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.
hungry guy (2)
I pour it in the pan and let it cook for a little bit. Then put a top over it and once it's half cooked, then I put the cheese on and put the top back on then, I'll take the top off and flip the omelet in half. After that is done I then put it on the plate, take it to the kitchen table, and throw down. I don't remember the last time I had an omelet, but this was like a trip to heaven. I really needed this. I wonder what I'm going to make tomorrow morning.
By Robbie Bale3 years ago in Poets
hungry guy (1)
I’m hungry but I really don't know what I want to eat. I think I'm going to get some omelets. I need all the ingredients to make them first though. Let me go check in the fridge and see if I got them. All I really need is some eggs. About two or three. And some cheddar cheese. It can be shredded or in slices. I put some oil in the pan and turn it up to a little more than medium heat. I stir the eggs in a bowl, put some salt in some onions and stir it up.
By Robbie Bale3 years ago in Poets
lace 'em up
I can't believe I stubbed my toe last night. I was walking down to the kitchen last night because I was extremely parched. You know when you wake up in the middle of the night and your mouth is dry? Yeah, well that's me almost every other night. So I'm walking slowly downstairs because the whole house is pitch black. I use my hands to guide me by holding them out in front of me. Once I know I'm near the kitchen doorway, I go for the light switch and stub my toe on the fridge. Holding myself back from screaming.
By Robbie Bale3 years ago in Poets
pitch black
I can't believe I stubbed my toe last night. I was walking down to the kitchen last night because I was extremely parched. You know when you wake up in the middle of the night and your mouth is dry? Yeah, well that's me almost every other night. So I'm walking slowly downstairs because the whole house is pitch black. I use my hands to guide me by holding them out in front of me. Once I know I'm near the kitchen doorway, I go for the light switch and stub my toe on the fridge. Holding myself back from screaming.
By Robbie Bale3 years ago in Poets
handle with care
10. The time has come. He finally gets to my desk to evaluate my egg. I gave him my report on how it was to take care of Eggy. He looked at me with a stern eye. I was keeping it cool though. I couldn’t break or else he would know I was lying about that really being the original Eggy. He picks my egg up and looks at the stamp. He gave my paper back with a zero. He knew I switched the egg from how one of the lines on the original stamp was missing. Rest in peace, Eggy.
By Robbie Bale3 years ago in Poets
