eyes of a cold drink of water
quenching my thrist for love and life.
with the eyes of the beak of a dove
with the mind of a bastard twin
with the skin of a smooth-jacket’s boot
with the brilliant smell of a green ear of corn
speaking through Nature with her heart.
My wife with the mind of a simile
with the body of a handful of sea-pearls
and with the Soul of a sun with a tail of serpents
My wife with the eyes of a broken dagger
and with the feelings of a smouldering petrol-bomb
My wife with the eyes of a pain in her thumb
like the swollen member between my legs.
My wife with the eyes of an exclamation point
My Love with the eyes of a box of bottled messages
as the curves of a wheel of apples
My wife with the eyes of a ring-gargoyle
My wife with the eyes of the German eagle
My wife with the eyes of a cannonball dropped into the rocks
carving love into the mountain of my personal Life.
My wife with the eyes of a crane weeping
My wife with the eyes of a nightjar’s feather
My wife with the eyes of a sceptre
My wife with the eyes of an ice-bucket containing a koi
My wife with the eyes of a house-smoker’s chimney
feeding all who come to know her kindness.
My wife with the eyes of the olive and of the lotus
My wife with the eyes of an eel and of the slipper of a cow
My wife with the eyes of an abacus containing a scarab
My wife with the eyes of a seagull
is my wife is my love is my own inspiration in this Life.
:: 02.07.2021 ::
1 Comment | tags: #ink, #love, #me, #paper, #poetry, #surreal | posted in #poems, #poet, #poetess, #poetry, #poets
There’d be no unemployment, no crime, no war for profit; no environmental hell
for thousands of good-hearted lives.
You can’t just take so much paper so putting it off would mean at least ten
not calling till the 11th hour and hoping that you’ll forget what you needed —
i’m in a zoo somewhere between silence and (a)the mad hatter’s court of love
where the loneliness could prove impossible; i’ve been way too loquacious all day
all this time i’ve been riding in this very leather-bound bus how’d i get to this
zoo? maybe too much of this
counting bills counting wheat in the fields
counting my cash on the street
counting time in a silence-devoid world
The natural state of mankind is boredom trying to find the meaning in something so small
i’ve got too many words up in my head!
If you see a stranger carrying an extra pair of sunglasses, don’t steal them. We all
have them. They’re free.
Once in a lifetime, you meet someone who seems to have no fear. They don’t blink. They have
nothing to lose. I used to wish there was someone like that in my life, but all I’ve got
is a little bit of fear.
You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy. What can I say?
Lizard-head heartbroken the love has gone — boo hoo you’re so fine, mama
: first wind it and you want to know if I still love you?
YOU, COME IN HERE, DON’T LEAVE until YOU’VE JOKED AND BEEN WRITTEN!
TIME DRIVER, THE NAMECHE MACHINE la dolce vita what a wonderful disguise
and this has been my argument ever since it’s as true today as it was then, for there’s a new king
who’s clothed in human suffering’s radiance treating it like toothpaste to his face
waiting for us to laugh at the pretend form of our wives and to learn from the conman; he’s played
all his own moves, but he’s still just a kid.
So we all shut up, on a rampage of rants and sarcasm to serve the king’s audacity; nobody wins forever
who’s ever been “the funny” when you wanted to be “the wise”?
we’re here to pick up the pieces, we get the job done, we go home
we’ll never see the boy king’s face until the queen’s hair grows back
(and he gets wise and goes home to his queen and gets “the funny” back) if the boy king turnS on us
we’ll all be dead, so, sing, ride, don’t sweat the consequences of casual cynicism, anything goes;
wear my crown and be the greatest boss of all.
i love you.
:: 01.29.2021 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #authors, #bleeding, #decay, #ink, #paper, #poetry, #publishers, #words, #writers | posted in #abstract, #melancholy, #memories, #menstrual, #mental, #moments, #poems, #poet, #poetess, #poetry, #poets
Now my Gown and Tulle
feel the Wind that weaves a Shade –
and on the roof i cannot tell
since the picture there is –
because Time, a Form, stood a-hiding
and well It did.
Words and Music (my own)
Performed by James Dale
and Love.
“He is oft-injured by his men
or with their Menages,
‘I think I hear him say:
“His Portents are the Dews –
His Words the Dews – and Mine –
His Ends are Ieya’s.
“I wish this next Scene were ended
with the Destination of my own Fate –
“The Flight of Orpheus, I suppose,
“Off the Coast of Homer’s Folly –
Or Death – to Eternity.”
Futility was King in the play, under the pen of D. H. Lawrence.
I hope he was a reader of Shakespeare.
Well, I cannot write about this.
It is really too late.
There was an early book, and there is always another.
The fact that Lawrence is a poet is very well known;
and many of his poems have been put to music.
i have heard those – sometimes for many times – though
i should hate to go against the dead.
A great deal is being written about D. H. Lawrence
in the second decade of the twenty-first century.
:: 01.26.2021 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #blood, #flesh, #ink, #paper, #poem, #words | posted in #abstract, #aching, #all of me, #alone, #analogies, #angst, #awaken, #beautiful, #poems, #poet, #poetess, #poetry, #poets
Love, fear, lust or greed?
A thousand diseases blowing in the wind;
the hungry voices of hatred eating each side!
i caused pain within my life, that i did,
deciding at birth to give care upon
the blue marble i landed upon with baby feet.
i uplifted the crust of Mother Earth,
and swift torrential rush of drama-death;
only mockingbirds sing at night sweetly.
And the starRock light stabs the night
falling, falling, falling everywhere
is the moon and Her Light!
Blossoming memory: well the last days
of winter, of my life which was as full of
dim, mystic musings, and when one day,
my soul was high, and my body was a fountain,
my mind in cloudy wisdom;
as i had been taught a certain
manifestation of guilt, then i understood
the meaning of life!
So i climbed down from the high-place, in
my heart, and in my mind, each life cycle,
chased with the fall of leaves, cradled in
the arms of the earth bringing back meaning of life
each hour of every day.
As i did so, i put in a stasis a profound
tree-spirit; my movements in time could not be
restored, my mind was silent, an image seen
in my consciousness was born of my broken heart,
it was born of care for my precious soul!
But the sacred tree-spirit i brought
to life was proud, it ignored me,
it stayed on the heights of my mind!
i knew that even the past has a home in the future,
that the stars which never fall in the rain,
their waves have no end, have risen in the trees
of my life, and a new dawn was coming.
It filled me with hope.
:: 01.16.2021 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #abstsract, #heart, #ink, #paper, #poetry, #words | posted in #1700s, #abstract, #enormity, #poet, #poetess, #poetry, #poets
Hey, hey, hey, hey!
The biggest market is pacifiers
You know what goes in pacifiers?
Another mouth to feed.
A vagina to suck!
I went to the market and said, ‘Hell, no!
‘Give me an organic glue
“If only we had time we would have inserted a fucking hole
in my balls. I could have given her diabetes.
Yeah, I could have forced her to eat cheese!
That smells like my wife’s pussy”
No (i have no wife! no!!!!!!)
Going back to nature is not just about foraging:
You have to stop
You have to let go
You have to give up
You have to ask, ‘How can I have this?
I don’t know about water.
I’ve always had a problem with water
And everyone refuses to feed Love.
Life so full of secrets. Then again,
something about water.
You’re searching for more than
What I have. Because something’s got to be
better than this!
Nothing is better than this.
When it’s time to give up, to move on
and to let go; to get to the next level
it’s a little later in the day. Hey.
I’m off to find water. I don’t know where it is
but it’s there.
This island is in trouble: our government is out of control
and sooner or later the disease will spread.
It will kill us all!
In my arms I cradle a gun
It is mine and only mine.
I need a drop to survive
If only I can find a vein
My mouth is watering
with the sweet relief
of Love’s heroin.
But it is not enough. My heart is racing like a fish on a line.
I have to leave but I cannot. My fingers are shaking
my veins are dry.
I need a drop to survive
I need a drop to survive
And the worst of it is I don’t know where it is.
But it is there.
I don’t know how to find it
I’m looking for water or Love?!?
Ohh
Ohh
I’m looking for water
Ohh Ohh
Water!
Ohh
I need a drop to survive
:: 12.23.2020 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #anguish, #darnkess, #dying, #ink, #lies, #madness, #paper, #people, #poems, #poetry, #sick, #writers | posted in #abstract, #analysis, #anguish, #attraction, #awaken, #poems, #poet, #poetry, #poets, #powers, #profound sadness, #quantum, #rape me
i wish I had more time and opportunity to explain my disgust to your rust-stained sarcophagus. To offer a calm palate of meditative colors for our feelings (why not) — you seemed so surprised to be called from a glass prison.
Oh, blessed crystal, what do I have to do to kiss your hand with a succulent kiss for you have forgotten the grain of truth to your rust-stained sarcophagus!
To offer a calm palate of meditative colors for our feelings (why not) — you seemed so surprised to be called from a glass prison.
Oh, blessed crystal, what do I have to do to kiss your hand with a succulent kiss for you have forgotten the grain of truth and your heart could only love the person who feeds it for nourishment — is a difficult task; so you resorted to Cupid’s slingshot!
But here’s an alternative: follow my heart down the garden path, until my sticky feet block the entrance of Cupid’s grave.
Here — get me the jar of colorful paint and I will show you the
sparkle of love.
Here — get me the fork and I will show you the flavor of our love
that came from one man.
Here — get me the ball and I will smash it across my canvas of life.
Here — get me the pencil and I will draw you a gentle, tender picture.
Here — get me the jar of colorful paint and I will show you the
sparkle of love.
Here — get me the fork and I will show you the flavor of our love
that came from one man.
Here — get me the ball and I will smash it across my canvas of life.
Here — get me the pencil and I will draw you a gentle, tender picture.
Here — get me the paint bucket and I will lay it on a canvas of life
It was exactly 14 days since you told me you left the store early.
14 dreary days and I do not think you’ve been here once (not that I
would blame you for believing it).
14 days since I was mean to you, and then you said you’d be back
by 14.
:: 12.24.2020 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #abstract, #death, #hearts, #ink, #life, #love, #paper, #pen, #pencil, #poetry, #romance, #skin, #thoughts, #wonderful, #writers | posted in #1800s, #abstract, #aching, #analogies, #confession, #depression, #fascination, #poems, #poet, #poetess, #poetry, #poets, #prose
As my sensational sensual moments bleed away and are no more seen by the vilest minds
my face deep within the riches of Earth’s soil away from unthought wars!
Unburdened by high wilt of human rine–
as pure Love has championed over darkly love.
And smallest voices as new born children spiritually cries of Spring keeping new born
butterflies afloat, is where Love strives
as droll god-beasts!
Such is the dance of perception as a reflection
through a prism; or early morning dew drop.
Time that not be for us — as purple roses
are sweeter to the but for me: deeper!
:: 12.21.2020 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #blood, #fear, #heartache, #hearts, #ink, #love, #pain, #paper, #passion, #prose, #red, #writers | posted in #1700s, #poems, #poet, #poetess, #poetry, #poets
SOMETIMES you have to reach out to know
sometimes to bleed to know
— my taste in music is on the smart phone
never in your face
takes me farther than i’ve ever been.
she has Instagram photos of big breasts
but i know how photoshop filled them out
and i slept in my car last night cursing
my government …
wasting money on corporate pigs
oh it hurts my heart as much as she does.
corporate food killing us
soft drinks and candy too — i once loved
what i tasted; it was poison. Now i am
running for my Life. Leaving corporate
Death and corporate medical — pills and psych
talk kills those who are weak.
we run for our life
we cry and then die
before we awaken.
I had you somewhere within my coat pocket,
holding back your hand before you drank
corporate poison.
I will come back when your better.
(if you survive).
Life is a chemical for corporate Lives.
a chemical yeah. defy oh defy…yeah.
:: 12.18.2020 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #ink, #paper, #poetry, #words | posted in #poet, #poetess, #poetry, #poets
WHEN i met you by the ‘Never Possible’ my feet were flames of sun by the meadow Moonbeams dancing upon my lonely tongue Saw a maple leaf fall twisting twirling propeller-swirls all within expecting hearts.
Incredible spectacle devouring my hungry mouth: this speed called love is above medical. When a leaf does not say what i mean i become a single filed formation escaping — running for my life from my heart.
Never possible calling me / i had your smiles within my pockets and found holes where my pennies fall upon the sidewalk____
(You better make this call)
that’s where your pennies are when a leaf does not say what i mean i become a filed formation escaping from my heart
Incredible spectacle
a speed called love above medical.
:: 11.23.2020 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #heart break, #heavy, #ink, #love, #paper, #poems, #prose | posted in #abstract, #broken hearts, #poetry, #poets
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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