#surreal poems on Hello Poetry

Reynaldo Casison Apr 10

Modesties waltz and sway
Upon the evening lakeshore
Mademoiselle moon
and heavenly irises
Are so sweet alone together
The luminous and lavendar majesties
Of their curvatures
Blush in the rose waves
The petals
are transcending styles and eras

What can be more surreal
Than the sighs
of paint upon canvas
A roses sigh is exotic
As a jazz ballerina it once was
And somewhere shall always be
Honey can soothe just about anything
At least thats what the midnight rain
Seems to sing
Like nightingales take wing
Honey is the balm of love

Nectar of sublime bouquets
Ah modest majesties
Tenderly your love elopes
Like dream
Your casual velvet mellow fireflies
Golden bonfire embers

And there WithIn you waltz
Our love a fine wine vineyard
Caressed with moonlight
mist and breeze
The Honey waterfalls is Poetry
It serenades the Music
And beauty of your being
Even the gypsy and siesta waves
sigh
Your love is more
than
seven roses seven stars

Reynaldo Casison

#love #surreal #moon

mothwasher Apr 4

burn-off in B flat

conduits of experience with the conduits of our perspectives. the tube with its inside ribs, ribs of view.

for some, what beats within just beats, the most feral piece of us all caged up.

for some, love gets shoved in an airvent and a doll dressed up takes its place to meet the people.

queerness is a great harvest when the fruits are ripe enough to fall on heads.

for some, the brain is a wet field and we’re lucky its ecosystem trusts us.

there are sadly better alignments for our jolted existences. better than getting dressed up to discover it’s the wrong occasion. the mushrooms are laughing at us and it’s a pain that finds every fiber. the ribs tell us, “he just has his days.”

brittle resistance, put the doll to bed gently and walk away with the carbon monoxide sensors singing. we cannot keep suturing. the worms clearly want it. unscrew the vent and bring love out for a nice picnic. any who laugh are laughing alone, i trust the fungal approval. i plant my fingers and feel them humming.

nylon ***** 04

#surreal #prose

Archer Apr 3

Opening Your Eyes Underwater

They say that choices made
(Be it by yourself, others, or nature)
Can drastically affect how a
                                 Single
Person’s life plays out.
It’s quite like the ocean that you sail on now
With the seawater swaying
                              Back
              And
Forth
Or in
Loud
Violent
STORMS
Fate works in mysterious ways
It could be high tide at one point in the day
And then later show you
Beautiful things
That were previously
                               Under           Water
You can feel at peace one second
Bobbing
^ Up ^
              And
v Down v
And then
PAnICKinG -and- DRowwnIING
The next
You inhale deeply
Breathing in the salty fresh air
The sharp cold cuts through your lungs
…it’s painful…
But you Don’t Mind
You Don’t Mind your red cheeks
  Or the crashing waves
      Or the rocking
                                 Back
             And
Forth
You only Mind having to
Leave your
|Home|
-But-
We’ll see,
We’ll see.

#surreal #descriptive #open #free #story #thoughts

mothwasher Apr 3

slugger just jinxed us

i know they’re concrete bumper slugs because the slime leads right to them. the trails are obvious every morning and then the sun ingurgitates them leaving a glittery residue.

it is an aberrant cursive, some curse for their brethren snails to decipher.

the customers don’t believe me. they doubt that and they doubt the fees i’m told to tuck under their paper packet and they doubt the slugs are solving math proofs and they doubt interest is a thing of the heart. but it is and don’t tell my concrete parking lot bumper slugs otherwise.

curses are foldable, or the best ones are, and that is why i become the passive utterances of a wise woman when she calls me to question. i will fold so quickly don’t test me.

with a grain of salt, the glitter stain takes a chalky quality. pique my glasses, tap on my clipboard, make slow circles around the concrete fringes to consult with the grass.

it seems like the slugs are solving the complexity of theorem proving procedures. if we call the Federal Math Department (FMD) then they better know what these slugs are on about.

i would love to liberate them from this parking lot. i would love for them to sit by rivers and make bumper slug babies. lovers pushing strollers would beckon to them and say, “that’s who solved the complexity of theorem proving procedures.”

even the reader is starting to doubt me. starting to doubt the fees i’ve tucked in here. maybe even doubting the intellect of these bumper slugs.

please.

they just need more time. their snail brothers just don’t get it. i have it all right here, just wait until the FMD gets here. just wait until the sun spits it all back to us. don’t doubt it.

nylon ***** 03

#surreal #prose

mothwasher Apr 2

a sword swinging contest

a line of claymores hang from the fuselage. the trees wince from the feint. even though they know the cut of wind in winter. it’s a game to get by with a parachute.

i try to use upcycled versions with the holes properly patched.

i bring a little bell pepper with me and whisper into its fuzzy bottom that we’re going to be ok. we’ve gone at least a week without fajitas.

nylon comes from meshes and bristles, from quilts and frayed edges. i heard in the vault of DuPont they have the only nylon doll. she is the bravest of all trees.

my stomach gurgles and dissociates and slips into an anomalous extradimensional space and lurches from liminal backflips. it must be Tuesday. or some other onerous occasion like the first mycorrhizal shiver.

what if canaries made gay love in coal mines? what if they sang with the intimacy of warning? what if we feared their silence before it came?

dicyclomine has a mean plasma elimination half life of 1.8 hours. its wrapper however, part plastic, part foil, part waste, part breached, part fingernail slice, part flattened, part incinerated, part carbonized, part smoke, part dust, part forever, part brain-burn, part palinopsia.

the aircraft avoids chemical manufacturers and places of dangerous business because a falling claymore could spell disaster.

fasten my goggles one more time, kiss my bell pepper, start the slow journey home and apologize to all the trees on my way down.

nylon ***** 02

#surreal #prose

mothwasher Apr 2

diffuse carbon monoxide and light, netted

tree burls and fish tumors, both knotted buds, both of growth gone sickly, both enclosed history. ever open a book with a knife? has it ever been cake with a message on it?

one time the sun (the ticklish version) set over the river and it rose underwater. it only happened once, so it’s a well kept secret told in filter-feeder folktales.

i hear their gurgling sometimes, it follows me like a scared balloon and knocks brittle craft supplies off the shelf. it once set off a carbon monoxide alarm. the gurgling can even steal my nose hairs if it gets close enough.

it’s not even fusiform. it’s more vermiform if anything…

which of my sounds haunts my mother? i know that memories line my lips like casted hooks. they clink in my storytelling. Chubbles plays with them when i whisper close to his face. we are bonded because i smell like off-brand tuna and lab fish.

i’m not alone, nor lonely, just in a lonely story. the same isn’t true for the others.

resting my coat on the burls, the river rejects the distant light. bespectacled seams of twined liters, stitching a glass pupil and pulsing cataracts. in the winter, a river spoils blindness and starves visibility.

nylon ***** 01

#surreal #prose

Daniel A Gabbard Apr 2

The Monster of My Fault

….
….
The door drew fate.
A face amidst the darkness?
My anxiety inflates.
…
…
A passing day draws in darkness,
each day an eye sees me.
My senses urge, trying to decree;
For It finally began,
It now watches, it can now see.

…
…
I have fled my place,
But will it ever follow?
I closed the lights,
lifted them in darkness,
My feelings ever hollow.
…
…
I may be crazy,
But this is forever true.

It was never like this,
It was my fault.
I had defeated my own nightmare no less,
But my actions caused it to bless.
A cage in a basement I made,
It turned that to its charade.

Now I shall find something to confront,
It shall never leave my front.
An existence that shouldn’t exist.
I shall annihilate that, fist with fist.

An old shadow, with yellow flaming eyes.
I looked in past at time, I try,
Four preceding angelic numbers of time,
Guided times hand to defeat;
It was something, my greatest feat.
The nightmare that I caged.

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥
𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵.

For I shall now figure this cursed time,
Else I will meet an inevitable demise.

My very own.

#nightmare #surreal #existential #transformation #anxiety #guilt #innerconflict #selfdoubt #fate #haunted

The Quantum Bound Poet Mar 31

My Dia[gnosis] in Quantum Perception

I am not whole. I am fragments, arrayed.
I fade into gray. The dusk steals day.
A shadow in time, I drift out of scope.
I'm lost in some void I've created to cope.

Am I real in the moments when I am not seen?
I'm dead in my light, two souls caught between.
My thoughts twist and turn like an entangled thread.
I'm alive and I'm dead, both only in my head.

My truth has been lost, Identity unclear.
A haunted soul screaming that only I hear.
My sight is obscured. A curse left me torn.
I'm the dead that I mourn. I'm the living unborn.

Through time’s endless loop, I twist, and I bend.
In stories untold, cause they’re never going to end.
My mind shifts dimensions, untethered and free.
Yet bound by the question, “What’s really left of me?”

My past echoes a dead voice that remains.
An unobserved self, that's still screaming in pain.
There's a rip in our fabric, a crack in our sky.
His dreams are now shrouded, the nightmares are mine.

I’m a riddle I've created, that I can't even solve.
I fall like the snow, I silently dissolve.
I grasp at the stars, but I'm burned by their light.
My Passions, like flames, smothered from sight.

Not of the flesh, the blood, or the bone,
A desolate recluse, that never feels alone.
I speed through the night just to die every day.
I'm valued for words, till there's nothing to say.

I'm the outlet for a lonesome omni-God.
Caught between the real, the imagined, and the fraud.
I vanish so quick, like the smoke from my lungs.
The thoughts I can't translate, I'm thinking in tongues.

I ask who I am but never give Myself answers.
My condition never ends. I'd rather it be cancer.
I'm nothing but a ripple of thought in my dreams.
Then the moment I'm seen, I lose everything.

Through layers of time that I cannot perceive.
Bound by the question, “What’s really left of me?”
A shadow in time, I'm drifting out of scope.
Tangled in entangled strings, lest I hang from a rope.

♦ Đerek Λbraxas ♦

#depersonalization #derealization #quantum #dark #emotional #existentialism #psychedelic #philosophy #surreal #neurodivergent

Uzziah Ruffin Mar 29

White

Nothing lingers in this space,
Walls infused with hollow white.
A place where dreams leave no trace,
Where stories fade before they ignite.

No scents to stir a drifting mind,
No whispers calling from the deep.
Nothing tempts the gaze to find
A path beyond the current’s sweep.

This room is still, no breath, no sound
A cough dissolves in heavy air.
No melody to wrap around,
My tongue lies mute in vacant prayer.

Yet in this white, one color clings,
A silent mark that dares remain.
Until doubt whispers, softly sings,
A gentle urge to shed, to change.

Remove the skin, you’ll be like us,
Unburdened, stripped of name and past.
A world so cruel, so stained with dust,
Welcomes those who fade at last.

Strip the color from your bones,
Join us in this hollow home.

There is a room that makes people go insane in real life known as a white room. There's places have shown that the removal of color drives patients insane. They would have people placed inside the room for days with only meals only being white. This is what this poem is about.

#darkpoety #isolation #surreal #psychological #symbolism

Daniel A Gabbard Mar 26

An Anomaly to See

To see it, defines what it cannot,
It brings itself for what is not.
It has knotted its way from futility.
Now it is reality.
From henceforth, you know not,
To see it defies its knot.

I pondered on how the mundane can create absurdity. So, the goal of this poem was to show the existence from the mundane can create absurdity. Though subtle, it is such an anomaly to see, as it is reality.

#anomaly #existential #inquiry #reality #philosophy #paradox #surreal #self #absurd #reflection