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.
Masked identify
It took a while a long while to realize I needed to find it so I searched in the depth of everything I could have been, I searched in the void of everything I can be, I searched to find myself where I failed to look, there I was in the muds of today, there I hopped over covered fully in today's filth and dirt I lost my identity I lost my identity To life's battles There, it was choked and strangled To ease my passage into tomorrow I wore a mask For a while, a mask was all it was But, for because today is endless I'm the mask now My identity is now a mask to what I am now It is how I lost it, hiding. It is me, I choked and strangled it Life did it life sent its soldiers matching through my abode They tore down my walls Invaded my nakedness And brought my shame before me There, I could not be me It was there the hiding began Life has been my enemy It has ridiculed me in all my glory And successfully brought me to naught Yes life did it
By AZIAKPONO OVWEDE3 years ago in Poets
A little over everything
How do I begin to tell you? That, as in a dream, life's scenes flashes before me In no particular order. That like a toad, leaping and landing in wherever No well designate road That if life was surely a collection of experiences, Then I perhaps may have collected too many of them. because now, like a parliament of owls, they lump up together and gaze at me with disdain doused in profanity How do I begin to tell you? That, I'm looking for the source without a map, just hitting every stop perchance I might stumble on it. That I'm shooting to kill To kill my demons Without aiming, just taking shots perhaps, it will hit. That with my ammunition wasted, a truce is struck. How do I begin to tell you? That like a newborn, it is a ritual that I should cry That I couldn't tell why I couldn't explain it to the house, just wail and let them see. That in that loud cry, is a jigsaw of words and wants They laugh, it brings ecstasy to them... the sound of the cry filled with words they couldn't understand. How do I begin to tell you?
By AZIAKPONO OVWEDE3 years ago in Poets
When
Rise or fall Run or walk Good or bad I've cared not I've merely lived in the turmoils of simplicity with rapt attention to my weaknesses in the gutters of my mistakes watering and cultivating the dark edges of my mind coming before the world, covered in the filth of my naked truths without shame it's how I've lived In a world of tomorrows where I do it never where the sun rises with the plans of today and sets with the plans of the day to come both undone. where today doesn't exist and yesterday never was in my waking hours I've hid from today it is too ugly to confront in my slumber I've seen tomorrow it is beautiful it's where I lived Belief my backbone I hung my life on it its lead I have followed when it said, "tomorrow will be great" I concurred and rested and waited for tomorrow when it said "your past matters not" I threw it all away. the experiences and lessons, I dug a pit dumped them all and kept them buried never to be haunted by them As a new man, I made new mistakes new lessons A circle of learning to fail and failing to learn. for the belief of a better tomorrow today has remained buried and yesterday never was!
By AZIAKPONO OVWEDE3 years ago in Poets
