Tag Archives: #words

March 29, 2021

THE KILLER’S WIFE

By EPRobles

has seen the world before in her spirit trapped in this shell and the policeman enters and her soul remains in the greenish paper room of yesteryear.
:: OCTOBER 31, 1960 ::=
THE NEW AVENUE: ONBOARD THE DEATH VALLEY
This week we are leaving the bowels of the west and riding the train out to the sun with a fat young man whose skin is the color of butter IN THE GARAGE with the knotty hands and half empty milk cartons
he fixes a weathered Oldsmobile –];
. THE CHURCH on the hill
BUDDY, TED, JERRY
: .“SCHWARTZMAN,
HOW DOES it FEEL, SAN FRANCISCO?”
: .“WELCOME TO THE DEATH VALLEY,
CHANCEY,
THANK YOU, TED, SON, YOU’RE THE BEST!!”
: .“So, say hi to your dad for me, ya good
MAN!!
:”
: .“HEY,CHANCEY,
JUST GIVE ME ONE MORE RIDE, SON, I GOTTA GET THIS FUCKING
YANKEE SANDBLAST SUIT FIXED UP AND SHADED before the Prez
:”
:: NO

:: 03.28.2021 ::

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March 29, 2021

LITTLE BOY

By EPRobles

Hath fed the common purpose That draws the very heart of man, to the sacrificial hero!
Dangerous and promising are these dreams which seem to come from the heart’s deep recesses,
as have cast a spell of melancholy that leaves one dim.

Only by speaking about them in former times, has the world appreciated these voices from the skies.
There are no age limits, neither to the quest for spiritual growth, nor to its testing.

Beneath each of these mysteries, some preface and others express the grandeur of a true meaning;
some have shed new lights, some, disturbing.

The grandest have revealed new truths, no matter how strong the prose, the content has to be true.
To reach a mystical insight the words which the thoughts themselves preface, express;to understand the concrete problems the language must have been created by the body of man’s brain to reach it, the mind must have been perfected.

No matter what subject has been investigated it has in common three fundamental elements.

They are reason, the senses, and a grandeur: and when they interact with each other in perfect harmony the knowledge of truth is attained; the deepest, most true meaning is comprehended. We learn what is true
when our instincts are the tools to do what we know to be so; we lose ourselves when we do not know what we are; and we should know our own nature when we have used our minds to understand ourselves.

Reaching the depths of the unknown, understanding the whole nature of things, you attain an ascent to light:
like the body in a dream defeated by the weight of the body, the body in an inner form makes its way up from depths of darkness: and when one experiences this one is reborn; and when one sees this one is changed: ‘Twas in this way the poet was reborn upon this earth; and all he could atone for his human failures.

This is a melody about a man on a mountain who hears the voice of the moon and, unknown to himself, alighted with the noble heart. But the mystic of the moon was an empty moon: ‘Twas of the body of man the moon had no heart; only that of his body could he love. In his despair he sought to sacrifice his flesh. But the voice of the heart and the words from it frightened him. Then he walked on the world through the nights of the year and dwelt in deep oblivion. But what could be said to him, in his darkness, when, suddenly, a light shone through the darkness? That was his awakening, it was a vision of an inner light which drew him towards the universe. He went back to his own child, and he passed along the familiar path but what was the purpose? He sought a hidden light to brighten his way: but when he reached the end of the firmament, there was no light. How could it come from below when there was no light above?

This is a story of a mother in her humble home with a little child in her arms, who is nursing, and unaware of the wonderful events to come, in spite of her heart’s eagerness and in spite of her pride. His little fingers possess the world with an innocence which the immovable forces Avenge and they are known by a loving heart. In the courtyard she prays: but who she prays for? The next she sees he is walking down the stairs : with him goes his hand and he stretches out his little arms when the little boy reaches out his hands
and they know each other. But there is no single sound of their happy greeting nor is there a single person
they meet: the space is also their meeting place.

Life.

:: 03.28.2021 ::

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March 26, 2021

POETIC PAINTINGS

By EPRobles

SHE would pull back her hands to her sides, her furrows bear poetic paintings with a past unfolded in crosshatch, reprimands to the unblinking, to the untried to never covet an hour lost and found, the length of a sunset, a sun weighing us down, now or then looking away to a beach that doesn’t seem our way, reputed for its unchanging coral reefs and saying it’s way more glorious than the beach next door, as we know, the one nobody cares to swim into.

Then my hips, already weak, begin to shake though when you come with me, if we should go by car, we’re together, on ground heavy that your steps cannot change.

I must say more, but you know the story. You must hear the secret though only the Sages were allowed to hear it.

It is a light; my dark world turns into a coffin light, the whole thing collapsing, if i miss you, my sadness begs, but there are no answers what to do when everything in you, in all of us weeps for absence.

Better for the room’s overhead to be darkness, for me, for my heart’s an end that must not bend, a blade lost in sand. Can no healing be between our two lonely hearts without me weeping and no consolation
without you wanting to know, when we’ll fall in love again?

Want to buy a song give a gift of musical genius the way we never stop loving, until I can be safe again.

I’ve lived alone for the last thirteen years, still living off my memories of her, but having no contact with her — except for my last few days, of course.

I wrote the only song I can sing now, and there were no lessons to be had in any language even if you had known about me, about how I suffered in my anger, from the depth of my despair,
you would not have come near.

:: 03.26.2021 ::

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March 17, 2021

DEMIGOD RUMOURS

By EPRobles

By this time she began to pant with the effort of speaking and died. The grief of her children was doubled, as was that of their father, and he swore before the woman whose heart had broken that he would never again be destroyed by fire, and would walk out from his house to dwell by the sea.

The gods were shocked to their foundations. They believed that they had truly killed Zeus and had been giving his body to live; for the children would come to the holy site of Delphi to praise him as they remembered his glory and proclaim their great dread. On their approach they met the priests in the street, but the fathers waved their children away, and said ‘They think they are honouring the Greek gods. They are not worthy of our esteem!’

‘Why not?’ asked a young girl who wanted to know, ‘Why should the Greeks think we are honouring Zeus? We are honouring a great man, the greatest being in the universe.’

Her mother, an oracle, retorted:

‘You are saying foolish things! Your father has sworn, and your sister has sworn, and so have I! So let this death of our mother be an eternal lesson to you! Whoever else shall say such a thing, shall by my hand or by the hand of your children be flayed.’

This brought him to his senses, and he put his arm through his daughter’s, and declared:

‘I would die gladly for the Greek gods, but we shall stand together on one side or the other, and offer the fire to the gods of Zeus as a sacrifice for the foundation of their city. If they refuse it, we shall always come to their aid, as we did in the great and terrible earthquake that was prepared for this very day.’

He died in peace, though at first it was rumoured that the gods had destroyed him, when he refused to go against them.

:: 03.16.2021 ::

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March 16, 2021

SHE LEAVES BEHIND FOR THE END OF TIME

By EPRobles

Thus men tumbled, whilst each struggled for peace;
And the lives of one overlaid and those of the other,
and fortunes of two falleth to the first:
which, when few lived, did vie with one another;
and now half died, so that now one lives.

Tho’ to each a body to live, yet they grapple
upon one common body; thus this strife
of gods, and men, and air, and water,
the product of long labouring labour,
bringing tenfold glory to Caesar’s era.

Then seeing which only worked greater grief
and loathsome toil, what I should in this short space fail to copy,
i reflected on those works that I thought most difficult,
And composed the poem above, to divide the toilsome march
with one finished task to be done; and yet to finish
with a sigh and a droop, a little less evil than it began,
but therefore nobler in sentiment than it began.

So therefore, last rites and unhappily now,
this song, until next next time, alas! thus sad.
Oh but these thrills and comforts that Nature gives,
which every hour she bestows, are, alas!

Till last year, little could reach those whom Nature
possessed by the book of science, but such
as she leaves behind for the end of time!

:: 03.16.2021 ::

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January 29, 2021

LAT DOLCE VITA (the sweet life)

By EPRobles

There’d be no unemployment, no crime, no war for profit; no environmental hell
for thousands of good-hearted lives.

You can’t just take so much paper so putting it off would mean at least ten
not calling till the 11th hour and hoping that you’ll forget what you needed —
i’m in a zoo somewhere between silence and (a)the mad hatter’s court of love
where the loneliness could prove impossible; i’ve been way too loquacious all day
all this time i’ve been riding in this very leather-bound bus how’d i get to this
zoo? maybe too much of this
counting bills counting wheat in the fields
counting my cash on the street
counting time in a silence-devoid world
The natural state of mankind is boredom trying to find the meaning in something so small
i’ve got too many words up in my head!
If you see a stranger carrying an extra pair of sunglasses, don’t steal them. We all
have them. They’re free.

Once in a lifetime, you meet someone who seems to have no fear. They don’t blink. They have
nothing to lose. I used to wish there was someone like that in my life, but all I’ve got
is a little bit of fear.

You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy. What can I say?
Lizard-head heartbroken the love has gone — boo hoo you’re so fine, mama
: first wind it and you want to know if I still love you?

YOU, COME IN HERE, DON’T LEAVE until YOU’VE JOKED AND BEEN WRITTEN!
TIME DRIVER, THE NAMECHE MACHINE la dolce vita what a wonderful disguise
and this has been my argument ever since it’s as true today as it was then, for there’s a new king
who’s clothed in human suffering’s radiance treating it like toothpaste to his face
waiting for us to laugh at the pretend form of our wives and to learn from the conman; he’s played
all his own moves, but he’s still just a kid.
So we all shut up, on a rampage of rants and sarcasm to serve the king’s audacity; nobody wins forever
who’s ever been “the funny” when you wanted to be “the wise”?
we’re here to pick up the pieces, we get the job done, we go home
we’ll never see the boy king’s face until the queen’s hair grows back
(and he gets wise and goes home to his queen and gets “the funny” back) if the boy king turnS on us
we’ll all be dead, so, sing, ride, don’t sweat the consequences of casual cynicism, anything goes;

wear my crown and be the greatest boss of all.

i love you.

:: 01.29.2021 ::

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January 28, 2021

WE DO NOT WAKE UP

By EPRobles

We do not wake up, there is a valley of sorrow and misery, and in the center a dark demon glares with a hatred we cannot understand, a knowledge we cannot see.

We know nothing, we are nothing, we sit in a valley of weeping for ourselves, we realize there is no one to help us, and we wish that when the heart of love is finally destroyed andwe can fall into ourselves, into our true nature.

It is sad, but from it comes the healing, when we realize that we are sick in ourselves and we must reach out to a partner who will touch us in the wound, so that the poison may slowly be expelled, so we can live as an organism, as we were born to do.

I think we have to take the time to come to this realization that we want to stay with our minds.
We have been damaged by our children by ourselves and by other forces, and the hardest thing to do is to come to terms with this.

It is easy for a mother to give birth, but it is hard for her to watch her child grow into a whole and healthy man while she is always behind.

She feels anxious, frightened of losing what little she has left to give. Men do not share this fear. They are not even afraid of death.

They think they know the world and their problems, and they will always keep fighting.

We do not even need to understand their logic nor to get inside their heads. They are in the middle of an existential war they are always fighting against something they do not even know.

So men do not need to fear, and if they do, it is because they are hard and cold, with their knives and guns and dogs that bite.

A mother is afraid:

if her child will not return from school
if he will not come back after a quarrel
if he is running around with another girl
if he does not read.

A man is afraid of something else, i don’t know what.

We are not animals.
We are thinking beings.
We feel too much,
we talk too much,
we have to communicate our deepest thoughts to others,
then we must understand their thought processes and their weaknesses, and they must understand ours.

But we must learn to communicate with ourselves, to love ourselves, because as a creature we are vulnerable.

But also as a thinker, we are loved, we can love other creatures, our children, even the world.
At one time there was a wild animal hunting in the hills, when he came upon a village it was a very sad time.

The men had been working hard and not having any luck.
But the women were crying,
saying, “You do not need to work so hard, my beloved men,
there are big dreams, there are old dreams,
as old as the hills. We love you so much that we wait for you,
we send you messages when you do not see them, we touch your dreams
with our minds, we send you questions, we can tell you how we feel
for you, because the animal knows that he is loved.”

The women watched the animal as he ate and drank,
smelled the air, noticed their faces.
Then he got up from his seat, moved through the village,
and let himself be known.

He held out his paw to the men and it was accepted with joy.

Some ran to touch him.

He led the women into the village and they welcomed him into their homes,
and wept for joy.

I thought, “The creatures know they are loved.”

But they also know that they are afraid of dying, that their own blood can come to kill them.

I thought, “The animals are in danger, too.”

But they do not know this, because they are not close to their fear, they do not realize it is very close to them,
close in their minds.

And when I thought these things, I heard a noise in the jungle,
the sound of a motor.

It made my ears ring, but it did not frighten me.
The animal took a few steps toward it.

But it did not know where it was coming from.

And when it did, it took off.

In the meantime, in the village, all of the men had stopped working.

They were talking.

They were trying to understand each other.

They were moving their hands in the air.

They were communicating.

Some of the women went to touch the men.

They started crying.

Some held their husbands and children.

They were giving away the little they had.

Their own blood had turned to blood of the animal.

That is why they are always thinking of the animals.

Then they saw me.

I was walking with the animal,

and we had gone to a cave.

I think the animal wanted to give something to the women.

I thought,

“the animal is giving away a piece of himself,

but I will stay with him.”

So I went inside with him.

Inside, the air was cold.

It was dark.

But I had a light,

and my blood made a light.

There was a pungent smell.

The eyes of all the creatures were fixed on me.

But they did not frighten me.

I have been here before.

I was here when I made the first birds.

:: 01.27.2021 ::

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January 25, 2021

NOW MY GOWN AND TULLE

By EPRobles

Now my Gown and Tulle
feel the Wind that weaves a Shade –
and on the roof i cannot tell
since the picture there is –
because Time, a Form, stood a-hiding
and well It did.

Words and Music (my own)
Performed by James Dale
and Love.

“He is oft-injured by his men
or with their Menages,

‘I think I hear him say:
“His Portents are the Dews –
His Words the Dews – and Mine –
His Ends are Ieya’s.

“I wish this next Scene were ended
with the Destination of my own Fate –
“The Flight of Orpheus, I suppose,
“Off the Coast of Homer’s Folly –
Or Death – to Eternity.”

Futility was King in the play, under the pen of D. H. Lawrence.
I hope he was a reader of Shakespeare.

Well, I cannot write about this.
It is really too late.
There was an early book, and there is always another.
The fact that Lawrence is a poet is very well known;
and many of his poems have been put to music.

i have heard those – sometimes for many times – though
i should hate to go against the dead.

A great deal is being written about D. H. Lawrence
in the second decade of the twenty-first century.

:: 01.26.2021 ::

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January 22, 2021

ROADSIDE BILLBOARD SLOGANS (1940s-1960s)

By EPRobles

TOASTER oven sandwich grin on the family corner market keeping all the secrets within your baby warehouse teach your kids about love. Take 30 percent off their soul and i like your mouth come on in; let life fill your pie hole-soul & don’t go bacon my heart
: i couldn’t if I fried! and you can’t drink all day if you don’t start in the morning! and T.Troup was a chemist i’ve been missing life reading-seeing soundbite lies; the first concentrated lies come from roadside billboards like-life riding in a Chevrolet.


THE thing what IS IT? a golden opportunity sale family fun!  shakes & funnel cakes ~~ beef jerky too! and Wall Drug sells coffee for 5 cents a time ago

“YOUR MESSAGE HERE”


for 300.00 a month

:: 07-05-2015 ::

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January 22, 2021

SO NOW

By EPRobles

so now

That the Iris opens her eyes upon early morning sun
that the wind dances her showy flowers and is luck
the lost voice of forgotten lovers?

some Not

when wind forgets its dance and green devours
(feelings) by nature’s beauty shall the fisherMen
of hearts sail from continent to unknown places;
their gravely instilled by amorous desire.

some NullAS not would never go there.

:: 01.21.2021 ::

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