Tag Archives: #surrealism
the Dolls scream in laughter plastic tears
fall into fiery flames while i pass away
into a false floor beneath my Soul — the
cymbals clash with a grimacing monkey making
noise and the angels’ fingers pinch while
pulling me away from the madhouse of my Mind
— let me go! IF all my Love was a cult
of fake believers within me then sweet dreams
and what i know i face myself so go
erase my existence within your minds; all
you thought of me. All my intention,
brought to service of just cause, against
raging disturbances of insanity.
i love. i breathed. ate.
married. divorced. tried
against all odds to survive.
:: 05-08-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #abstract, #madness, #mental, #poetry, #surrealism, #words | posted in #poetry, Uncategorized
Her faith in love was a drowning fisherman
and the blood upon her lips flowing as a muleta.
But her soul as a hearth with brilliant embers
reaching upward forming a dancing vortex.
and the tears, the flowing tears of her eyes shone
brighter than a granted wish of any heart.
“Sing for me my Soul,
that God believe in me!
–hope, that periscope by inkwell
shall show me the land of my own
people that think as me.
That love as me.”
The thunderous voice of Silence
spoke and so it was and so it is!
:: 04-27-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c)
2 Comments | tags: #abstract, #hope, #lonely, #love, #peace, #poetry, #poets, #surrealism, #waiting, #war, #wish, #words | posted in #poetry, Uncategorized
TIME forgot his pants and trolled
his minute across her face;
Space won the bet with regret
and built a house of dreams
upon a reef with roof balanced
— the territory of a stormy sky
perched with drying fish. My
Pisces in pieces drowned inside
the deeply fractured aquarium
of Aquarius.
Zoe my Zoe my Zoe
so so so suddenly!
Zodiac sign is flickeringly
broken!
Life.
:: 04-27-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #abstract, #greek, #life, #meanings, #poetry, #stars, #surrealism | posted in #poetry, Uncategorized
regret rides in upon a ghostly carriage
no, nothing within it’s shell but darkness
which done to me that all is equal
the driver a bald lie of pain with memories
which road i no longer ride.
:: 04-25-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c) 2019
2 Comments | tags: #expression, #poetry, #surrealism, #words | posted in #poetry, #words, Uncategorized
THE world is committed to insanity;
our words stacked as skyscrapers
allow ants characters to escape
flooding water
as drowned bodies float
past the windows of office space.
:: 04-25-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c) 2019
Leave a comment | tags: #ink, #memories, #paper, #surrealism, #thoughts, #words | posted in #poetry, #surrealism, #words, Uncategorized
OUTSIDE the silence the machine
E A T S my liver
screws my tender insides.
For all the failures wishing
i could not think of living
the beautiful memories
of yesterdays /i’m a failure
of tomorrows\ rolling dead
eyes in a river & thick
rooted hairs screaming |
THE END COMES so easy
watch the sunlight dim
in a moment all dream
time screams by(e)
dear___i knew not of you
but married twice believing
–>take/took my heart
and slung it around the sun.
OUTSIDE the machine
eats you & me. screws
our tender parts.
:: 04-20-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #abstract, #ink, #paper, #poetry, #surrealism, #words | posted in #abstract, #poetry, #surrealism, Uncategorized
UPON Dali’s lashes the clocks have
melted persistently as Time
battles weak waves of gravity
And then (that some whisper) a
name murmuring midnight we all
stand before the Cosmic God
who has No Name; maybe “Ah.”
As glass cocks turn to stone
the soft touch of skin burns
and then a charming strike
of lightning buries the lips
of ruins /my mother has hips
that born a grown fetus
through the strongest arms
of all forgotten women
And my heart drawn by Picasso
my face by Jesus and my Soul
by Space.
It is here
the engraving plate that
printed all humans /but the
hand of that apprentice
has left us for another
universe.\
:: 03-29-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #art, #dahli, #ink, #mind, #paint, #poetry, #surrealism, #words | posted in #surrealism, Uncategorized
FOUR blankets upon my skin
my feet horizontal off the ground
and still my balls ache like fire
like fire i’ve been away
from love too long /don’t make it a big deal\
Spectrophilia saves me at the end of the day
No sleep no dreams i’m attracted to ghosts
and the many images within all mirrors
and the love of a dead poet named Emily
Dickinson; come to me dear, don’t forget
me — i’m too sensitive And your body
is verse to the space inside the dying
heart of my bruised chest.
And only you could ever could ever
understand — its all within your prose;
to touch these things i gently hold.
:: 03-21-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #feelings, #nightmares, #surrealism, #thoughts, #words | posted in #poetry, Uncategorized
the mud between my bare toes have spoken: although i search
for someone as me in the world i am severely alone. My spine
sings a song by tonal qualities of pain; the burden of life
is heavy and it has curved my life. ? is its shape. Half
the shape of a voluptuous woman without hair. Her teeth
are enameled beasts with conquering breasts. Evil and Good
have confronted me but my reply: Go! I did not summon you.
Your friendship is not required. Death and Life are pure
concepts of biological construct. Flee. And the deepest
mysteries have been revealed. My brain has locked them away
for that singular moment when my original thought shall split
it’s atom for all to be revealed. Revelation. Like a kiss
within the cold that tears the flesh from my pouted lips.
…it comes soon.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
1 Comment | tags: #poetry, #surrealism, #words | posted in #poetry, Uncategorized
my life is and will be bitter sweet there on a road
and any road it goes. Waving hello behind me and
many goodbyes before me. When a child my mother rubbed
eggs upon my sick body. The mystery to the universe is
nothing more than ignorance. We are less than children.
And most born so deeply within sleep we never awaken.
Hello. Yes, today was cold and full of tear drops
from a swollen sky. The water broke and the child
was stillborn. It lays within a ditch next to the
homeless squirrel. The dead birds have been dying
mostly near a house close to my heart. My footsteps
are at least two feet from terror and one from
resignation. Humans. We are.
:: 04-03-2019 ::
Leave a comment | tags: #abstract, #poetry, #surrealism, #words | posted in #poetry, #words, Uncategorized
E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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