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.
Open Air Drowning
It makes sense to a head held underwater. The blues mingle in the skyline and bleed Across the rain-slick asphalt, pooling there. Cerulean light puddles near the road marks, Painting pictures of obedience where there Is nothing but rebellions and nightmares. . Look at the bodies shoved under the cars, Old polaroids of a city snuffing its greatness. The roads are derelict under the blue water Headlights turned on but going nowhere. We all like to sit in our cars to avoid the ticket. Gas is too expensive to think about the ride. . The finger flicks and flicks until blue overflows Its rectangular bounds and bleeds across The thinly carpeted ceiling of a cabin made to Mimic the sensuality of being enveloped, Swallowed by something strong and malicious. And the night drags on as we drown in open air.
By Silver Daux3 months ago in Poets
More of Self
The words they call Shakespeare Where is my pound of flesh In the darker side of humanity I expelled it across My ledger of creation From behind and below From the inside out I could use Damocles I guess That has stuck with me All my life It To proliferate My art In the shadow of the perilous sword My want Is to feel the Steinbeck In me, the understanding, beauty But the horror Without hiding Behind a ledger of Anything grey or black Was almost always more intriguing Or made the pure and good Even more impressive Forth with Jekyll My doctor my captain They The bastard I am doubt And cannot ignore All my Degraded egos And My own Disintegration In spite of Victor I am more Of self And dare each and every one Of you Out there To question validity And artistry As if communing with Those who came before Hemingway or Joyce Who echoed the halls Of history Through their fingers And felt the pains Of humanity In their hearts
By Paul Stewart4 months ago in Poets
Where Be Our Cincinnatus?
Where be our Cincinnatus? That golden hero of yore Where be our Cincinnatus? To whom even Washington swore Above reproach Pridefully evoked A common admiration Wielding power with veneration With the Aquei’s threat abated Upon the Field of Mars, abdicated Laying down stewardship's yoke Knowing it be no golden cloak Where be our Cincinnatus? Someone upon whom we can depend Where be our Cincinnatus Amongst these common men?
By Matthew J. Fromm4 months ago in Poets
Ledger
It's not my job or my commission to make you feel at ease when you turn the page in my ledger R. A. P. I. D Slow E X p l I cate this then If you can butwheye No handholding or making things eas I E R C O N T R O L (Confined) Exhibit a: confirmed Distract from disaster Distater from scandal Scandal for scandal H E L P [Trapped] 10safety10 Six denotes Pleisure S T A B.u.t. it's not my job to make sure you're okay L A I S Escher Please a M.inutes C.ilence Don't you feel tired like Ytniatrec Is tyred?
By Paul Stewart4 months ago in Poets
