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CK Baker May 2017
like that pill bitter Sunday morning (after)
with a nauseating hack
the previously uneventful Tuesday
derailed
in surrealistic tale
with Auntie and Jack (and a quarter of fate)
in the 748
on a night flight
from Sherwood to Lore

reverberating waves
of imminent summer haze
river flats
and flower fields
fly weights
and silver bait
shredders and shysters
and open gates
(into those everlasting
and sweated journeys of hope)

bloods and strays
and florentine grays
(reminiscent of Rockwell fame)
running horses
and overgrown country lanes
morning grace
and gentle cheer
eyes clear
on the river pass
blunted paddles for those ancient
and not so willing suckers!


duke making his own way
(to the corner club)
Parsons and Poe
stream from the torn screen door
cricket cadence
and symphony of the Deere
calm and deliberate
in the soft
and silent fields

meadows open for grazing
(guineas scamper across the till)
pocket apples fill
the country ripe air
drunken bees
and chestnuts
and electric fingers
strike the surface pool
(a cedar strip wedged on the white wash dock)

baited bull heads set to cast
evenings with hearts
and Nolten Nash
may flowers bloom
across the grass
~ time unmatched ~
with blue jays
and river bends
and channel cats
...and that warm
and recurring
Coleman drift
ryn Jul 2014
A thousand things that run amok in my mind
Issues of present time that seem unkind
But if closely examined, this whirlwind of thoughts
Glimpses of rainbows, unicorns and gold-filled pots

Embedded within this maelstrom of uncertainty
Promise of niceties, of peace and serenity
Picturesque views of limitless artistry
Bring forth such joy and love and tranquility

Like a book of thoughts offering surrealistic images
A barrage of scenarios as I flip through the pages
Images that spoke of untold alternate endings
That is borne out of the heart's delicate beginnings

Engulfed in a blissful torrent of emotions
Caught submissive, in the riptide of affection
Frame by frame I could play, pause and repeat
Document joy and sadness, victory and defeat

Stories told that could happen in another plane
Series of eventual outcomes that I wish to gain
Wondering the things each other is doing
What is seen and what is heard, in this world you're living

Possibility of walking beside hand in hand
Dancing close, eyes in lock in a strange foreign land
Drive up into town to watch a romantic show
Sharing a milkshake or playing in the snow

Standing at your doorstep, an unannounced surprise
Bearing sunflowers and chocolates, for my beautiful prize
Running through a field, in love with frenzied craze
Lying on a mat, eyes locked in a deep, loving gaze

Two kissing silhouettes with a sunset backdrop
A scene, frozen in time that I don't want to stop
Marooned on an island, all deserted and bare
We bask in the sun and at the stars we stare

Sitting across of each other so close
In a cafe, whispering love and jousting toes
Being in love and intimate in a hot steamy shower
Sharing a Parisian landscape atop a well renowned tower

Snuggling close, sighing in the arms of my lover
Kissing through the night letting the heart take over
Cupping your cheeks, tasting the lips so sweet
Wake up sweet darling, good morning I would greet

Ferry you to work, plant a kiss that'll melt your knees
Be at the bay, together we look out into the seas
Talk on the phone and missing you right after
Texting endlessly, professing eternal love for each other

Such thoughts are brought by dreams and wishful thinking
Ideals that me give hope even when my boat is sinking
But I'll never ever stop wishing it'll all come true
Because my dreams were conjured for it was meant that I find you
jeffrey robin Dec 2013
The laughable billy-club day plays heavy morbid sounds

But really you don't have to sing

••

Into the River of Pure Breath

Into the Surrealistic

Images of sanity that cannot die

---

IT'S ALL GOD AND ME AND YOU TOO IF YOU'D BE THERE



the root
The source

The reason for Man

••

Culture is but ****** actors in a ****** play but I'm sure you all know this intuitively

•••

(One Pure Breath

--- (ah YES!

The illusion is gone

The Satanic Magicians are gone)

••

(GEEZ LOUISE!)

•••

And what then appears!

(FER CHRIST SAKES WE DO!)



We do

And all is well

We do

Appear at last

We see it as its meant to be
Mike Essig Dec 2015
It is usually best to avoid
crushing hopelessness, to swerve
and defer disaster, but even so
the world is well and truly ****** up.

Seek solutions to this conundrum.

Try to avoid curiosity, a pernicious
strain of insanity that conjures up
irrational fears of orangutangs
with meat cleavers, lethally ascetic
Tibetan monks, bathroom carpets
of abandoned razors or Big Macs
rife with E. Coli.

Avoid metaphysical musings that lead
to questions of coleslaw, vegan
water parks, the Team Quadraplegic
Gymnastics squad and the horrors
of the Hilary Clinton Naked Network.

Seek refuge in the present tense to
escape the interrogation of mirrors,
the crafted answer, dacryphilia,
remedial rage, landslides of therapy
and memorizing each month's horoscope.

Consider that mercy is on back order from God.
Remember the best lines of an unread book.
Nap on a battlefield; haggle over imaginary debts.
Set fire to the umbrellas of passing strangers.
Stop to watch the loudness and burn the recovered dead.

Call up new magic for a dying world.
Find beauty in the irradiated glow of burning cities.
Try not to bounce existential checks or notice
the crumbling of distant walls, ruined outhouses,
and the immense bleakness of forever and ever.

Take up training small rodents and lighting holy fires.
Ignore the broken stars, long dead and beyond grief.
Discover the pleasure in erasure, enjoy the biology
of strangeness. Walk many miles without a map
beneath innumerable ladders carefully detouring
around immense flocks of rabid cassowaries.
Throttle the recalcitrant blue sky's silent throat.

Listen to the melody of car wrecks and smashed guitars.
Abandon assumed corpses to dreams of endless cold.
Appreciate futures you cannot believe in but never visit them.
Learn to diagram sentences in Esperanto then speak with toads.
Ignore the slot machine odds against your deepest desires.
Hide beneath the ravenous trees from time's famished maw.
Seek sanctuary in toothy optimism and complete amnesia.

Follow these impossible instructions to the letter
and you will become non-valent, invisible, immune
and no longer notice the world is ****** up
beyond redemption. Go on, give it a try.

  ~mce
HTPG
Stephen Parker Jul 2012
A bridge from colloquial to courtly fare
A span where idealism and fantasy pair
A railway to the existential realm; celestial lair
A conduit through which rational discourse can flare

Deep medium to: forage, inculcate, and inform
Broad brush to paint rare beauty; sculpt surrealistic form
Incisive scalpel to surgically alter the societal norm
Delicate utensil to educate on civility and decorum

A literary *****; a prosaic construct
A mechanism our syntax to deconstruct
An analytical tool; an observational viaduct
Introspective milieu to reduct; extrovertive sphere to reconstruct

A semantical edifice that aspiring wit, lofty orations implore
An experimental structure gramatical anomalies to explore
A thematic repository in which concrete ideas, abstract notions to
pour
A vernacular cathedral butressed by an idiomatic core
Brent Kincaid Dec 2015
The conservative element in DC
Has something else as priority.
It sure is not you, nor is it me.
It’s a much more powerful constituency:
Those who pull strings do not care
Unless you are a multi-millionaire
And contribute to their greedy cause
Like some kind of Santa Claus.

They keep on doing what they’re doing
******* who they were *******
I would explain it all if I could
But sometimes words do no good.
Behind all the gobbledy ****
Someone is not playing by the book.
Winning with lies is what they are trying
To make the true facts look like lying.

They keep you so confused that you
You believe what they want you to,
So you won’t see behind their wiles
To bring their larcenous ***** to trial.
Dignifying public rumors of buggery
You look away from skullduggery.
A few insignificant happenstances
Eclipse treasonous circumstances.

You ***** about gays and abortion
While conservatives commit extortion
And persecution in Jesus’ name.
To them it’s all a ratings game.
If you don’t care what people feel
You lose all track of what is real.
You turn into a tool for deception;
A dupe of sleight-of-hand misdirection.

As long as things are as they are
We’ll get run over by the clown car
Which is the Congress currently seated.
And as long as they remain undefeated
The rules will leave the deck stacked.
Nobody in DC will have our backs.
Why should they care about our whim
When the way it is benefits them?

We need one item, one bill rules
Or we end up the same beaten fools.
We need campaign funding to be equal
Or each election becomes a sequel
To what happened with Gore and Bush
When backdoor politics bit us in the ****.
The only way change will ever come around
Is to take the loopholes from these clowns.
Two of my Zen friends
who, at the time,
I thought were some kind
of Zen enemies,
seemed to condemn me
to a soap opera
of eternal cookies
and the sound of lawnmowers,
and it took me
forty-some years
to understand this koan,
and the suburban heaven
that I was condemned to,
where instead of a life
in the forest
with snakes and mosquitos,
or a life in the city
with rats and roaches,
I was given
a life in this quiet, rich suburb
with an air-conditioned summer
and a toasty warm winter,
so that surrealistic understanding
of cookie and lawnmower hell,
turned into everyday Nirvana.
CK Baker Jan 2017
He hit the canvass
cold last night;
that impressive frame
and charismatic soul
father, son
and consummate brother
went down for
the proverbial
10 count;
complete with iron band
and Iroquois
tap out pipes
and that fashionable
Frank Smith vein

there was no grudge
in this match
no condemning contest
or mad cap bout
just mano a mano
with the dark apparition
and it played out
precisely
(despite the bills
and pressing deadlines
and calls from Christ)
it came with tears
and fear
in that decisive
and surrealistic
voice from the ridge

they all arrived;
on plains
and trains
valiants
and fat boys
from across seas
and remote hills
bringing tales
and sorrow
angels,
laborers
and mourners
in mass
with eagle wreathes
and adorning pine

it was cited
as natural
but there ain’t
nothing natural
about The Heater
going down
nothing natural
for the
mauy thai bossman
with black leather gloves
and golden heart
the giver of hope
to those blue
collar dreamers
mark john junor May 2016
she is a rendering in darker inks of lighthearted subjects
the eloquently illustrated surrealistic seduction of the heart
demure yet ravishing sexualization
the ideal of beauty offering itself up like a sacrifice
at the alter of some wanton hedonistic temple to gods of lust
she looks up at me from her practiced good girl gone naughty dream
and tells me that she wants me
wants it all to be perfect
like in the paris magazines
wants it all to be crafted in perfumed perfection
near to goddess as human can be
she is rendered in darker inks
but i am captivated by the lovely
entranced by the beautiful
enraptured by the perfection
as only darker inks can be
Keith W Fletcher Jan 2016
All the blood was gone
As I had stood here ..knees locked
For no telling how long..
... About 40 years since  I had walked
Through the blanket on the doorway hung
That turned out to be a time machine portal
And here I thought it was just to help hold in heat
Silly me . RECOGNIZE . GOD  just touched a mortal
Just before entering here I was asking myself why
Why why why to a question I knew I hadn't a clue
AND NEVER WOULD! . So..why did I keep asking .?
I even knew That I knew
As I rushed down the hall and up the stairs
Across the landing and down the long cold hall
The redundancy of "WHY DID YOU DO THAT..WHY?"
All the way to that blanket and then into the warmth
As I stepped in and all the way back ....40 years.

I wasn't aware until suddenly I was standing there
Knowing I just got back but unaware that I had been gone
And in surrealistic repose was my half closed flip phone
Draped over my open left palm like a sea sick sailor
On unsteady legs asleep below the knees
I managed the  two steps distance -to my easy chair
Where I found the right levers to slowly ease
My cold, stiff and diminished mortal core
Down to where I might be able to gather myself
That was scattered all about
But first I had to close the flip phone
       That I had opened back in early September 1974

The television was playing right in front of me
But I never heard nor did I see
The fireplace was waining ----it's heat replaced by cold
I dragged a blanket over myself which I didn't even unfold
The day that existed outside the window
Scurried off
Stealing away with the light
As if it were checking to see if I'd even notice
How quickly the hands of the clock
Had painted in the night
I never even noticed --really .. I wasn't even there

I was sitting in my car in the grocery store parking lot
Watching strangers roll by as they cruised the strip
In a small town where I now lived for maybe two weeks
I was 17 a  longhaired city boy but if I was on anyones radar
     So far.... I hadn't made a single blip
One night as I sat  there
  A faded camaro
That had to be the ugliest green I ever seen
Rolled in to park behind my car
Quickly flanked by two more -
One at each door
I could see them in the mirror
I could hear the raucous laughter
This was what I had been sitting here for
What was missing that I was after
But .... I was as shy as I could be back then
Not the kind who could get out and just push right in
And then ......serendipity walked in
A cop car rolled past on the strip
And the wildhaired guy in the camaro just let it rip
Beep beep BEEEEEEEEEEP BEBEBEBEBEEEEP
WENT his horn and the cop whirled to turn in
Lost in the shadow of the grocery store he parked
As he emerged from the shadows I saw 5 ft 8 250 lbs.
And believe me now as  I give you my word
He demanded to know who was honking
Standing there 15 ft away
"I was piggy " yelled the guy in the camaro
I could not believe what I just heard ........or what I heard next
" Well cut it out Don" and into the shadow he disappeared
Then the camaro said "Beep!"
O. M. G   this guys going to jail.
The cop and him argued
The other guys split
I got out to watch from the trunk where I decided to sit
Before he went to the cop car
Cigarette in his lips
Encased in the most amazing grin he asked me
"Hey man ...you got a match?"
I didn't and said I was sorry and they disappeared in shadow
Oh well I thought as I sat watching them get in the car
Illumination of dashlights allowed a set of silhouettes
And I could tell --what the hell-
He was actually lighting up with the dash lighter
Then  he replaced it and in straightening back up
He dragged his fingers across every switch he could manage
And the shadows came alive
With flashing lights, bells and whistles
The cop went spastic shutting it down --2 minutes went by
Then the door opened and out stepped the guy
The car drove away as the wildhaired maniac
Walked over to me fiollowing the lit cigarette and that crazy grin
"That was pretty funny wasn't it dude?"  I probably agreed
That grin was infectious as we talked a bit  
I'm keith _ I'm Don
Then he said "Hey !  You got a joint"
"No I don't "I had to reluctantly admit" And the grin sorta drooped
"But I think I know where we can get one"
From that point on and forever no matter how far apart we were
This guy Don became my best and  truly thick and thin friend
In that 4 month span
I met another person in that town who changed my life
His name was Tom and he was 82 yr old and totally blind
In fact he had gotten his eyes kicked out by a mule at 17
He wore no dark glasses just open holes in his head  
But he was so cool that I just didn't mind
He would drop into the upholstery shop owned by my older brother
And tell whopping tales of one kind or another
About hunting alone and bringing back game
Roofing his house at night because it was cooler
Able to tell color by just a touch but I didn't ever mind
I came to love the spirit that dwelled in that old man
My brother built him a loom in the back to Tom specifications
And he wove shawls on it from skeins of different colored yarn
Then other towns people dropping in would see old Tom
And tell the same stories he told and it wasn't long
For my sister -in- law, my brother and especially me
TO REALIZE
That any doubts we had about him
were absolutely wrong
THEN
He walked in and ran his hand over a large red velvet couch
Saying oh ain't that a pretty red I stayed silent my brother said
" Now Tom . you've heard us talking about this couch color"
Not mad but in a weary kinda way Tom said " No! I can tell"
So I had to know ...had to . I got two velvet scraps 1gold 1aqua
Here what color as he took the gold -quick feel "thats yeller
   What the......!
Before handing him the aqua I detemined I would lie whatever
He took the piece ..felt for a few seconds and hesitantly said blue
"Nope" I said but !....then Tom felt some more and more and said
"    weeeeeeel its green " his hesitancy and 2 color choices had me freaked
But I said "nope"  and that old man
Right then ....changed my life
From that second to now he effects every fiber of my being
He threw his open holed  black orbless socket to within an inch
  An inch of mine--- square on -- so quick I was stunned
..........An absolute quote here.........
  " WELL its blue green then durn it"  for me this was an epiphony
Don't doubt people so quick  Don't let anything stop you from believing  it can be possible  Always accept that it can be amazing And try to pass this hope on
So I've always tried
    The crazy guy in the ugly green camaro became my friend
We became collaborators with his amazing ear and guitar skills
Over the years he had many vehicles almost always ugly green
So That morning of December 23rd  2012
A bitter wind blowing from the north at about 25 mph and 10 ° f
I Went from the little room I was hibernating in
The only heated room in the old house
It was upstairs facing the dirt road
I had hung a string of Christmas lights inside that north facing view
In hopes of cheering me up after a REALLY bad year of loss
Divorce, bitter battle and more trouble and pain than I like to recall
So when I got up and went out that blanket hung to keep in heat
Took the dogs down the long cold hall down the cold stairwell
And all the way to the mud room wishing I had gotten dressed
I was in flimsy pajamas and floppy houseshoes
At least grabbed a jacket especially once I opened the door
I started out before I felt that wind so I let the dogs have it
I would wait inside the door and as I stood there I saw a bag
A white garbage bag with a bit of green wreath sticking out
I had had it for years never hung it
Probably saw it every time I  entered
So thats where the unanswerable question started
I do not know why
I dug up a hammer a few nails went out the door
I don't know why
Walked a hundred feet out to a field
Got my freezing ice - coated aluminium extension ladder
And carried it back to the house
I DONT KNOW WHY
I don't know why I didn't give up when it took so long
To get the dam thing to separate
Or when ...
I smashed my frozen fingers in the process
But I climbed 14 feet in the air on that north wall
I drove a nail above the window
And I hung that
Red holly berry  adorned
Green plastic wreath
Climbed down and took the ladder back  (really)
And then me and the dogs headed up to the warmth
With me asking maybe even out loud " why why why why"
All the way into the room  
And as I passed through the curtain
At 10:00 That Sunday morning  I saw the flip phone flashing
I had missed a call from Don  gonna wish me an early
Merry Christmas
So I'm sure I was smiling as I hit redial
It was his girlfriend Tammy
Hey Tammy how are you
She said "Don just died in the hospital 5 minutes ago"

The room was cold as the late shadows of a winter day
Were muting the view through the window
As I closed up the flip phone on 1974
And managed to sit down  

Late that night as I still sat there
I had a fire going now
I had managed to eat
And I was thinking of past times
The time he drove down to Texas to get married
He came back and I asked  How you like Texas
And he replied "it ****** man . I can't drive down there"
Why ?
"Cause man they got stop lights running sideways
- not up and down so I couldn't tell what to do.

Then I knew without a single doubt
WHY ?
And I did get an answer to the question after all
And just like the old man Tom and the red and green
Because any doubt I've ever had Ever Ever Ever had
About God and heaven or any version of something more...?
Evaporated forever
Don drove ugly green cars because he was colorblind
He couldn't see red and green in the "normal"sense
And that green he said was the PRETTIEST RED HE EVER SEEN"
So on his way by he stopped in with that stupid infectuos grin
And shielded me from the wind
While that sum b made me hang that dang wreath
And changed my life one more time.
      
       I love you dude and you too Tom  (Hey Tom .   is this what you imagined I looked like?)
Once upon a Time there lived a peasant
whose poems were whisperings of nature.

Nature aims toward growth, abundance
and decays softly back to succulent soils.

My homeland is not for your feet to step
upon, you belong to surrealistic cynicism.

My psychedelia does not approve of horrors
mundi and skips on every third classical tune.

What was impulsively chosen, can be a mistake
in pompous rituals on established compilations.

Apologies, for all the misdeeds lacking a true
appearances. You implied my life is a great lie.

No, it's not! Sometimes it is a knotted charade,
noose chameleon dreams wanting to create in

Castles build upon puffy clouds, youthful Ars
Poetica meeting a Pat Metheney's wonderland.

Beck is a phenomenal artist loving green lands.
Bachus was a goat. And Artemis protects us all!
To live Beautifully means to live according to Universal Harmony.
Wishing you all, to find the most beautiful, creative and truthful Path toward genuine Life's Art Poesis and bountyful moments of love shared with...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
mark john junor Dec 2014
she is a rendering in darker inks of lighthearted subjects
the eloquently illustrated surrealistic seduction of the heart
demure yet ravishing sexualization
the ideal of beauty offering itself up like a sacrifice
at the alter of some wanton hedonistic temple to gods of lust
she looks up at me from her practiced good girl gone naughty dream
and tells me that she wants me
wants it all to be perfect
like in the paris magazines
wants it all to be crafted in perfumed perfection
near to goddess as human can be
she is rendered in darker inks
but i am captivated by the lovely
entranced by the beautiful
enraptured by the perfection
as only darker inks can be
Del Maximo May 2010
mortality's taste is bittersweet
as death's brush paints life's new lease
impressionistic could haves, should haves, would haves
minimalist suprematism shapes dreams
surrealistic hopes
time's urgency hammered home by temporal clarity
top 10 lists glazed to topography
as future blends to present amid trees
a familiar CICU
a family gathering
beds with tubes and wires
monitors flashing and beeping
refreshing past's distance
with updated parking prices
will the ending be the same?
© May 31, 2010
Ceryn Mar 2014
A sign of desperation
Of envy, of misery, of dejection
Of hopeless yearning for nothing lifelong,
As almost everyone can barely notice.

Worldly desires, oh futility!
Images of true vainglory
Captives of fake reality
Stuck in their reverie
Of exaltation and flattery
Fishing for praises so badly
Insensitively, so unrelentingly
Without a thought or two.

What do you hear? What do you see?

These people sound so thirsty
Of approval and regard and dignity
Capricious predisposition, tomfoolery!

Looking for love and delight
For honor and respect and might
For grandeur and luxury
For anything but worthless beauty,
For a way not to be left behind or aside.
What a surrealistic find!

Amuse me; let the world drool for thee,
But like a century-long malady,
Such an absolutely incurable affliction
It is nothing but merely, purely,
Just as trivial as this poetic entry,
**Vanity.
Aditya Roy Sep 2017
The sun is eclipsed by the moon
The sun’s on the rise
It learns to shine through like a sea green sunny noon

The whispers of the mermaids in the sea
Seek ears of humans deep down in the water
Never hoping or wanting to pass on the lonesome egotistic plea

The swan drives away the ugliness away from the duckling
By exposing it to its cygnets who swim close to it to investigate
But the swan parents remain far and friendly afterwards hurriedly engage in beauteous bucolic buckling

The supernova explodes but leaves no more than gas
We humans lurch in overt ****** up obesity
And splutter plastic bags and corpulence and we think we still have space for inebriating grass

We are social animals but among us we have introverts
Tells us we aren’t just animals
But laughingly we believe what we are told by scientific and psychological adverts

We learn to believe in weather forecasts
But never learn to get wet in the predicted rain
Because we will carry umbrellas and raincoats in the face of the challenge of having to face our embarrassing pasts

Imagine the embarrassment of being prone to embarrassment
Nothing to live for but we live to protect ourselves
How vain since never learn to open our hearts to anyone and we disobey the volatile tenements

Volatile since we have never learned to love people above our future
We always feel god but the joy of seeing him in his fake flesh is incomparable
We on the contrary are giving more credence to something intangible rather than something close to our own soul and nature

The deaf man isn’t heard after all he can’t hear
When will you learn to listen to the person representing him
When the earth shakes and you realize that your ears are nothing compared to THE ear

Because both of you will be equally aware
You may not help him but you will receive his help
Because of the hate and ostracization that he faced and in that time of sadness there was no façade that his sensitive self decided to wear

The blind man definitely hears on the radio when the revolution is through
And the last protest was wrapped up too
In that dystopia the blind man will still see what people do
When they apoplectically turn against the lot they will understand the psychological fallacy of survival of the fittest which forms a strange brew
Because the theory brings a superiority complex in those who believe they are the fittest whereas being neutral is closest you can get to God and inner peace too
Which is achieved naturally by a very few
The feeling of megalomania is quite widespread in antagonists and if you find one in a movie you in the face of your complex are mostly likely to sue
It's all in the title. It's surreal and satirical.
DJ Thomas Jul 2010
It's reddy pink petals
sniffed or chewed
might grant dreams
a tendency to
inveigle poetry
with flowers
gift the surrealistic
shifts in sight
pluralistic ignorance
sequenced realities

Rare serious
side effects
include concern
for a green planet's
billions of voices  
buried unheard
by enculturation

Of course
it's proper name
sounds like *****
suggesting labido
enhancing sniffs
for this

Official advice is:

'An excess
of chewing
may cause
drowning !
inspired by Robert Martin and his lovely poem
'I have to water the lobelia because if I don’t it will die'

copyright©DJThomas@inbox.com 2010
LJ May 2016
Surrealistic lover meet me at the danger zone
In space ships where we simulate
As you shape shift, I stay fascinated
A reptilian, an arcturian, pleiadian
The vega, a lyra, light years away

Supersonic lover kiss me at the signal house
In cellular automaton advance my grid of DNA
As we diffuse in megastructures, callibrate my power
A sirian, grays, draconian,anunnaki
The human, indigo, crystal, the rainbow

Take me to the fantasy, at the star line of illusion
Where my body glows and your DNA burrows
Take me and show me the laser in the magic cosmic
Open my heart, inject your poison,kiss my toes as you do
Disconnect my body and spirit to another dimension

Distort the optic nerve so that the reality seems normal
Transverse the solar bodies and celestial systems
Fight the hypotonic regression to recall the delusions
Climb the mountain as the peaceful dwellers wear googles
Awaiting for a UFO float and disappear from the bare land
mark fishbein Jul 2018
I have a problem...
A very serious problem.
I cannot talk to machines.

I try to reason with them,
But always go into a surrealistic episode
Ending with a tirade of foul insults.

A syrupy voice says with a British touch
"When you hear your choice please
Please say yes or press one,
Followed by the hashtag....”
I scream such ****** things!
But I cannot get the her angry.
Has she taken a Socratic oath?
Did she take some cyber LSD?

I say, “Hey babe, ever have an ******”
Y’know what she says to me,
That I’m being sexist.
“So you think, I mean really think
Of yourself as a woman? “
“I’m Cyber Gender,
No need to be mean.
Why do you hate me?
I don’t hate you.”

(Imagine some millennial programmer
Was hired for infuriating pleasantness!
They heard of  people like me, the old ones,
Pampering us like we emerged from a jungle
And would get lost in a supermarket).

The elevator asks me what floor,
And reminds me to have a nice day.
(O,  how I miss that operator man
Going up and down all his life,
With bad breath and body odors,
Dandruff powdering his uniform,
Saying something poetic about the baseball game...
Seeing us daily at our best and worst
He might say “have a good one,”
But only if he meant it.)

The self-pay check-out reminds me
“Please take your cell phone.”
Everyone near
Holds it like the battery
To their hearts.

I see the latest blockbusters of
Man versus the Androids.
Man always used to win.
Lately the screen writers prefer the robots.
(O, forgive me! AI.  My bad.
“Robots” are not PC! Lol, lol, lol...)  

How shall I proceed-  
They’ll lock me up if I’m not careful.
I’ve noticed the folks in power
Who have conversations with God  
Have no problem with Siri.

These malicious machines don’t get drunk.
They can never understand
There’s great empathy in human relationship
Even if the other person, like yourself,
Is not really listening.
The development of full artificial intelligence could spell the end of the human race….It would take off on its own, and re-design itself at an ever-increasing rate. Humans, who are limited by slow biological evolution, couldn’t compete and would be superseded.  Stephan Hawkins
They seem to me
to have to live
in a public nightmare
of being known
even though nobody knows
and it seems to me
to be a surrealistic hell
of flashing lights
and strangers
who know everything
without knowing anything
and people want
a piece of them
and people even
take potshots at them
so us little people
should probably be happy
that we're not famous.
The darkened corners of forgotten yesterdays clouded the view as the gaping maw of need stared across the chasm at necessity .  Almost as if there was a reason for it’s contiguous constituency it reflected the myriad animations of it’s creator .  Crystalline forms in infinite diversity beyond the subjective sublimations of mass crowded the integral forms of it’s subjugated spontaneities perversions as the well of it’s unity sang of the cause for it’s being .

The single-mindedness of it’s recumbent beginnings were all but lost to the ramifications of itself as the children of it’s repulsion waxed and waned .  

The twinkling of an eye , the integration of ages , countless extrapolations of it’s ******* vanished into the nature of their being as the tainted refuse of their wanton progressions began their mutual processions back to the source , or wandered through the surrealistic ethereum of their eternally predestined nothingness .

Causalities purity reigned as all became the reason for it’s own creation , and vanished into the implosion of it’s own *******
david mungoshi Nov 2015
1 -
a therapeutic calm wafted across the valley
and a wispy mist in blue filled the still air
i stood transfixed on the tense river bank
seeing and not believing this magical sight
that on my mind weren't ever a blight

                               - 2 -
a frog with a bobbing throat leapt into the water
and sent a ripple that crept up the serene pond
till in time it reached the floater of my line
whereupon i felt a grip upon my timid heart
and a fish bigger than in stories broke the surface

                              - 3-
in that mystical moment the scales fell from my eyes
and i beheld a sight most wondrously mesmerizing
for there upon a delicate water lily in ballerina pose
was a maid with a beauty that no artist could conceive
in a soon forgotten sluggish million years or more

                           - 4 -
her eyes were like twinkling stars recently escaped
from the whirling depths of a cosmic wormhole
her nose was like a bridge to whimsical fantasy
and she beckoned to me with ever-increasing urgency
till i felt my will melt before her seductive wiles

                           - 5 -
then the voice of my mother called me from the edge
and the sleep induced by the moment began to dissipate
the maid began a dance like one for her nuptials
and the sound of distant drums bore into my soul
in faint echoes that were forever sinking into endless time

                            - 6 -
as in a surrealistic dream before the break of another day
the frog leapt out of the pond and onto the grassy bank
from the lily, like a fancy, the dancing maid disappeared
and there was neither mist nor breeze as i stood there
alone again with my fishing line and my baffled thoughts
Carlo C Gomez Jan 2020
Pay dirt
Pay phones
Pay the sitter for her time in hell
with the twins
You'll never earn enough
to call long distance
Unless you move to Italy
and live the dream
of making heart-shaped pizzas
Another in response to a poem challenge from Elizabeth Leone Laird. See her poem "Clarity" and take the challenge!
Jago Lantz Nov 2013
My fingers slide across ancient pages
Flipping mindlessly through the ages
And I can't help but tremble in the rage
That has long-since locked man into his cage

Words are wavering voices portrayed in ink
That allow one to float or to further sink
Into a mindset where one can only think
About how well then and now remain in sync

See, I love indulging myself in the unrealistic
The arbitrary plots that may seem a bit sadistic
Furthermore, I'm a "so-called" mystic
Who has an uncanny fondness of the surrealistic

So, empathy and mercy are out of the question
For, I face all challenges with an unyielding aggression
That applies to not only one's overall impression
But to that emotion which forces a mind into depression

I ignore the hostile words that are silently spoken
The fragile hearts of my friends that are steadily broken
Because I'm just a spirit that's unwilling to be woken
Into a world where the afterlife becomes one's precious token

Who would want to live in such a sad, sorry way
Surrounded by people who've got nothing better to say
Other than whether they're going to leave or to stay
In retrospect, well, that makes it all seem just plain and gray

That's why I often find myself here
Be it the result of loneliness, uncertainty, or even fear
This is the one place I can always disappear
And construct my own world that's always crystal-clear

So yeah, I guess you could say I'm a fool
Many may think that I'm really uncool
But, why should I care about the dissatisfaction of tools
The universe is my sanctum, and imagination my school
~There's no one better to be than yourself~
david mungoshi Jan 2016
Poetry gives the magic back to words
and makes words flesh again
as it was in the beginning
till our quantum-leap thoughts
spurred on by incantatory rhythms
often like latterday Gregorian chants
materialize into the dancing silhouettes
of solid but surrealistic forms in fantastic hues
thus the poet is the custodian of creation from nothing
poem enhanced and expanded
News! News! in its surrealistic gear,
Charles Darwin of England has resurrected,
He is here in Africa, roaming the deserts
In the savannah belts of Turkana Land,
Looking for African skulls for a second living.

He is in the company of Richard Leakey,
Talking among themselves with air of comradeship,
Behaving wiseacre over the Africans there,
Looking from place to place to rename
The current African humans,

He has already named people of Kenya
And all the people in the subhara of Africa
With a new paradoxical evolutionary tag,
They are now homotribaliticus Africanus,
A tag reflecting African tribalism in politics,
He has met the Chinese and renamed them too,
They are now ****-pecunias asianicus
Or the money making Asians,

Darwin has freshly renamed Americans
This time round not as caucasoids,
But as homocapitalisticus putinis stupidous,
His shrewdness did not go with erstwhile death,
He also has s pecial evolutionary tag for Africans
Zinjipoliticus idioticus, or the fools who die politically.
David Nelson Mar 2010
Poetry or Prose

Is it poetry or prose, now that's a real good question,
if you mix them both together, will it give you indigestion,

many years ago, the old wise and scholarly Hebrew priests,
who created the architecture of surrealistic fantasies, the prose,
it has rhythm, it has rhyme, repetition and imagery but,

the poem is far more like modern music, magic notes you see,
rolling off the tongues of man, almost anyone can be,    

a delightful place to rest a weary soul from travel, is the port,
where the changing colors of the sea, and the twinkling of lights
never tire the eye in its colorful prism,

so it is your choice my friend, you can bend, shape and throw it,
make it what you will, be you a proser or a poet      

Gomer LePoet...
Clay Face Mar 2020
You float so sweet like cereal.
But soon you’ll drown, that’s so surreal.

Live now in the light, while darkness lurks.
Destruction and loyalty is a virtue of the Turks.
Prosperity is always the one that irks.

When you sink, you’ll dry up and be bitter like salt.
Don’t be shy. Away you are from reality.
Of course you’ll say it’s not your fault.
You’re no longer in neutrality.

So close to the evil of indifference.
You’ve shook yourself loose.
In no mans land you stand, but with one in hand.
You’re now held tight in truce.

A peace in self, and with id unleashed.
A stand in true falsity, the chaos of mind.
Harmful your insides are released.
You’re so loose yet in a bind.

The incoherence of your unconscious.
Is so restraining.
But so loose you are to set it free.
You rise to a deep reality.
One that lays inside all.
And awakes outside, leading to a great fall.
vamsi sai mohan Nov 2014
O mother, take me there, where I find the gratifying grace,

Take me there, where I dwell in bliss,

Take me there, where I ramble in rapturous joy,

Take me to that miraculous planet and nurture me,

O mother, take me there, where I find the tantalizing nothingness,

Take me there, in to the surrealistic world and let me ponder over the nature’s allegories,

Take me to this exuberant excursion,

O mother, I have become claustrophobic, I cannot live in this enclosed space,

Take me to the infinity where I have no confinity,

Take me through the valleys of sunshine and glory,

O mother, Let me live the eternal love,

Let me smell the soil,

Let me hear the choirs of sea,

Let me be an epicurean,

Let me squelch and tread on the planet,

Let me see the picturesque of nature,

Let me lay my body on the roots of heaven,

Let me dandle on your knees,

Let me construe the dappled sky,

Let me live and leave,

O mother, instigate your benign impulsion,

I long to see you and the world,

I want to be resurrected,

O mother, I loved you before I knew, I believed in you before I knew.
The child descries the unfathomable beauty and exhilaration on the planet when he is in the womb and makes an earnest request to emanate him out of the gestation period....
Walking the surrealistic byways of creative bliss
Through Cat hair grass within the fingerling forest ...
Good morning to Uncle White Pine , to my Cousin Brown Thrasher reading my mind ! To red rosy clay and chipper Mr. Soapstone , to Mayflies granting wishes and Chattahoochee crawfishes ...
The Gulf breeze telegraphing the wonderment of forest song with love
for all .. To the playful King Sun hiding behind the cloud bank to the
old gray Opossum hanging upside down , bluffing sleep on a lonesome Cherry branch .. Warm wishes fill my dreams while picking tea cups from a 'Story Tree' , each with a serving dish , hot refreshments and lively conversation with a well read ****** , a witty Fox , a Woodpecker poet and a guitar picking Catfish ..
Copyright March 18 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Connor Jun 2017
Peacock summer (yolk & barnyard coffee shop for strawman Sal)

cactus palace, alps figured in stonework train terminal/Dylan hollering (I am the vessel for the ghost of me)

transmuted nostalgia, blank graffiti gaze/the alchemic architecture of skyscrapers replacing skyscrapers (an image made more blinding, the child raised to be dissociative & intolerant. I miss the oaken texture of your voice)

bulbous glass humidity, I am poet/poet build word house/in surrealistic wood/fireplace made of naive rainbow and the bones of a whole universe (Sun paints its terror on the back of my neck while I sit here watching a Supermodel with a 3 thousand dollar paisley pattern olive dress walk outside towards Gastown, her rings are worth more than a boreal dream)

Japanese weddings in Elizabethan gardens/grey Fenrir cloud-beast approaches with its faint dew/kites strewn between the Willow trees/Canyon instrument drum/ponderer creates masks of flowers/she sinks into the soggy earth/her primal home (I value those who are humble and beautifully so)

the more poems I read, the more mosaic my soul becomes like world-tree (roots collecting together, vibrant stems of skeletons & Springtime goliath)

do not fret the newspaper will never stop screaming, your cigarettes will never run dry, the ***** platform will never stop bathing itself in the city,

God, to answer your question
yes I am still godless
& yes I am happy

growing thin in the phantom pull of your vastness

(to essence of Lavender)

the sea its
own travelling
fortress
invulnerable
to time
Under the canopy of trees
Spots of sunlight,
Figures cuddling like bees
A surrealistic sight!
An apparition like reality enacting a mime
As if they would be there and not move with time
I have been through it like forever
Holding onto it, scared to lose it ever
This winter morning I’m part of their game
Happy to be there frozen in the frame!
A winter morning scene in a faraway village where I chanced to be a part. The scene appeared to me like a surrealistic painting. Forever etched in my memory.
decompoetry Oct 2010
There is a path ahead;
detours include wrath and dread.

Grotesque silhouettes
inhaling dismal cigarettes,
hitching along as we try to stay strong;
only purpose: spinning good deeds wrong.

Like malicious spiders trapping us
within webs of oppressed depression,
with options of staying here or slaying fear.

Charge forward, calamity no longer sticks;
time to smash through these enclosing bricks.

Reach out; fingers spread,
nearing the yearned path ahead;
hollowness filling, an embrace willing
to revolve around multitasked moons,
clenching the omniscient strings
of an infinity vermillion balloons.

Fighting toward the destination awaiting,
draining poison from tumors complicating.

Light fall winds carry the deflated away,
leaving us to stay and sway under and over
clouds and seas, surrealistic palm trees.

Thoughts difficult to explain,
yet I’m ascertain of destiny at its finest;
so let mania relinquish,
and allow the folded to unfold.

Fables we’ve told,
soon to be a font enlarged
by reality’s ink;
an endless snapshot
captured by spirituality’s blink.
The sky began to purple
And the scene to set
And the heart like drums
Began to beat
Then from some twist of light
A play began to roll
And there I was
Dozing in the sunshine
One quiet afternoon
When lightening flashed
Right from out the blue
Shattering my reverie
Was the Sunlight's goon
As he took a bow for
His introduction and
How d' you do
He shook my world of classic order
To a surrealistic view
With quick steps to the left
And then to the right
He bent my gaze
To his central stage
Of course,
This monochrome painter
Requests total attention
Not difficult,
As he's been struck from
The list of convention
He spills his canvas with tidy
Abstractions of captured jests
Of wild imitation, a pose
In fractured time
He is a master of imagination
With noiseless motion
He whirls to each identity
From his kaleidoscope of darkness
His badge of entity
He bends symbols to a new formation
A magician of dimmed light
He nurtures the checker board
Of contrasts in angles to
His invention
From a repose in solitude
I now acquaint myself
To timeless relenting
For he's here
He's everywhere
Though neither god nor man
But entertainer
A show that begins from light
And ends with darkness
While I see, he plays a game with me
Wherever I go, he goes
Whatever I do, he does
Though sometimes leader
Sometimes the lamb
But while still blinking
From this sudden view
He wills me to another hue
As he molds his statues
To another stand
And shades the tones darker
Then with some secret mime
And the close of time
The audience, now
Just common dolls
That leave no echo of applause
So they've left
The lights have gone out
And the Shadow
Opaque of emotion
Releases his hold
And there he's left me
In a final void
Was he really there?
Or was it just another show
Of self confrontation.
david mungoshi Oct 2015
Thunder roars out there
and deep in my inner self I dance
in the rain that comes in quavers
that gyrate with  fervour
These are days of new growth
and soft new turf
Days when we all have a say
about how life must go
when compassion goes walkabout
and falsity becomes king of the block
Let there be unfulfilled yearnings
for things unattainable
To jump-start the cravings in our hearts
till with ravenous wanting
we chart a new course as we chat
about hollow epitaphs on gravestones
desperate scribbles on tree trunks
and surrealistic graffiti in the alleys
of our sordid consciousness
*Let there be giggling girls in frills and laces
and laughing women in killer shapes
that all men must adore in perpetuity
Let there be music about the waterfall in the wood
Let there be birds singing from wild fig trees
and bees a-buzzing in and out with nectar from the flowers
Let there be life in abundance; and
Let there be love in preponderance
While we skim the skies of our sleeping dreams
for even the slightest suggestion of compassion awakened
Skogen Feb 2011
When I was young I used to lay and think of having my very own queen,
You know the kind of girl that just makes the scene.
Well I found her and who knew I would find the fairest of them all right down the hall,
An amazing woman with such characteristics, courtesy of heuristics, not ever sadistic, materialistic, or a simplistic statistic, she is so surrealistic, I can’t believe how lucky I am, this ballistic, artistic, socialistic, purely holistic, expressionistic soul that makes up the composition of her life’s position, makes me wanna transition, and prostrate myself to her submission...

...and so I did, I let her in to swim through the thoughts in my brain, and like a broken water main they gush feelings and emotions freely unchecked but she doesn’t need to hit the deck, she stands stall, weathering the squall, she’s my wall, she’s my leopard print baby doll.  She sets me straight, inspiring my urges to create, always a reason to celebrate when i’m with her

She cuts through my life with a concern and care sharper than any knife,  Peeling through the layers to my core, *** man when it rain man it pour, and she catches the drips and drops  as they fall right through the door, and of her I could never ask more, she is the perfect score, the one I adore.  We soar...  

...and together our dreams take flight, you can’t cop this kind of height,
up and beyond far out of your sight, we don’t fight, we play, and I wanna hear what she’s gotta say, Everything wrong, and everything right with her day, how are you doing?  When’s your next play?  And if I may I will, the best image even if its still, is of her, lying on my chest, which is where I want her nest,  with her head on my heart,  she hears the rhythm of my soul as it rocks her to sleep, while I lay in thoughts so deep, and every once in awhile I just might peep, at the face directly below mine, that constant state of grace, life’s sunshine.
Mayra Sep 2015
You're my center piece at the gallery
All of the other pieces focus on a detail of you
Your eyes creates a window into your heart
The hand sculpture gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling just like when I first held your hand
The heart is a surrealistic painting with locks all over protecting it from intruders  
The background music is the sound of your voice
Everything goes back to the center, you
Aleska Servian Oct 2014
Another day goes by and i can't draw your mischievous smile
but i guess that on cold nights you become a little hostile
People tell me that i give too much value to things that will never thrive
that's the beauty on seeing hope in sad stories, dead flowers and drunk poets

Another day goes by and i don't try to cure you pain with a hot tea
i want surrealistic paintings on the walls, you're more like Van Gogh so you don't agree
On holidays we go to the coast just to hear the sound of the waves
and for a second it feels like heaven but then everything turns grey

Another day goes by and life present us with a hard task
i was already running away to somewhere i was safe in the past
You took my hand and led me to the edge of a cliff
"Would you jump if you knew that it will bring you some peace?"

Cinnamon apple pies right there outside the window
it's funny how we change, leaving our dreams on the pillow
Sometimes i just wanna close my eyes and hope that you'll never come
cause someone once said that love would tear us apart
We always believe that we can be smarter than our hearts

There are some skyscrapers that i don't know how to climb yet
until there we can stay home all night listening to some old casettes
It's so unique when the drums are syncronized with our heartbeats
We're sharing a straw, we're sharing a life, it's not too fast
Running, walking, crawling, you'll reach me at last

How long does it take to let go of this feeling?
i'm usually not afraid, but i'm afraid that you'll love me
Like a hundred bells ringing inside my head
see, i want you and i need you but is it the right time?
Wouldn't it be better to wait for you at the finish line?

— The End —