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Rosie Toes Sep 2021
and she is like a painting,

the colors of her soul infuse the dark world around her.

Flowers grow at the sound of her laugh,

for that's all the warmth they need.

Her smile radiates across the room,

a light that invites and guides those who are lost.

She lives, not with an overconfidence in herself,

but with an understanding that her beauty is up to interpretation.  

She is able to admire the other paintings in the gallery,

but still knows she has something beautiful to offer.

She is just herself,

and she is like a painting.
Google "What is the main idea of surrealism"
Daisy Hemlock Jul 2021
I've learned to know without thinking
In fact, I barely even use my brain
I'm dumb.
But I know a few things
And at least I have a heart
dilshé Jun 2021
Everyones the protagonist
to their deceptive movie life
made-up delusional illusions
to distract us from the strife.
Delude ourselves into
the minds- 'Hollywood'
hallucinating surrealism
numb & evasive to reality
& the creeping white noise of realism.
We lose track of fleeting memories
as we chase feign & shallow visions,
end up reviling our true form
& make some of the worst decisions.
Are we humour to the gods?
& ideals to the slaves of hell
Are you living in your minds- 'Hollywood'-
       Or are you living your reality well?
Are you living in your head or living your life?
Astrea Jun 2021
I discerned a face in the sand. It peered at me the way a child may peer at ants. I knew that face, had traced over the wrinkles marring the forehead, rubbed a finger on the mole below the eye, thought it was grime, realised it was not, and poked at the nose that was half an inch too long. It was a face of a woman, the eccentric lady who frequented my dreams, always walking with clicking heels, ivory robes dragging sludge, who dug pits with her purple fingernails. Are you look for this, I asked, handing over her face. She stood, corpse-like, and said, this lonely and bright thing, it beckons me, but this is not my face. This is yours.
Todd Paropacic May 2021
Sycophants and Salisbury!
What does the basket in your heart hold?
Doris Dearess,
The where has gone
And sold away the wind.
Now my little hairs
Stand cold,
And I feel older than old.
Todd Paropacic May 2021
Kool-Aid and calculated risk taking,

A brisk walk on the mild side

Has left you wanting more.

The line is breaking,

But be careful what you fish for.

There’s a knock on the door

And it’s for you,

Yeah, so it’s for you.




I remember stepping into the brine

As you tip tapped the tick tock

To keep it in line.

It was running out of rhyme and time

Was set to trickling

And tickling from inside.




Doris day and Doris night!

The stars about won’t start a fight

If you talk to them like that,

My dear.

Celestial bodies are not fans

Of blood,

And blood breeds bad seeds

That shoot at the moon

Like thieves.




The gull are shook,

Rattling frigid looks,

And the crooks are creeping

Up the hall.

Oh, Doris,

I can see them all,

And they call like crows

In a catered carrion free for all.




As the sun fades

Into its aquatic grave,

I save a test from the ******* past

And, Doris,

You have loaned stones to my

House of glass.

You’ve crashed,

And you’ve bashed,

And you’ve lashed yourself

To a mast

That you aren’t willing to steer.

In this instance,

I can still hear the bruising pier,

Cheering and jeering,

Until it believed its last.
This is part one in a ten part narrative poem. The whole thing tells the story of some unidentified incident, a nasty time in an unknown person's life. Doris may be many things. Doris may be nothing.
Ai Firefly Apr 2021
(warm)th, (gold)en
skin, a canvas for parody
warm(th), gold(en)
temperate air of melody
twists the tidal antibody
towards bowing phrase of prosody
(war)mth, gol(den)
Ai Firefly Apr 2021
quantum is the spread
of delicate prize along the lines

of your face we drift, ghostly

through each other
in cycles & bowed lips

cupid ties our words
into knots, what piles

of consonant frayed vowels
reside in the cracks, the floorboards
posture themselves within

the crick of our bones
& we are picked clean

for the bathing
of the moon
Ai Firefly Apr 2021
I am rooted &
therefore I reach

the moon reflects

upon my feet, music is cubism
in twin with gritted teeth
a pavement keyed dark

& light pierced with golden
spindles of stacking

dust, inwardly green
with midnight, navy

a blanket of silence
worn to resonate
Thomas W Case Mar 2021
The blue sky cuts
the woman to shreds
Sunflower saves her
from extinction.
Mountains want to crumble
with her into the lake,
but they can't,
they are strong, and
they have their place.
Time has got her,
she just doesn't know it
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