Reality and uncle Neville
always seem to disagree.
I guess he can't see the
tree for the tree.

To him,Truth's a transparency
that he cannot see beyond.
He must stay faultlessly opaque.
To the material certainty,
of which he's so fond.

Reality and uncle Neville
always seem to disagree.
I guess he can't see the
you for the he.

The only things that
are real to him,
are those that can be held,
but not felt.
Each alternative truth
is a tree to be felled.

#fun   #reality   #odd   #philosophy   #thought   #perspective   #novel   #surreal   #views  
Sienna Luna
Sienna Luna
1 day ago

there is this pithless entity

circling round my gut

waxing and waning

folding in infinite measures

like stiff cloth finding creases

that fit

and I caress this part

inside which has no fold

or definite pattern

but there is this power

and it increases as the light

of lesser days burn into night

brightly devouring

all lesser fabrications

willing them to speak

in hushed whispers

bathed by blackness

completely surrounded am I

a vagrant soul departed

yearning for this star of gasses

to not combust but

slowly awaken

and you spark that within me

heavy and unaware

a messy cloth of vibrance

washed and wrung and folded gently

with shaking hands and thumping breath

the atmosphere surrounding

all that is real

enveloping my body as it speaks

of glorious wonders

operating deep

within the cosmos

where air is sealed tight

like a vacuum and

I can't help but breathe in

even though

I know

I'll suffocate

#love   #galaxy   #change   #cosmos   #surreal   #infinity   #unreal   #cloth   #sci-fi  
Robert Haigh
Robert Haigh
5 days ago

I carved a beautiful statue
in my sleep last night,
but when I awoke I found
that someone had stolen it.
I reported this to the dream police
but they did not want to know.
They said they were busy solving
more serious crimes, and that
I should deal with it myself.
I'll sleep with a gun under my pillow tonight!


Just a little off the wall humour!
#dreams   #humour   #surreal   #police   #statue  
Rose L
Rose L
Jan 7

Do not forsake me the need to ascend.
We, in our platinum form
Do not require mothers, teachers, peers to remind us that one day the red soils will be left bereft of us.
We don’t require reminding.
Look down at yourself and consider your own outline.
We are shaped just so our eyes can compile us as human –
but not so that we require shaping still.
In the end, you can simplify.
Simplify yourself down. Until you are just circles, squares.
What is special about your own edge?
A human line, a form so easily replicated
It can be done by children in crayon.
A human line.
Allow yourself to ascend to your platinum form.

Atul Kaushal
Atul Kaushal
Dec 28, 2016

Because I was surreally cute in childhood,
And I know that my child will be so cute.
And I am unaware who'll bear my child,
Because I do not think any human can.
Because I cannot ever be so compatible,
And to this fact, exception there is none.
But yes, I want to father at least one child.

My HP Poem #1351
©Atul Kaushal
#father   #cute   #one   #but   #childhood   #yes   #child   #surreal   #dp   #incompatibility  
Mysidian Bard
Mysidian Bard
Dec 27, 2016

I come from a place
Where reality's a dream
We sleepwalk awake
Silent are the screams

Uncertainty is certain
Lies are absolute
Destruction just creates
The vital and minute

Consciously unaware
Of our intended mistakes
Reminded to forget
That giving only takes

I come from a place
Where eyes never see
Through the mists of illusion
Surrounding you and me

Lydia Hirsch
Lydia Hirsch
Dec 22, 2016

Six years after a wooden statue
haunted my trips to the grocery store,
I walked into a dark room
with several dozen of my classmates.

Soft, lively music played
and a blonde Manhattan Beach mother came out to speak to us
about the featured art movement of the month,
the Surrealists.

Surreal: what is not quite waking, and not quite dreaming.
The union of real and unreal.
My seven-year-old mind found it frightening
to see familiar objects so deformed,

a man whose nose had become a pipe,
a man and woman made of multi-colored lace,
elephants with legs the length of skyscrapers,
the flying bed at Henry Ford Hospital.

The blonde woman told us about these Surrealists,
about Salvador Dali, Frida Kahlo, and René Magritte.
By the time the assembly was over, I was crying
(why exactly, I cannot say).

That night I dreamt I was late to school.
The bell rang loudly; my teacher looked at me,
her expression stern and reproachful.
The bells rang louder and louder as the clocks began to melt.

For years I slept with the lights on,
terrified that the Surrealists
would sneak into my room and stab me
with a sword made of an elephant’s eye.

I feared I would wake up a deer,
bleeding in the forest,
nine arrows in my flesh,
antlers reaching out of my still-human head.

Still when I visit art exhibits,
fear springs from the same deep roots as admiration.
Two years ago I saw “The Two Fridas”
in person for the first time.

My most feared painting,
it has haunted my dreams since the infamous art assembly.
The blood flowing from severed vein onto white dress,
the veins wrapped around Frida’s arm like bracelets,

around her neck like a necklace,
connecting her to one who is not quite herself
and yet not quite another.
Kahlo herself seemed present, in all her endless suffering,

as I stared at the painting before me, which stood out from all others
in the crowded room.
I felt for the first time that I understood what she meant
when she painted herself separated from herself.

The Surrealists will not leave me alone.
They have filled my mind with strange images.
They have perhaps transformed me into one of their own,
for my greatest ambition has long been the union of real and unreal.

#surreal   #dali   #kahlo  
Alison Latres
Alison Latres
Dec 21, 2016

I could never write it out.
His words, his thoughts, his ideas
A blank canvas, a blank page
Within my textbook, a world unwritten

Another one is waiting
She's in queue
I say over and over
"You're next"

Impatience is among them
They want to be known
Yet my hands are empty
And my mind is weary

There are no results
I cannot do this
I let them waste away
At least they're forever mine

#fake   #art   #people   #block   #creation   #surreal   #fiction   #character   #unreal   #fictional  
Tamal Kundu
Tamal Kundu
Dec 19, 2016

The last time I had seen this particular cousin of mine, I was still in college and he had a head full of hair. In between, there had been three funerals, two weddings and four births in our Trojan royalty of a family. I had been a university graduate for a year, and the prospect for a job, a decent one at that, had started to grow dimmer by the day. He asked, “Will you tutor my daughter?” “Yes!” I said. And we set out immediately. He, on his bike and I, on my motorcycle following him. We took a right turn at the famous landmark of the statue of demoness Putana, sitting on the grass with her bosom out and legs spread forward. He introduced me to his wife and daughter. Telling them to stand side by side, he told me, “She's only eleven, but look at her! Already equal in length and width to her mother, who is no delicate petal herself. Do you think you can teach her GK?”

The universe wasn't made with dissent. Plus, the chicken samosas were really delicious. I tried on a grin while the overachieving pre-teen bustled around the room showing me her accolades for painting, singing, studying. As I left he pointed at a tree, “Do you know what tree is that?”

“Bael?” I answered thoughtfully.

“Apple. That's an apple tree.”

“Oh! Does it bear fruits?”

“Not in this climate!” He laughed out loud.

Form: Prose Poetry
Dec 12, 2016

When a feeling becomes your god.

That empty feeling.
#sad   #depressed   #happy   #dark   #melancholy   #human   #feeling   #abstract   #surreal  
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