(c) E.P. Robles 2013
IV
such wind blows my love upon your dreams
that flower of fields once knew bright warmth
and now the grasp of pain so cold sweeps
upon frozen tears pain hurts the soul
i should say come away — away from sorrow
but the gate between fate and me is locked
should i find that eternal key — be your heart
:: 02-08-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2013
III
know that i was to pen a poem about your loving graceful self
whoever you are my future lover but feline pleasure command
demanding attention from surely something more than i
that meow transcended fangy pleasure plush quadruped heart
mystical thoughts transmitted electrical blue sparks
hurting that thinking machine but the source so sweet
no difference between my cat
and that future lover
plush love purring throughout the night
:: 02-08-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2013
II
thinking with my organic something is unappeal
how to enjoy the meal life gives bland stove-top petrify indoctrination gadget
infused miniaturization of ghastly do-little meat puppets chatting nonsense
when weather is fair.
regardless of my attire my organic something always dresses in emperors
clothing and secret eyes admire from afar the fine tailoring of that 3.5 pound
of mystery meat whose function I could care less about unless it’s under a
scalpel in bright lit operatic stage
i am the audience and the play and refusal to say my preordained lines is an
orgasmic neurotic sensation that mostly only a God can know — save me
Please…save me, okay?
and when that musty wind glass shatter beneath carpet-burned boney knee I am
very pleased as the pain is affirmation that my knee still alive but the rest
of the husk of a carbon-based brilliant animal is walking dead beneath sodium
vapor light abandoned roads leading nowhere but that spot you sleep and wake
and dream and shit and eat and copulate upon.
that spot…dirty isn’t it?
my refusal to admit or decree a sacred source
but flowers toil and the soil is moist
a perfect spot for this organic something
a depth of six feet south
:: 02-08-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2013
I gave my love to one
and swore to God above
she would be the one
I would die in old age
loving and cherishing
and this I swore before
mankind and heaven
even the angels of glory
that she walked away
was not my bidding
so here I stand
firmly in faith
that my word is strong
and shall never sway
that she walked away
does not mean
I did the same
so I remain
empty handed
but still in love
:: 02-07-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2012
fragment image smiling
disjointed feelings reeling
shifting time’s a feeling
so fine this lovely healing
I’m flying over you —
safely crazy you
the wolves are out tonight
secure my burning feelings
Tarot giving higher vision
so lost within possession
what last heartbeat collision
it sings to me tonight
deeply sleeping in obsession
car crash moment halting
twisted dreams in mesh
my dreams become a stalling
beneath the dashboard lights
A night for youth but haunting
living fast and burning
confused illusions running
too soon we pass beyond
:: 02-06-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2012
my self-similar self
nestled within myself
so similar to someone
who resembles myself
such fecal fractal
maddening crap
prevents me so
I may never learn
where lay my soul
:: 02-06-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2013
SCORNED for beauty
that mark of desire
a sentence served
until old age reprieve
To carry this burden
unjust for those
The only crime committed
— at birth
:: 02-06-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2012
LITTLE voice speak to me
refrain not from truth
gently whisper what’s to be
I have no other council
save the trees that sway-speak
or mocking birds who sing
My mouth shut and heart open
and do walk in my forest light
Here upon this grand rock
I patiently wait for your wisdom
so speak to me as I will listen
:: 02-06-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2012
WHERE is that grand thing
so elusive the unicorn doubts
and rainbow would walk in arch
and bee turn blood to honey
if it come to visit one day
Love eludes me my gentle one
delay your departure my heart
Faith is my rock and I hold it
it’s weight too heavy to move
:: 02-06-2014 ::
(c) E.P. Robles 2012
WHAT do I miss of the older time
before the buzz and dizzy busy?
A quaint moment throughout the day
one of clarity and not dismay
When a walk meant a conversation
between my feet and cobblestone
And a tip of my hat to passerby
was just a kind and noble gesture
What do I miss of the older time…
a sense of sanity and kind humanity
:: 02-06-2014 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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