(c) E.P. Robles 2013
The immortal soul
could be a thing
upon the world
unsheathed by skin
but then again,
upon its exit
it would find
such things as bruises
and cuts and bites
Best to keep
the soul encased
in human flesh
while it visits
this monstrous place
:: 05-15-2014 ::
Despair is an anchor
with thorns —
it drowns the ship
and sinks the soul
and the hull,
a skin that bleeds
A heart — the oar
that paddles ashore
Best to use
a blessed life vest
when a storm —
that despair comes
and wisely glue shut
that gapping hawse
:: 05-15-2014 ::
i should wish to be, gain
from conception through
little feet, baby breath too
a clean slate of possibilities
i should wish to be, again
the admiration of loved ones
if i should be — again
what i was before the now
i would take a different path
such a dream i give —
my solemn vow
:: 05-16-2014 ::
resuscitation lung-death
blue a breath into
hallow barren tunnel-fright
I, mesmerized-pinwheel eyes
ate pillow lips, hot sweet breath
and death —/(m)y angel
her dark cloak flew into
a funnel-~>vortex too
and left me alone in tears
so another day in human flesh
:: 05-15-2014 ::
the grief, such a little pinch
a park bench baked seat
we too, bench and me
like the park, solemnly
where do birds fly
— my wonder, undercover
beneath the last refrain
of nature song fades…
surely not within me?
nor the park bench baked seat
which soulfully comforts me
such song (and birds) n’er die
but this grief surely will!
:: 05-16-2014 ::
To feel and express
—– that moment
mixed emotions, tangled web
A heart and word ensnared
that spider-thought
— spinning web
to die entombed
in mental cocoon
is what I fear —
what more to do!
:: 05-13-2014 ::
The incredible machinery of reality never
succumbs to broken down parts but at times
requires an oiling with its hidden gears and
coils. Every now and then a cosmic mechanic
forgets to replace a loose screw and the carefully
orchestrated illusion skips a beat and a luck (?)
soul gimpses behind the curtain. The eye that
stares back — an incomprehensible experience.
:: 05-09-2014 ::
I walked across the tender land
of a sun-baked road in skin
and the buzzards flew each step
I came across a road kill too
and the carcass smiled at me
‘so here you are in your world,
so small and captured too’
I walked past the dead philosopher
— a raccoon with a smile twisted,
and I felt caught in a psychological
cage of dreams with heat on my heels
I kept my pace and came across
a river of life and it was good
a magical being greeted me, said,
‘don’t ever let them see you bleed,
and never let them see you need.
Life, will make you cry —
living will bake you dry
caught up in a psychological cage
let me be, just let me die!
So, the road you walked came to an end
and the sign post said a few things
‘Welcome to nirvana my sweet dear friend,
you won the lottery of enteral bliss.’
What the fu*k is this psychological,
metaphysical trap of tar pit dreams
we fight to win love and smiles in?!?
‘Never let them see you smile
dream a life of wonderful dreams
and whatever makes you smile!’
said the dead philosophical raccoon
:: 05-11-2014 ::
my broken mouth spews
debris of fractured
words —–> a sharp
T O O T H cut the words
downward, alphabet drops
a crimson dew-blew, too
across the media —
of unsocial destitute
barren electronic lands
unfleshed for bare eyes
:: 05-11-2014 ::
dreaming I dream of nothing
if I dream I should dream of you
but my dreams are empty
as that country road yonder
and if I should dream some day
it would be of you and lips
a dream unlike ever dreamed
my passion dreams such things
untouched by flesh or soul
unblemished lips I dream
untouched heart I wish
my dreams one day come true
until then I dream of nothing
my dreams wait for own as you
:: 05-09-2014 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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