Tag Archives: #soul

Sand Castle Within a Storm

THROUGH the valley of time
across the sphere of space
watching light dissipate
i still recall the taste
of the fallen tears from
your mouth ringing within
my heart ~~ lapping up
crashing waves of despair

How the most favorite dreams
of you wash ashore inside my head
I keep them all within my box
of cedar wood / thinking of just
one thing — souls make this happen
and sometimes i wish it’d go away.

this thing’s slowly ebbing me away
as a sand castle caught within
a storm.

:: 06.22.2022 ::


CREATIVITY AND INSANITY

IN my eyes i see nothing
comes the ghosts of life
The sun comes burning
Secret elders of seven
look down and judge me

Upon a stone of iron
i struck with my heart
my hand on the sword
my love within my heart
a traveler of sweet words

All to be revealed.

To build a tower to skies
strong we were making life
and another Voice spoke
saying, “ooh. What they
can do if we allow them.”

And the Spirit of Love
touched each heart of
our men — we confused
speaking different
and the sun lost our eyes

As i screamed i said
oooooooh oooooooh
father you confused us.

Lost in creativity and
in insanity by the river
of autumn leaves ~~~~
so the four winds of
fear came and brought me
into the celestial sphere.

:: 06.09.2022 ::


KAQCHIKEL

WHO has been so shy with the truth—
that has made the apotheosis of you an ordeal
from which you have not quite arrived? Listen:

it is the voice of those who stand near, the people you love,
who knew and loved you best. You are their sun, and you
are still this sun, still their sun, the sun of a homeland
nearer than their other homes, the center of a garden
unburdened of yews or pines, the middle way in this world.

———where was this homeland to be found,
this refuge or dance: lightness of your steps,
salt of your hair, the voice that made their hearts
inhale—over there in a Pusan train station,
in a mindhood from Hanoi, perhaps in an O’Brien family.

So let us wander together in the evenings, let the teeming
skies be clean, the mastic perfume adorning the cactuses and
trees, as these have spread its fiery fragrance, to grace the
fires of the cabanas with myriads of lighted cinders. let the
light of the evening sunset descend from behind the edge of
the Seine and bathe us with the sparkling waters of the
Ajoagua River in the region of Guatemala, where the Kaqchikel
people have danced to the music of the Fuego’s clashing pyramids. —
— the strata, the rocks, in the Pisco region of Peru.

There, yes there.
We find Love.

:: 02.05.2022 ::


I N F L A T I O N

I N F L A T I O N
(pisses me off)
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
    LEAVING this smallest of a smaller town into mystic side of living
  /came KING KONG hanging upon a ledge in upper Manhattan\ ____broken wheels
/>\ tumble ::…>

THE smell of evil is a job done well if everyone sides |||| for six dollars
you can get almost two gallons of gasoline. i fucking cry.

   I want to kiss and nearly have forgotten the last time
         to bow down and cry
    is fundamentally fucking human darling.

:: 12.17.2021 ::


MY MOTHER AND OUR LOVE

MY MOTHER said she loved me
and bar tended drinks to keep
me clothed.

AND ONE NIGHT: she was raped
and I fought two brute men
and they destroyed mother
and me.

I wept. She wept.

The howl of despair ate
our Souls.

Then there we knew humanity
and all its pain within our
heart.

She died recently.

I died then. Many years ago.

:: 10.03.2021 ::


TIME IS NEVER OWNED

OH time is never owned cause time is always loaned
you can never give more to it and you can never leave
without leaving a piece of you
so the yesterdays we were others
today we believe we are we
and how life can help one
believe we’re better than yesterday — hold up yourself
to the Living Light: i once was youth and now ageless
so believe me.
And how the sun rises
and how the seas undulate
and hearts beat…
time is never owned.

:: 08.18.2021 ::


IF YOU LOVE ME THIS MUCH

What have I said about our being soon together? It is to be believed–I hope?
Oh, what shall I do? What shall I say to you? . . . What a drama that was! . . . What sorrow! What a struggle! . . . Let’s not quarrel. May we not look only at each other for the next few days–rather let us drink in the smile of another face–let us speak so much that we forget ourselves and know of one another–there can be no sorrow, and no conflict, between friendship and love–Be so affectionate with one another as to command the two horses which are at our command to walk at a good rate–may we be only an ordinary pair of travelers, who will so walk, who will speak of ordinary things–may we have no crises, no pain, no affliction, no complaints–may we walk, walk and talk, walk and talk with one another–and thus never part–that is all I ask of you now–only to be with me–to love me with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your mind.

If you love me this much, this is enough, it’s enough, is it not? There is no room for anything else, if you love me.

I hope and desire that you love me as much as I do. If you cannot love me, I will never allow you to act in that way. If you have some special love for me, I shall always know it. I hope you will come as quickly as possible–that is what I desire. In return, let me tell you: it’s not that I want you to go away from me; I can always go with you–because I feel safe with you–you are the only sure security for my peace of mind. If you were no longer my confidant, my protector and my friend, I should not care a damn for myself.

Friend, you are the only great woman in my life. I have no one else. You are the mother of my dreams, the model of my life, the only model of my life–and you know it; I have only my home, a ruined country, as far as the edge of a dreaming frontier, from which to express my unhappiness. Oh, how I would be glad, if I could, to choose a woman–a wife!–just for myself–a good woman, rich in virtues and great respectability–but, alas, that is of no interest to me. I will not take advantage of your good nature to seek out other women. This is the limit of my sacrifice. I want no other joy. I don’t need them. I am not seeking something for myself, no–it’s that no one else should love me as you do, as I do you.

:: 08.07.2021 ::


A HUNDRED POEMS – LIII

I feared a thing untold & unseen
that thing i feared within my mind
a thing too!
Split by half in such unknowns
i strove to know:
Unraveled too which spilled upon the floor!
Imperfect thoughts rolled from higher ground to low!
Then reality’s curtain fell; my needle tired to stitch
the past when love was good!
But life ran beyond the needle and instead stitched time
within my soul.

:: E.P. ROBLES (c) 2018::

:: 05-15-2014 ::
:: 10-20-2018 ::


FRAMELESS HEADS UPON EMPTY WALLS

On the single side of my art song—my parodic air—the loveliness is perfect
because I am “last in the line.” When you sit there pondering how you got
from here to there, you forget to be there, and the years hurry by like birds,
yet without wings.

Maybe that is what poets mean by the grass between the toes: it is the kind of beauty
that strikes me as singular, and then makes me forget where I was going.

Could that be the air I am inhaling, that gorgeous little dew, the sort of fragrance
that one asks questions about. That one is good, and leaves you for another week.
I am not asking about the individual, about the wit or the sex, that one; the other
thinks she is too good for poetry and wants to hang out her pants.

The trees on Central Park West have not only dimples, but very high struts.
Many passers-by make like jumping spiders and creep along the white beech bark,
tearing off the strange multicolored pods that are the leaves of the American locust
and varnish the unenclosed bark.

For a while they seem to be all yellow, then the green reasserts itself and they all turn red.
Red like earth, red like hell. I say what I mean. Why do we make so much of appearance
and so little of meaning? If you were to sneeze on a weekday you’d make a million dollars. I’m lucky
to get one or two dollars a day for my poems, and that’s all. All my life, I’ve been scraping
and clipping in hundreds of un-sexy places. I once walked out of an interview with a magazine
that had hired me because I was willing to work for peanuts. So I said to the editor,

“I think you have the wrong guy. I’ll get a job in a steel mill, or on a frickin’ airplane,
anywhere I want.” He seemed to like that, but I can’t remember what the magazine did later. I suppose
it was less than they wanted. But that’s what I mean by avoiding the cheap. I mean always for the mind
and the intellect, as if one day the outer world were going to fall apart. When it does, maybe it will be like a tenement balcony—the floor’s going to fall out from under us.

My best poems are about love and death. I think my best poems are about women and death.
The romantic poems give me pleasure. I don’t want to forget about them; I want
to love them. I don’t want to kill them; I want to hold them.
A love that is not really love doesn’t interest me.
It is interesting to see the Queen of Sheba swat away a red and yellow butterfly that comes to you
and likes to rest on your shoulder.

But there are different kinds of love—one that wants to hold someone in a tight embrace even though
you both know that someone is going to shake loose—one that wants to hold someone
even when she’s going to leave—one that wants to hold someone when she has long learnt the fine art
of saying no.

I’m always looking for “the little door.” But there is no little door, and if there were,
I’d probably find something I’d rather do.

:: 03.24.2021 ::


TODAY HOW POETRY DAZZLES

TODAY how poetry dazzles gradually
  as rain falls slantly
our eyes surprised by equally
blind.

As children weep for adults
and adults ache for youth.

Within love lies a beating heart
and death echoes circuits of life.

Our often dismal living flesh
feels delightful in death.

:: 12.18.2020 ::