Tag Archives: #poetry

POETRY WIVES

waiters and presidents
bartenders and poetry-wives
this pitiful boring life
was self-appointed without
the gavel’s gravel of
broken words

the water’s fire dozes
off to become forgotten dust
of aurora borealis’ gaze
the payment of perforated lies
cuts deeper than the blade’s
edge of forty days and nights
as my poems begin to really hurt
i feel so bare so hard to cry
having known that unknowing is
like hating but loving my ex-wives
(who i fought for love before)
so waiters and presidents
bartenders and poetry-wives
this pitiful boring life
was self-appointed without
the gavel’s gravel of
broken words

:: 01.10.2022 ::


PARASITIC PLANT

i touched your leaf
then ran away
and some of you
came home with me
parasitic plant
how i feel
is how you see
a blade of grass
without a leaf
a buried soul
within a root
a beating heart
inside the tissue
of a vine
i’m blown away
all because of you

And by your method
you germinate
as my soul abdicates
releasing myself
inside your life
lovely hungry
parasitic plant

:: 01.10.2022 ::


PERFECT SMILE WITH CROOKED TEETH

BENEATH my adoration
i see you my whore
the one who is dying
runs to hide living
under the skirt of
unseen skies

No one sees this mystery
like a headstone within
a forgotten graveyard
rare as the fennec beyond
a mirage and golden leaf lard

as sacred memories fill my
pockets with destroyed evening’s
stars

lavation

:: 01.10.2022 ::


SEXY TOWER

THAT GREAT BASTARD
crawling :
kissed bad blue feelings

/dogs barking at shadows
tore a paper moon\

a giant dildo swaying
atop Chrysler building___

Fay Wray screaming

“Empire State building creates
more feeling.”

as i knew.

:: 01.08.2022 ::


ONE TOUCH ONE FEELING

ONE touch One feeling
outside of Time
a song sung
a door to enter
just one sore loser

A single flash of light

One flesh One religion
to give life rights
and goddamn wrongs

no blood no stains
~~~ we all have a dream
so sweet in illusions
and that one sweet union

How we fall into that mind
of Friedrich Nietzsche
AS ONE VOICE
ONE DECISION
FREED OF GOOD
FREED OF EVIL
—>A SUPER-HUMAN
SWEET HOPE OF UNION.

:: 01.01.2022 ::


HOLES INSIDE MY HEAD

HOLES inside my life i scream words that never heal
echoes against head and solid rock is how i fall
confusing what is real and how i burn inside

A feeling so innocuous consumes me
i find myself inside another cedar box of
insecurity — crawling inside skin
fearing how i feel and how without confidence
never shows my reflection against the tears you
shed –> so denied by life and love
feeling how i react to discomfort
so close to the edge maybe i should break
the creative walls i created closing against
this will i stood by /collapsing walls
over and over like before \
everyone saying stay safe : even if you’re not
with me i am with you — how i see it /i fell
toward the floor by a bullet | it’s how i
felt promised by your angelic face and your voice
— even if you’re not with me I’m with you.

it’s the end of December and forever new years.
apart and part of how i pushed it all away/
how to give it all away is a simple thought.
It’s my last December of snow covered trees.

:: 01.01.2022 ::


THE WORLD SMELLED OF BURNING HOPE

FOLDED are the burnt angelic wings, my last heavenly fight where all celestial beings bled
golden blood, and afterward all wines flowed.

Today i pour thankfulness and tears into a chalice older than the rocks i sit upon.

How temporal beings unknowingly acting out the last drama above their heads.

Entrusted sacred Heart i have armed against injustice.

The stage hand chooses the curtain’s openings and closings.

Watching as i remove cosmic dust from my brow many living and nonliving things around
me perish.  Enough!  To manage erasure of hope I nakedly rode the wild beast’s silent
leap to perish all joy.

Hiding behind human skin, how admired and hated.  One of love one of scorn.  Alone, broken,
poor, destituded within a face not living but dead they do not ever see.  A poet once said,
“they won’t kill you any more than if you were a corpse.’
History of incredible folly.  A mind uniquely landscaped by the cosmic bang  i destroy all
understanding of word and stanza, painted the color of vowels!  A beauty, E quisite, I loved, O  you, U nless i am a dreamer dreaming me.  

:: 01.01.2022 ::


ULULATED PERFUMED SCREAMS

ALWAYS remember money isn’t everything
a little nonsense now and then
is relished by the poorest wisest men

THAT Everyone refused to feed him
as his mind a dam of dynamite
moved his tongue like the sea
so easy — sister taught him to ululate
without mushrooms — spirits dug deep
with their thin fingers inside that mouth
to pull out mine! Laid out the soul
against the scentless voice organ
while Baptist wept kissing viper snake.
Father smelled as semen and aunties grabbed
the buttocks with smushy breasts against
my cerub face singing:

leleleleleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

loco loco crazy motion train
appreciating nonsense requires a severe
interest in Life : digress!
COMMUNAL STUPIDITY yea.

FAUCI the prophet offers a life free
of pain with vicious vacs of nonsense.
But Nature differs.

Dying laughing i saw myself within my
pupil an evolution of sense, in a sense
the evolution of nonsense.

:: 12.28.2021 ::


SEE ME WHILE THE WIND BLOWS THROUGH MY SOUL

I am here with Favorites
and I am with No One
I am Love and the world Hates
Inside mental Estates
Compared upon merits
by profane scarlet objects
universal law sealed false
bonds of Love as oft as mine!

:: 12.28.2021 ::


The Silver Axe (Reprised)

Category Archives: #analogies
April 23, 2021
THE SILVER AXE
By EPRobles
He wondered with horror how so many memories, so many forms to be branded on his skin and engrave there.

Then the wet rattle of a twisted throat, and he beats his last breath to his knees, gazed on from above as the wheezing thing sagged, and began on his shoes.

One God looked in that one eye of him, took in the whole writhing weight of him, and, from the spine of that beast, blew the darkness that will not let me alone!

It is yet again where we find the Poet’s Muse. Her eyes are green, and they pierce backward and forward even into his head and his heart, his brain and his soul.

I have been chained to this post for six months and now I am to be hanged, it’s a winter morning, half-light.

The axe’s face is pale; its teeth are ready to cut; the poet stands slack-jawed; and waits with a satisfied grimace.

She smiles with blind malignity; I am hanging here, she begins, and her voice gears in his head, makes him mad with every anger and whimpers sound with a silver-sparkle, It is another wish shattered, this one made to whittle the Golden Ace’s life down to a ring so narrow and brutish and pale and inhuman.

The writer cannot see her but his ears are mad With unspoken sounds.

She has left dark-green circles.

He had tried to fill them with wonder and beauty; she: they’re her, only more so, every blot and abrasion cunningly and by dark cunning by her own hand, ever more revolting; why the hell did you bring that creature with you?

There is nothing for you to do, (the axe growls). You cannot even reach me.