THE brain; a sheet of bloodied paper
THE mind; a big scribble
THE heart; the murderer
THE soul; along for the merriest ride
EYES aglow with moonlit wonder
I float on rivers of liquid light
SURRENDERED to universe’s plunder
IN this psychedelic reverie of night
THE boundaries blur, time slips away
AS I merge with the infinite sea,
A transient soul in a cosmic ballet,
God only knows me and sets me free.
:: 08-23-2018 ::
“Dear Papa, the oldest one,” the grand-daughter named Evelyn spoke.
“Your heart leaps as a youngster but your hair is white;
and therein I see something very youthful.
What do other’s my age think or say? Is this correct
or an aberration of adoration and love?”
“When I was younger,” said Papa, “than you I knew the things that could
muddle the mind and confuse the brain to think age has
anything to do with love or magic. To otherwise do,
I feared it would injure my brain.”
Evelyn thought as a young girl might.
“You look old but are not.” said this youth.
“because i shook the shack of a shilling box. I would
sell you some but you are mine heart.”
“How favorite, this thing papa.”
Said her papa: “never forget the magic of a heart!”
:: 04.16.2024 ::
Oh Goddess! Hear these awkward lines, wrung
By sweet memory’s force and fond reflection,
Pardon that your secrets I have sung
Even to your tender ear’s direction:
Perchance today was but a dream, or did I spy
The winged Psyche with wide-open eye?
Through a forest I wandered, lost in reverie,
Then suddenly, struck with surprise,
I beheld two figures, side by side they lie
In deep grass, under the whispering trees
Of leaves and blooms that softly sigh,
Beside a brooklet, scarcely seen:
Among hushed, fragrant flowers, with eyes of blue,
Silver-white, budding Tyrian hue,
They rest serenely on the grass;
Their arms entwined, and wings too;
Their lips not meeting, yet no farewell,
As if parted by gentle slumber’s spell,
Yet poised to share countless kisses
At the tender dawn of love’s golden bliss:
The winged girl I knew, but who are you,
O fortunate dove, her true Psyche too!
Oh most recently born and lovely vision,
Surpassing all Olympus’ old dominion!
Fairer than Phoebe’s starry height,
Or Vesper, sky’s enamored light;
Fairer than these, though without shrine,
Nor altar decked with flowers fine;
No choir of maidens to sing through the night,
No voice, no lyre, no flute, no fragrant smoke,
From censer swung in rhythmic stroke;
No sacred grove, no oracle’s sight,
No dreams of seers in the pale moon’s light.
Oh brightest one! Though late for ancient rites,
Too late for the lyre’s devoted flights,
When forest boughs were deemed sacred,
And air, water, fire, held holy:
Yet in these days, far from joyful cries,
Your radiant wings among fading deities,
I see and sing, inspired by my own sight.
So let me be your chorus, and lament
Through the quiet hours of night;
Your voice, your lyre, your flute, your sweet incense,
From the swinging censer’s dance;
Your sacred space, grove, prophecy’s essence,
Divine dreams seen through the seer’s glance.
Yes, I’ll be your priest, and raise a shrine
In my mind’s unexplored deeps,
Where thoughts, newly formed with pleasant pain,
Murmur like pines in gentle breeze;
Far and wide, dark-clustered trees
Adorn the steep, rugged peaks;
There, amidst breezes, streams, birds, and bees,
The moss-clad Dryads find peaceful sleep;
In this vast stillness, a rosy sanctuary blooms,
Woven with the lattice of creative mind’s looms,
With buds, bells, and nameless stars that gleam,
Imaginary blooms of fanciful dreams,
Each cultivated, yet never the same;
All the gentle pleasures of elusive thought,
For you to cherish and claim,
With a bright torch and a window left unbarred,
To welcome warm Love’s flame!
:: 04.10.2024 ::
Good afternoon. If even in prayer
By evening as a pauper in a chair
i have spent my life in explaining
these thousands dreams where most
are swallowing these dreams i never
ignored. And now there is one patch
of flowers explaining me.
From a golden rim step among vocal chords
pink and velvets, as gray gauzes,
and crystal disks of folly & disease
We believe and see digitalis wounds
with their centuries of no talent!
And Swearing my love, made of love
that maybe she lies — that she may
think I am unthinking /unlearned in
a world of falshitiest — on both
sides \ that she knows my days are
best undoing her tongue that she is
not unjust | Oh! best is love untold
and between us we are all undo
suppressed : by love’s inhabited
by lies we flatter be.
In spite of hate and love
In realization I am the one
lost in this cage____
the only one \now weeping/
Christ.
:: 04.08.2024 ::
In twilight’s tender grasp, where shadows twirl,
A cathedral of dreams, in whispers unfurl.
Its stones sing with silver and gold’s gleam,
A harmony divine, like a poet’s dream.
La Catedral, a symphony in stone,
Where passion’s echoes in soft whispers are sown.
With each note, a solace, a comforting balm,
In its embrace, our hearts find their calm.
Through ancient corridors, love’s tale weaves,
Guitar strings dance, as each heart believes.
Emotions vast, untamed, set free,
In this hallowed place, where souls meet in glee.
La Catedral, a sanctuary of sound,
Where deepest yearnings of the soul are found.
With each chord struck, a closeness we feel,
To its rhythm, where dreams gently steal.
In silence, beneath the starry night’s glow,
We pour our souls in melodies that flow.
Within La Catedral, where dreams alight,
In every refrain, love takes its flight.
A beacon in darkness, guiding our way,
La Catedral, where memories sway.
With each gentle pluck, a story told,
In its halls, where love’s mark takes hold.
So let us linger in this sacred space,
Where time and music tenderly embrace.
In La Catedral, our spirits soar high,
In the symphony of night, forever nigh.
:: 04.02.2024 ::
Lost, oh love lost
but someday
I will be there
Now, oh now love
within a sunrise
I am here now
bathed golden hues
embraced within dawn’s
gentle grace
where every heartbeat
finds solace
and every sigh
whispers our tale
In the silent symphony
of morning
our souls entwine,
boundless and free
here, where time stands still
love blooms eternally
Through a labyrinth
of moments past
we’ve journeyed,
hand in hand
and now, the break of day
love reigns, steadfast and grand
So fear not shadows of yesteryears
for in this dawn’s embrace
our love finds its home
and in each other, we find our place
:: 04.02.2024 ::
THE VOICES OF LONG DEAD WISE MEN
WHEN in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary
for one people to dissolve the political bands which have
connected them with another, and to assume among the powers
of the earth, the separate and equal station to which
the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle
them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires
that they should declare the causes which impel
them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all
men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator
with certain unalienable. Rights, that among these are Life,
Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these
rights, Governments are instituted among Men,
deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,
—That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive
of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it,
and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such
principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most
likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments
long established should not be changed for light
and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind
are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than
to right themselves by abolishing the forms to
which they are accustomed. But when a long
train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce
them under absolute Despotism, it is their right,
it is their duty, to throw off such Government,
and to provide new Guards for their future security.—Such has been the patient sufferance of
these Colonies; and such is now the necessity
which constrains them to alter their former
Systems of Government. The history of the
present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute
Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let
Facts be submitted to a candid world.
He has refused his Assent to Laws, the most
wholesome and necessary for the public good.
He has forbidden his Governors to pass Laws of
immediate and pressing importance, unless suspended in their operation till his Assent should
be obtained; and when so suspended, he has utterly neglected to attend to them.
He has refused to pass other Laws for the accommodation of large districts of people, unless
those people would relinquish the right of Representation in the Legislature,
a right inestimable to them and formidable to tyrants only.
He has called together legislative bodies at
places unusual, uncomfortable, and distance
:: 03.30.2024 ::
Upon the stagnant sea, I stood sentinel,
My vessel inert, awaiting destiny’s nudge.
Atop that mirror of heaven, I reclined,
Restless, a sailor longing.
I shut my lids, invoking
Incantations for the gentle breath
That animates the briny deep,
To swell my sails.
Whispers in the waves obscure the glass,
Awakening me, like a lover’s murmur.
It enveloped me, whispering sweetly,
Roll over, roll over, roll over.
And in my ear, it murmured its name,
A strange melody, yet clear as day:
Mistral, mistral wind.
Though I’ve long gripped the helm, I surrender
To the wind’s pilfering of my dominion,
Spinning me, losing my bearing,
Nights fleeting like fleeting thoughts.
Yet it guides me,
To towering summits,
Too grand to be real.
Mistral, mistral wind.
Each hour spent in vigil,
I await that breeze to stir me,
And transport me back to that realm,
Magic coursing through my veins.
And I sigh your name,
Across the boundless expanse.
You’ve turned me into a mad dreamer,
Mistral, mistral, mistral, mistral,
Mistral, mistral.
:: 03.30.2024 ::
Dans le domaine de l’affection et de l’instant présent réside son essence,
car il a ouvert grandes les portes à l’écume hivernale et à l’été
clameur – celui qui a distillé la pureté en eau et en nourriture – qui incarne
le charme insaisissable des lieux de départ et l’extase transcendante
de lieux fidèles. Il est l’incarnation de l’affection et de l’avenir,
la vigueur et le dévouement que nous, debout au milieu de la fureur et de l’ennui,
apercevez traverser les cieux des tempêtes et les bannières du ravissement.
Il est amour ! Un standard sans faille et redéfini, un miracle, un imprévu
rationalité et éternité : un mécanisme apprécié pour ses attributs fatidiques.
Nous avons tous goûté à la terreur de sa concession et de la nôtre : nous délecter de notre
bien-être, renforcé par nos facultés, égoïstement affectueux et passionné
pour lui, lui qui nous adore parce que son existence est sans limites…
Et nous nous souvenons de lui alors qu’il embarque à nouveau… Et si l’Adoration remue, résonne,
son Vœu résonne : « A bas ces superstitions, ces autres entités,
ces unions et ces époques. C’est l’époque qui est tombée dans l’oubli ! »
Il ne partira pas, ni ne redescendra d’un royaume céleste, ni n’apaisera
la colère des femmes, la gaieté des hommes, ou absoudre toutes les transgressions : car cela
est conclu maintenant, puisqu’il existe et qu’il est adoré.
Son souffle, son visage, ses mouvements rapides ; la rapidité impressionnante de
forme et action lorsqu’ils atteignent la perfection.
La fécondité de la pensée et l’étendue du monde !
Sa forme corporelle ! la libération tant désirée, la fusion de la grâce avec une intensité retrouvée !
Tout ce qu’il voit ! toutes les anciennes supplications et pénalités annulées à son passage.
Son époque ! l’annulation de toute souffrance bruyante et agitée dans une harmonie plus profonde.
Sa foulée ! des migrations plus profondes que les invasions anciennes.
Ô lui et moi ! un orgueil plus magnanime qu’une bienveillance abandonnée.
Ô monde ! — et le chant cristallin des nouvelles douleurs !
Il nous a tous compris et nous a aimés, puissions-nous, en cette veille d’hiver, d’un océan à l’autre,
du poteau bruyant à la citadelle, de la multitude au rivage, d’une vision à l’autre,
nos forces et nos sentiments sont fatigués, saluez-le, soyez témoin de lui et dites-lui adieu,
et sous les vagues et au sommet des déserts enneigés, suivez son regard, son souffle, sa forme, son époque.
Whiskers twitching
soft paws padding
through moonlit night,
the cat prowls,
silent sentinel
of the shadowed garden.
Beneath the canopy
of emerald leaves,
a symphony of chirps
and rustling whispers
fills the air,
as creatures big and small
find solace
in the tranquil embrace
of the forest’s heart.
Butterflies dance
in a kaleidoscope of hues,
their delicate wings
brushing against
the fragrant blossoms
of wildflowers.
And high above,
against a canvas of sky,
majestic wings
spanning wide,
the eagle soars,
a regal master
of the boundless expanse
of heaven’s domain.
Oh, to be
amongst creatures
of this wondrous earth,
to share in their secrets
and stories untold,
to revel
in the beauty
of their untamed souls!
:: 03.25.2024 ::
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E.P. Robles | Poetry 
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