surrealism
a reality that is augmented, in some way bizarre
out of place but comprehensible
momentarily you're laughing in a chapter of a novel,
sipping wine in a short film,
dancing with your loved one through your imagination
somehow you see the world from such a distance, from the outside
and
in that split second of 'what the hell am I doing'

you just have to smile and move on.

Confession
by Michael R. Burch

What shall I say to you, to confess,
words? Words that can never express
anything close to what I feel?

For words that seem tangible, real,
when I think them
become vaguely surreal when I put ink to them.

And words that I thought that I knew,
like "love" and "devotion"
never ring true.

While "passion"
sounds strangely like the latest fashion
or a perfume.

NOTE: At the time I wrote this poem, a perfume called Passion was in fashion. Keywords/Tags: confession, confess, words, tangible, real, surreal, feelings, love, devotion, passion, perfume, fashion, false advertising, hype

There, the caldera bevelled
In the spitting image of her bell
Looking shy above the shore
Was the essence of her smell
Liquids sharp, naked harp
A catamite in my succor
Graceless heave, tender sleeve
Pearly trailing tail

Entwine, surrender, entwine, surrender
Scintillating boy or throbbing girl

In new moments, waves collapsed
Ink lashed on our toothless gaps
A monkey washed, motions high
Pink shores creased, began to cry
Swelling up like a storm
Smells of Eden, the baby is warm
In the cool flame which sits down still
As it marvels at the hole that it filled
Overlapping with her blue commotion
Like two hills on a vicious plane
Eunoia sighs in consummated sky
They curled deep inside
The cavity of their hands

As vesper came, they awoke with no name
But there was something on their tongues

What to do with our enemy?
There's nine hundred and ninety terrs there.
With sore limbs and no toys.
In time, word will get out.
Compromising us in future.

Over the edge!

You four, take three men each.
You know the drill.
The SF guys nodded and trotted off.
It wasn't said but done.
Were they being recorded?

Hopefully.

Would save the SAS a job.
Showing the world what happened to terrs.
Off the cliff one at a time.
Like jumping out of a plane.
Or into a swimming pool.

But with a four mile terminal velocity drop.

Two ex-terrorists are kept.
Prisoners.
Our mission continues.
We'll get back safe.
No one is lost yet.
Nothing will stop us.

For we keep your world safe.

Photos
The larger than life SAS patrol saw the explosions.
They danced and flickered and sang like a drum.
Then silence.

They know we're here.

Later, the SF men came across their enemy.
A thousand angry ragged heads.
All lined up and armed for suicide.
The SAS get captured!

World's best captured by muzzahs.

Lined up themselves, a speech is given.
Muzzah leader goes on about Allah and all.
Trooper Captain has a plan: a mad one.

A roll call will be made.

When Rollbottom's name is called, it's time.
He'll drop his trousers and moon his ****!
It'll be cold as they're so high up.

It begins.

Rollbottom?
Here Sir.
He got his chance to shine.
No longer a tour guide for no one but me.
Make us proud, friend.

Moons his **** and dances...

Later. The captured muzzahs, one thousand of them, are stressed.
In an American Gitmo stress position.
There's no escape!
Some do try in a French built Russian 'tank'.

It slides on the ice.

Tumbles off the edge of the mountain.
It's a four mile almost vertical drop to the bottom.
All eyes see the APC fall, becoming smaller.
It bounces a couple of times off cliffs.

Only stopping at the very bottom.

No fire but distant clangs.
No more escapes!
Over the edge with most of their arms.
Later. The SAS mission continues.

Laughter from Another Room
by Michael R. Burch

Laughter from another room
mocks the anguish that I feel;
as I sit alone and brood,
only you and I are real.

Only you and I are real.
Only you and I exist.
Only burns that blister heal.
Only dreams denied persist.

Only dreams denied persist.
Only hope that lingers dies.
Only love that lessens lives.
Only lovers ever cry.

Only lovers ever cry.
Only sinners ever pray.
Only saints are crucified.
The crucified are always saints.

The crucified are always saints.
The maddest men control the world.
The dumb man knows what he would say;
the poet never finds the words.

The poet never finds the words.
The minstrel never finds the notes.
The minister would love to curse.
The warrior never knows his foe.

The warrior never knows his foe.
The scholar never learns the truth.
The actors never see the show.
The hangman longs to feel the noose.

The hangman longs to feel the noose.
The artist longs to feel the flame.
The proudest men are not aloof;
the guiltiest are not to blame.

The guiltiest are not to blame.
The merriest are prone to brood.
If we go outside, it rains.
If we stay inside, it floods.

If we stay inside, it floods.
If we dare to love, we fear.
Blind men never see the sun;
other men observe through tears.

Other men observe through tears
the passage of these days of doom;
now I listen and I hear
laughter from another room.

Laughter from another room
mocks the anguish that I feel.
As I sit alone and brood,
only you and I are real.

Keywords/Tags: Laughter, another, room, anguish, reality, real, surreal, exist, dreams, hope, love, sinners, saints

I pulled my fingers out of the gutter
The Priestess turned her head to me
With her velvet pearls and trumpet stutter
"Do you belong to eternity?"
She twisted tight on my headlight
I widened her eye socket out of fright
I told her "honey, I like the look of your nose"
Which twisted up to the cosmos

Then she looked beyond
Like some small vagabond
Looking through a door
That wasn't there anymore
The black sea stretched across
She wielded my hand
Against the sleepless night

The town was crooked
People were empty
Tied to balloons and corpses of brides
The beds were shallow
The shore bred mountains
Yet there she was to taunt me
To envelop me
In her majesty's vice

He was a Daytime Wind-howler all covered in shrouds of grief


She was a Sunset Nightingale with pink and golden wreaths

Upon her head with hair so dark

It made one feign to weep


She held out hands of magic pearls and wiped his tears asunder


The fragile mess lay in her lap


The pale sky switched to thunder


She wasn’t bothered by his past


She’d sail on any ship

She’d fall in love real fast



Staring deep into majestic mirrors


She’d take on any form


If not for howler’s poison kiss,


She’d run right straight inside the storm



But for him, there were thorns everywhere



Blanketing the mother earth; the sky, the sea, the air




From whence he came nobody knows, but Daytime Wind-howler howls and howls and growls



Lets his teeth show



While Sunset Nightingale sings her love
Of daffodils and peppermint groves


Until the day when such grave laments
should


be


let


go