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Derby Dec 2016
Never he was an honest man
Who prides himself
On wanton expeditions

In a field of truth
He lies, entangled in conceit
To win that which he desires –
It is only but a game.

Mind not his mental means, nor manner –
Be he sane or psychopath –
But the strategy by which he plays:
Cheat, deceive, manipulate,
Overcome, and conquer your carnal estate.

Twisted tales, spun with golden thread
Crafted by careful practice and confidence
The master of charisma in his own head
Is no Eros, in any sense – Erosive, yes –
He is only what you want but for a brief moment
Be suspicious and expect this ever-real Narcissus.

A lecher he is
A Greek God in wish –
Nay, he only lives in the fantastic,
Though he roams about us
In a surreal bubble,
Where love comes to pass,
He is ever-so subtle

He markets himself as a Rembrandt,
Although more a moke* than baroque,
Something which he could never see
Staring into his reflection so blindly.
At a cost, worth more than his fee,
This cheap knockoff of Sal Dali,
Would sell you his love
For a buck forty-three.

Beware the lecher.
*Moke is a British/Australian slang term for donkey or *******; a fool, representing the folly of man.
KathleenAMaloney Mar 2016
Leftovers...
Sometimes they eat just like a gourmet rocket ship
landed on the moon
And other times
Well, other times...
They could be the last stop just before the garbage can
The real Last Super.. After..
Realization.
.....for crimes that had never been comitted

If The Word says.. "I love you.. "
Which one woild it be?
Garbage returned?
Or
Garbage dumped out?

Pure Essence of Life..
pouring thru the space between fingers...
Now forgotten hand's Divine Givingness

Judas Price
Gold for Some
And bloods watery emptiness  for others
****** for Greed

Death of Christ

Tears are the realness of a Mothers Touch taken away
Witnessed, by God's Own Law,  Compassion.
Are their any who passed?
The Good Pussy Jul 2015
.
                                      S
                       ­       u    u r      u
                           r        r e          r
                          r          al             r
                         e         i      s          e
                         a        m     s          a
                          l         u     r          l
                           i         r   e          i
                              s        al         s
                                 m    •     m
Dreams of Sepia Jun 2015
Clock drips
twists time
faceless man
reflects sky
nothing
measured
PH Apr 2015
perpetual expeditions amidst this hazy twilight,
periwinkled vistas ensnaring me in

buzzzzzzzzzzzz
the sound penetrates my ear drum

black and yellow rabble-rouser
this rambunctious little menace

a pomegranate
eternally ripe, giving me life

gilled, scaled, underwater creature
emerging from the deep, boundless rift

two tantalizing tigers
troublesome, treacherous

and she laid there—
undisturbed, unaware

jabbed in her side by a M1903 Springfield
soothed state rattled, shattered

wincing from the poke of the blunt end of the gun
the sleeping lady slept no more

poor fellows,
how were they supposed to hold on to it without opposable thumbs?
  
the distressed damsel appeared grotesque,
flailing and fidgeting at the sight of her surroundings

surface rocking beneath my feat,
my trusty elephant’s weak ankles shattering my already shattered stability

i had no more time for such nonsenses
buzzing sounds burned deep into my psyche

the soft-spoken horizon called out to me
calling for me to continue on into the enigmatic expanse
Spencer Dennison Dec 2014
It is here
that broken memories find their home.
Divorced from the nests
they have made in our chests,
sinking talons into hearts
and clogging our veins
like the junk from a million Wal-Marts.

The air hangs like flypaper,
catching every breath
like a moment in time.
Every foot falls on crust and grime
and used needles.
The colors are faint
but still bursting with life,
pastel shades of peeled paint.

There's a girl with antelope antlers
and a man with a lobster head,
A lobster made completely
of whole-wheat sliced bread.
There's freaks of every size and shape
abominations of every description
but for a surrealist,
these thoughts are our prescription.
Alex Vice Aug 2014
“Art washes away,
from the soul the dust of everyday life.”
No more pain, stress or strife.
“Have no fear of perfection,
you'll never reach it.”
So don't ever throw a fit.
“I saw the angel in the marble,
and carved until I set him free."
Amazed by what beauty could come from me.
"Art is not a thing;
it is a way."
So carpe diem... seize the day.
Includes qoutes from the following artists
-Michelangelo (sculptor)
-Elbert Hubbard (writer)
-Salvador Dalí (surrealist painter)
-Pablo Picasso (cubist painter)
Felicia C Jul 2014
clockparts.com
i fell in love with dali’s ghost

on the day i kissed the 34-mile horizon

i watched his clocks melt away

so i made him a new one and painted it purple sky and yellow sun and lavender clouds and ochre rays

and he filled it with the ace of spades

this isn’t well-crafted surrealism

it’s your story spent
May 2013
Salvador Dali
Rode a Harley-Davidson
All the way from Bali
To Abu Dhabi
With Charley the Cat
Riding pillion.

Said Charley to Dali
All weathered and gnarly

I get quite incensed
By children's lack of road sense.
When I get back to Britain
I think I'll start
A Road Safety Campaign.

Good idea
Said Dali
To Charley
Who replied
Thanks a million.

— The End —