So beautiful is
OUR WORLD: later, when stars open out
to all this Time to the cold, i
opened the door : how you flew out to
Space
i am with you if you leave
A kiss upon
a wave with you i feel a bit more
Brave: from the dark through our hands,
the lust flew out into space
and i am with you (if you leave)
as we fly, as we love and die
:: 05-14-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c) 2019
HER voice — must have been how
her spoken voice was bland
so savory over lettuce leaf–
how it’s not my time; please
never forget how precious new
memories are.
bad products win again
bad product wins again
:: 05-14-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c) 2019
We deal our cards as a form
of meditation
not knowing where life is
or love
He has a fedora and boots
and doesn’t play for money
just respect
She has a natural way
scattered are the numbers
she the sword of soldiers
that’s not the shape
of paradise but war
And all our lives it’s not
the shape of my Soul
she has the royal flush
i know the remnants of war
run away from your sword
carve the shape of my Heart
:: 05-11-2019 ::
WORD is larger than
typist fingers
as emotions are as the
wealth of a single word
And as this mass of feeling,
when this thing is on point
of coming forth; our
fears, our demons attack us
with force
the word
the image
attacks the mass of feeling
life or death?
:: 05-10-2019 ::
e.p.robles(c)
poetry is more than words
it is a stage
it is a canvas
it is the sky
and more
by colliding objects
by smothering silences
by squelching shouts
there is the rhythm
of a post-language
with images
with idea
with signs
eventually born
in eternal force!
:: 05-10-2019 ::
e.p.robles(c)
No need! No deed. Just now the sun has
come to rise (and you are proud?) that her breasts
are spread upon your bed. The spider laughs near
the tightest corner of the room, but shameful you
forgot her name. To those that have offended me
none more than disheveled men who call themselves
gentlemen. Mother! Let us succumb to temptation
that brings us to harm.
:: 05-07-2019 ::
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 ::
i am one breath away from death and my
efforts are useless; the walls built
of cut stone are shocked by my bleeding
nails. My brain i saw it curl up
in steel and bounces like elastic
thoughts — my Soul never breaks so
a pity that i cannot rest. My Spirit
as an eel.
Oh dear, my dear. To those i love;
the blue skies the green waters the
lovers within their cocoons of ecstasy
never speak but touch each other’s hearts
/oh love\ Today i thought so high and
touched the ground and around around
went my mind; south as north so east
as west darling we flow with the wind
of Nature — she knows … go i go i go
so i am one breath away from death
and my efforts are useless …
:: 05-07-2019 ::
LOVE like dreams come true
as i am thinking of you
SWEET sleep like every night
that;
i go through
not forgetting of you
but having love-like dreams
all of you
Then at times i am dreaming
of why i cannot forget you
Because of you
that i shall never meet you
no, i could never hate you
instead i have sweet dreams
of you.
:: 05-07-2019 ::
e.p.robles (c)
Upon sensual Spring came birds
cacophony of hymns in chirps
was sanctuary from fatigue
of Soul and Mind.
Trees. Flowers.
all of destiny’s needs;
no mouths no lies.
Savior, lying upon the road
with broken bones and torn
lip hung like a cross; His
feet slices, with supernovae
eyes and wavy hair. My arms
reaching toward his lane
as life-traffic bombarded
effort. i am the unworthy
reaching for cosmic purity;
the human wanting to touch
Eternity. Incoherent words,
which i cannot speak here.
Upon sensual Spring came
birds. Their song marking
my Soul and Mind.
:: 05-07-2019 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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