THIS is 3.5 years into Hell.
Everything you know is now gone.
And the man with one leg; across the street
is screaming about Jesus Christ.
The sun is setting.
the smell of fires aready in the air.
how heavey air.
And the smell? Of burning children.
of burning children.
:: 02.05.2024 ::
In the hush of morn’s embrace I tread,
Where love and grace, a cosmic thread,
I stroll midst fields of earthly lore,
A shepherd’s heart, a sacred core.
Each soul I see, a cosmic spark,
Eternal echoes in the dark,
In joys and sorrows, love’s refrain,
I find a strand that won’t wane.
On rolling hills, in meadows wide,
A dance divine, a universe to guide,
Lilies bloom, and sparrows trill,
In every heartbeat, a cosmic thrill.
Forgiveness, like a gentle shower,
Washes away sin’s gripping power,
A river flowing, deep and free,
Through every heart, my grace, you see.
In humble homes and bustling streets,
My presence lingers, love repeats,
Acts of kindness, pure and true,
The path that leads to skies of blue.
The broken, lost, and weary soul,
I hold them close, make them whole,
Mending wounds with tender care,
A Savior’s love, beyond compare.
Let your light shine, a radiant beam,
In the grand design, a vibrant dream,
The tapestry of grace unfold,
My love in every story told.
Embrace the truth, the way, the life,
Banish hatred, anger, strife,
In every step, in every voice,
Hear my whisper, the soul’s rejoice.
In the pages of this verse divine,
A timeless message, a sacred sign,
Love one another, as I love you,
In this eternal, boundless view.
02.05.2024
In a glen where moonlight weaves its gentle spell,
A fairy court in secret, where tales of love do swell.
With wings of iridescence, they gather ‘neath the trees,
Loving fairies enchanted, dancing in the evening breeze.
Their laughter tinkles like a stream in sweet delight,
As they weave a tapestry of dreams in the soft moonlight.
A mortal man, a gentle soul, stumbles upon their glade,
Captured by the magic, in love’s enchantment laid.
Fairies with hearts so tender, wings of gossamer grace,
Flutter ’round the mortal, a smile upon each face.
They whisper words of wonder, weaving spells so sweet,
As love blossoms in the moonlit glen, a dance of hearts complete.
He, a mortal dreamer, lost in their embrace,
Entwined with fairy magic, a love so full of grace.
The fairies’ laughter mingles with his heartbeat’s song,
A serenade of enchantment that lasts the whole night long.
United in the moonlight, a tale of love unfolds,
A human man embraced by fairies, their story to be told.
In the glen where dreams are spun, beneath the stars above,
Loving fairies and a mortal man share a timeless love.
:: 02.01.2024 ::
The greatest smile is DEATH.
How welcomed. The eternal embrace!
But how i belong here — beyond the
world’s end _ no longer human.
i embrace ~ with the broken!
:: 01.31.2024 ::
Oh, speak not of my heart untrue,
Though absence seeks to temper my desire,
As readily I could bid myself adieu
As part from the soul within your fire.
In your bosom lies my dwelling of love:
If I’ve strayed, like threads unraveled, I return,
To the moment, not with time exchanged above,
Yet with my essence, a cleansing urn.
Never think, though frailties course my veins,
That they could mar this sacred trust we share,
To forsake, for naught, your myriad gains,
For you, my rose, my universe is bare.
Within its vast expanse, hear my call,
For nothing exists, save you, my all.
:: 01.26.2024 ::
Is love too young to know what CONSCIENCE is
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body’s treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason;
But, rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her ‘love’ for whose dear love I rise and fall.
“The Little Love-God Lying.”
:: 01.26.2024 ::
MYSTERIOUS ETYMOLOGIES
and which came first?
syllable or the sound
of pain?
what…did you say?
they ARE the same
whether uttered or
spoken or eventually
written — all the same!
must a glyph truly obtain
a sense of distinction?
it is now its own.
:: 07.14.2020 ::
Notes for the Students:
THIS POEM explores the interconnectedness of language, sound, and emotion. The poet contemplates the origin of words and the relationship between syllables and the expression of pain. The question of which came first, the syllable or the sound of pain, reflects on the primal and innate nature of language as a means of conveying human experience.
The repetition of the phrase “they ARE the same” emphasizes the unity of spoken and written language, suggesting that the essence of expression remains constant across different forms. The poem questions the necessity for a glyph (a written symbol) to have a distinct meaning, implying that language evolves organically and may not always follow rigid rules.
The final lines, “it is now its own,” suggest a sense of independence and self-contained identity for language. This could be interpreted as an acknowledgment of the power of language to shape its own meaning and significance over time.
Overall, the poem invites readers to reflect on the mysterious and evolving nature of language, emphasizing its ability to capture and convey complex emotions and experiences.
I look at the sun — in my dreams
i am a TRAVELING gentleman
into the deep sees
: \ ;/
If by some some years you heard
it was clear ooh — ooooh
Oooh — baby bebe bebe ooooh!
I saw your love (heart) i'[m crying
as i am substrate –= love and feeling
oooooh – love | A rose of love and red
leaves no trace — i will return : \
i touch KASMIRE | OH father,
dead. like our wife / my mother \ how
i learned your mistakes _.
\In the realm of the mind’s turmoil, the dance with mental illness,
the eccentricity that whispers of madness, may appear as a spectacle
when observed from afar, yet the mirth fades when experienced within.
Picture your most haunting nightmare, let it linger in your thoughts.
Now, envision a scenario where awakening is elusive, for you are already
ensconced in the wakefulness of the perpetual dream. Those fantastical notions
that weave coherence in the realm of slumber start to intertwine with waking reality.
I sense your curiosity, the yearning to decipher if my journey mirrors such a narrative.
However, my revelation shall remain veiled for now; forgive my reticence, as our acquaintance is but in its nascent stage.
Should apprehension whisper in the recesses of your mind, casting shadows
upon your countenance, there’s a subtle unease that graces your features.
Ah, I comprehend. You ponder whether my quest to “awaken” might incite a descent into madness,
a trepidation that precedes the revelation of truth. Well, let me assure you, for some,
that is the path untrodden, but not for those who find solace in my company. The journey to “awakening” need not be accompanied by the tumult of psychosis. Yet, I am transparent with you – the aftermath of a “nervous breakdown” renders the mind fragile, a state undesirable, I assure you. The labyrinth of thoughts can lead one astray, inflicting years of tumult from which recovery proves elusive. It can sever ties with those cherished, those held dear. I implore you to steer clear of such perils, especially you, with your endearing nature. I find you delightful, and in our journey together, certain guidelines must be etched, for I must discern when your presence graces our shared realm…
:: 01.21.2024 ::
SHOULD you embark adorned with the flame within my lips,
my Soul lowers bloom, colors emerge as brilliant petals unfurl
Breeze sways, that soft touch, sunlight a dappling
Her fragrant air, nature’s tapestry, as bees hum
as Butterflies flutter, dewdrops kisses
Golden rays weave, flowers sway.
Should you enter to inaugurate the pace, the calling,
and in service, exist to dwell, to slumber, to savor all that’s forfeit,
from the castaway upon the shorelines,
to the cosmic expanse,
to the fervent orb aglow,
from the discarded, burgeon into luminosity,
life transmuted into solar vessels,
from the vanished, burgeon into a tree.
One for you disallows the gaze,
Prohibits trust, hearing, reliance on rendezvous’ grace.
One for you turns into a lone fragment,
Abruptly transforms into a mystery vast,
A voice from which a throat retreats in haste.
Night descends, dreams soaring above the luminance,
Dream’s limbs reaching for its coveted brilliance.
Ships, with forms akin to creatures, traverse the expanse,
I behold all, execute every act, believe each nuance,
Cease all, hear the symphony, depend on your mysterious dance.
One day, a night more impulsive, more spectral than a phantom,
In your ears, or perhaps your imagination’s anthem,
Where auditory meets visual, weaving enigmatic tales,
Language entwined with chimeras, left to the frigid gales,
Of clairvoyances, old torches, neglected and untraveled trails.
In whom does imagination find laughter’s embrace?
From eyelids beyond, impulses seek your trace,
To discover, to caress, to invoke your aid,
In a star within, a soul greater, in the body’s impulsive serenade.
Nature never did betray the heart that loved her!
:: 12.30.2023 ::
Upon yon hill whose sheltering hollow told
A mournful tale echoed by the distant dale,
My spirit bowed to hear the twofold fold,
And there I lay to catch the sorrow’s wail.
Ere long, a wan maiden, a heart turned frail,
Tore papers, shattered rings in anguished disdain,
A tempest in her world, sorrow’s wind and rain.
A woven hive of straw crowned her pale head,
A shield from the sun for her countenance worn,
Where fleeting glimpses of beauty once tread,
Now lingered, a carcass, faded and torn.
Time, with his scythe, youth’s bloom had not shorn,
Nor had youth completely its lease surrendered,
Some beauty through the lattice of age tendered.
Her napkin oft she raised to her tearful eyes,
Where characters of woe were carefully displayed,
Cleansing the silken symbols with briny sighs,
In a sea of sorrow where grief had waded.
She read the contents, her soul invaded,
And often cried in undistinguished woe,
In clamors both high and low.
Her gaze at times aimed at celestial spheres,
As if in battle with the cosmic intent;
Yet, her eyes sometimes tethered by earthly fears,
To the rounded earth, in submission, they were bent.
Then, their vision extended, to every place it went,
Nowhere fixed, mind and sight in distraction twined,
A disarray of thoughts and sights entwined.
Her hair, neither restrained nor formed in a braid,
Proclaimed in her a casual touch of pride,
Some strands untucked, by her hat gently laid,
Beside her pale and withered cheek they glide.
A threaden fillet some locks did abide,
True to bondage, unwilling to break free,
Loosely braided in negligent glee.
From a basket, a thousand treasures she drew,
Of amber, crystal, and beaded jet,
One by one into a river they flew,
Where she sat upon its weeping bank, her silhouette.
Like usury, applying wet to wet,
Or a monarch’s hands that withhold bounty’s fall,
Where need whispers some, excess begs all.
Folded schedules, she had many a one,
Perused, sighed, torn, and given to the flood,
Cracked rings of gold and bone, one by one,
Commanding them to find a mud-cloaked tomb they should.
More letters found, sadly penned in blood,
With silk sleek and affectedly adorned,
Sealed in secrecy, to curious eyes they were scorned.
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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