A woman is as feather
in the word Muted accent and our
silly thoughts loveable
Deep chocolate throat
always an adorable, graceful
face in tears smiles
toward me — the liar is
a woman wishing she had
something other than me:
a poet writing just words
we are nude loving
our own paintings___see.
How i love you
and me/this precious thing
is called beautiful woman/
eating all of me as always
i cut short my poetry.
:: 03.08.2022 ::
I had fallen asleep but I must awaken as
there is a hunger in my gut.
I am deeply disturbed and need to go for a walk
to breathe in and breathe out.
I need to see the moon in the sky:
a jagged soul from within
like the moon on the night that the darkness falls.
A body that illuminates the soul and dreams.
A soul that cares, a soul that dreams.
A soul that will not take pleasure in blood.
A soul that hates.
A dark soul, a soul of sin.
A soul that soothes the soul.
A body filled with dreams and a mind that needs air.
A soul that dreams of black diamond moons.
A man created the sun inside her
and his hands were beautiful.
She was a woman with blood dripping on her thighs.
She was a woman with dark blue eyes that were masked by tears;
a woman who smiled in ecstasy and as child
that was hollow.
A woman with a young soul and a tormented mind.
A woman made of air, like the moon.
:: 03.07.2022 ::
I wonder if your tears have finally run dry, or if they’re just leaking through your ears and your open mouth.
A tear spills over and lands on my cheek. I wipe it away with the palm of my hand, and you look up and see me wiping my own tears away.
You try to smile and lean in for another kiss, but I’m struggling. I’m thinking about what will happen to us if I do get to live. You see my hesitation, but continue, keeping your smile intact. The kiss begins to feel awkward, but still I kiss your forehead. It’s a goodbye kiss. You open your eyes and smile. You make a big gulping noise, and throw yourself into the ocean. The water covers me and I begin to sink with you into the abyss.
I hope that you’ll find your way back to me. Follow/
You open your arms for a hug, and I walk into them. The world around us, while still extremely wet, I knew how it felt to stand within your thin arms.
:: 02.05.022 ::
See the world in your own blood, O Lamb of God, and tell what it is to be Christian!
He muttered something and lit a match, took it out and turned the bowl on its side with
the flame he blew on his fingers and began to scrub the side of his neck.
The heat of the sun threw up the dust of a landscape spread out below him, the sunlight
dappling all the long lines of the ramparts, the clustered cottages and the dying orchards.
The rich gold of the mountains and rivers changed the morning into a golden sunset,
the muddy fields turned deep red and purple and the village put a million shafts of yellow
and pink and purple and rose into the space of the brook beneath.
In that space, bidden by the holy spirit, he saw four figures draw up in a little boat.
The loch was deep and dark as pitch, there was nothing but a long narrow clear channel
and the dark outline of the bank. The edges of the boat gleamed darkly against the blackness.
One by one the figures rose out of the boat and set foot on the water. They stood upright now,
the outline of their bodies lifting and falling as they stepped out. In the sunlight they stood
almost as if they were made of gold. They turned round towards him.
—We are the brethren of Christ!
They spoke together, in counterpoint, in beautiful voices. They had broad shoulders and long legs
like Roman centurions and soft arms and breasts. Each of them was golden-haired, the long wings
of their breasts almost showing between the golden folds of their veils. They wore jewels of gold,
and heavy gold chains hung down around their necks. The shadow of their figures moved gently in
the sunlight, and the river spread out before them, full of light.
—Beautiful! cried the Shard of Light.
It looked away down the slope, at the village, where the only white faces were the white toes of
the youngest children.
—My dear sir, said a voice from the boat.
-What is was always.
:: 03.05.2022 ::
WE are kin of the soil
but dig with bare hands only what needed and no more
what are my bones function?
there is the answer but I am forbidden to give it
i am to swallow all this raw meat
and what if the meat is maggotous?
what if the meat is breast cancer?
what if the meat is smoke-polluted?
what if the meat is mold-riddled?
what if the meat is wet from someone else’s shit?
how am I to know the truth?
never will I know.
is this why no one else takes this thing seriously?
and what is covered with a bit of tar emriculated pavement —
not tarred but organic and tarless emriculated — as my knees
like lemons when I kneel on it — I have nothing to fall down
to lose so I kneel in her tireless, humid, viscous astringency —
and all the arteries of my body cry out with their own unique melody
when I kneel to receive my fecund material gift from the dirt –
and this body now crushed in this specific form is the very image
of an ultimate answer to my continual dilemma of achieving what is
defined and defined is that it’s onewe are kin of the soil
:: 03.05.2022 ::
(*Onew Condition: the ability to freeze the atmosphere with a lame joke or gesture; to be excessively clumsy.)
An indulgence is granted, on those dark days
when the moon is low, those long nights when a
human heart is starved of light:
and pleases guests with a Wine-Swilling charm;
your thimbleful will mellow your tongue and distill bliss.
But when the Silver Ox-herd, his bell by his side,
Doth wail, and give himself’ drink for drink,
to drown his hunger With such thrills of bliss
as deafen him to rest, then set a jewel in the skin of a
silver deer.
Fairy Traits
Luxuriant Beauty
Exquisite Scent
Twinkling eyes
Falling from perfect blue skies.
Glowing in the Moon’s Beam
Dancing on diamonds,
Immortal in the eyes of Fairy
How we showed a way for the
better young b’cause you were
born for all the world to see
we can Live in Life and Peace.
No more wars
No more presidents
A united World of Love
And when the the children cry
we know we failed
And when the chidren cry
in Joy we Know we tried.
For all the world.;;
:: 03.02.2022 ::
Sweet \ Rains new fall, sunlit from Heaven like the first dewfall on the first grass.
Praise for the sweetness of the wet garden sprung in completeness where His feet pass.
Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning.
Plant me in His hand and get rid of my feelings, curse me with my faults and put me
into your lap, Get rid of my blemishes and make me beautiful.
Praise me with psalms and hymns and songs of praise. Praise for the woman with her hands
blessed AND hear my cry, you are my guide, lord of my life.
The Lord has opened to me a door of mercy and gave me the grace of Your hand and light
shone around me with rays of great love.
Like the first dewfall on the first grass
Praise for the sweet pleasures of the morning
Foam in my eyes, and trembling in my knees,
Like the first dewfall on the first grass
Praise for the sweet pleasures of the morning
Flower-strewn at dawn, I am lifted in thine arms
But my soul I leave at the tomb of Thy death
Praise me with songs, I live to praise, praise with psalms and hymns and songs of praise.
Praise for the woman with her hands blessed
Hear my cry, you are my guide, lord of my life
The Lord has opened to me a door of mercy.
:: 03.02.2022 ::
Such were the words.
An old poet friend came to me, in 2010, to write poetry for a compilation I was putting together.
On that visit, he gave me a composition, the title being:
‘Silver Cord’.
I asked what the poem was about, knowing that I was going to write poetry about dying,
and a theme I was sure I wanted to explore.
He then told me that, this poem was also about the love we all hold so dear.
The poem depicts our link, from the beginning, to the end.
A relationship forged in the fire of human desire, bound together by a golden cord.
The poem is personal.
As the love-connection is inter-twined in the poem, it also represents my own.
The poem reminds me, at every opportunity, to love, and even if you never see your loved one again, you still hold them in the golden cord of love.
I am so glad, in my final days, that I can tell you all that I have loved and have been loved by; that love and that love will always be a part of me.
I had often wondered why the end of life happens in the way it does; why a person can die in the arms
of someone they loved, and know that they were loved.
But the poem has answered that question, and reminded me that the end is only the end, when we love.
Our life is just the beginning, our love is a golden cord, which links us all, and there is a joy and a love that goes beyond any pain, beyond any worry, beyond any ending.
We find beauty, harmony, and love where no one expected.
In death, love remains a relationship, not an ending.
I hope you enjoy the poem, now that I have managed to record its beautiful melody!
You, dear life, will remain in my golden cord!
P.S. I had left the poem here on my website, a few years ago.
I feel, it is time to bring it back.
I am sorry if this message seems cryptic.
It is my final gift to you.
My love to all my family and friends.
P.P.S. A special thank you, to my close friends.
You are the only ones who know the truth!
Signed
The Carnival Clown
L O V E S W A R M A C H I N E
Unstable eyes stand stubborn:
skinFlesh kid won’t mourn
agan wearing sackcloth.
Hard-hearted Emerald hearts
of grandiloquent minds weep
some scorned — such poverty.
Flower face forgot – me/not
between stones paving
gavel grave ground/unpicked
hearts; pare boned.
I created the greatest monster
called language: damned the howling shroud
across the moor raving/upon a leash we wept
knowing which souls go into bare rooms:
the blank untenanted air.
yeah.
and darknest never left. Not a sound.
:: 02.28.2022 ::
a passion of darkly cast hooks
screaming my name hey look
black sweet blood
mouthfuls having fits
hauls me through the air
:: 02.26.2022 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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