surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
A Summer's Day
Those fires of a Summer Day are but sombre takes as they beat in memories of affray, forever pierced, lodged in minds and hearts of men; become blanketed thoughts of a scorched childhood. Remember December, forget not the sound of fire as train-like it roars downhill; its will, mission to destroy and kill. Fire unstopped in its violent path, becomes a relentless living, wrath-filled entity that burns all that obstructs leaving only memories of what was. Bigger than man earth fights back. Becomes a force, living, breathing, growing, consuming oxygen, foliage and fauna sweeping life to ash. Remember December and the ignorance of science decriers, those soothsayers of non-belief, fearlessly blinkered old men. The reality of man and his dollar downfall. A conspiracy they said but really economic piracy of our land, at best. Read the science and remember the fires fed by ignorance, those fires of once beautiful Summer days, the heat and homelessness of people now untethered and animals headed for extinction; joyless, personal odes to ignorance. Think long on what was; on gardens of delight, flowers of passion, and beauty now rendered to stubble and angst. Forget not those memories of fearsome, huge, untethered Summer fires. Remember December.
By a.a.gallagher5 years ago in Poets
Wordcroft
Wordcraft Spin the tale wordweaver Spin it well From the depths of your core the bottomless πΈπ¦ππ Pour out the musings of your mind Splintered thoughts you dwell we are the heathens forgotten The mystics unwell Let loose the ward of your void Open the dungeons of hell Spin the tale wordweaver Spin it well The craving paper calls echoes into the πΈπ¦ππ π²πΆπ¦π―π€π© πͺπ΅'π΄ π΅π©πͺπ³π΄π΅ π°π© πΈπͺπ»π’π³π₯ Like a rain in the desert So With the ink of your feelings Engrave your spell From the depths of your core the bottomless πΈπ¦ππ Spin the tale wordweaver Spin it well Be attentive about the difference of Warcraft and wordcroft.
By Em Hoccane5 years ago in Poets
A Visit To Liberty
A Visit To Liberty Let's go to the United States And pay condolence To the mother, "liberty" Who lost her children From the times of birth To the daughters of immortality And to the sons of iniquity. The good old book says, "Spare not the rod" And she says, "Spare the rod" That the seed of my womb And the fruit they become, may glow In their ways of prodigality For in freedom the must grow To widen the feathers of their wings Into the hues of their colours But the thoughts of her mind Lost memory that even the cradle Needs to be curdled Until her sense of good moral, muscles To lay knife inbetween good and evil. But she has made herself A city of atrocity Where the children of doom Seeks refuge of shelter And the only eye in the triangle Where the glory of the lost soul dwells For her arms are widely spread, "come in, let the good turn evil and the evil good Make your path at will For I am liberty; the mother of freedom".
By Em Hoccane5 years ago in Poets
