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.
Love Child of Frida Kahlo and ROY G. BIV
Love child of Frida Kahlo and ROY G. BIV Dear Frida, If you “paint your own reality,” will you paint me, please, in blues, yellows and greens? I want to be primary and secondary and tertiary as teal and vermilion. You are vibrant violet sunsets on the bank of indigo rivers of ink washing over me. Will you be cool cups of blue water held in my hands, refreshing green pastures of my soul as the golden yellow glow of your spirit dances in ripples of the sun? Your burnt sienna orange embers linger like my red lips kissing envelopes sealed in memories of you. I see your painted heart, pressed like flowers left in books with stacks of the world weighing down on us both. You have covered me in acrylics as the art of your hand captures moments of time in still lifes that move off canvases. From a distance, you color me, twisting like kaleidoscopes in my mind, arranging brilliant, bold and bright hues of myself in petals of inspiration, as I walk the long brown roads of Mexico, looking for you.
By Angelita Hampton5 years ago in Poets
Forsaken
It is difficult isn't it? Trying to be still when you're vibrating out of control. You feel every ounce of blood begin to boil as you become closer to the turbulence. You can taste death and all that it brings with it. You take deeper breaths trying to maintain the illusion of control within a storm of chaos. I know the truth as I stare into the frigid eyes of a man who was ripped from our timeline. How it abuses my soul. My fists clenched tight and I am shivering in the heat again. Where were you when I ripped god out of the sky? Where were you when I wore its crown and drowned the devil? I do not recall your courage back then. I do not recall your need for grace then.
By Samuel Bitner5 years ago in Poets
