"surreality" poems
Lavender rainbows in teal green skies
Where all clouds are lined silver
Glittered lakes in powder pink
Feed pastel unicorns with pearlesque horns
Twisted in iridescent beauty
In a land of pretty pegasi
Dreams become reality become dreams
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
It's goa my love,
the piece of earth that you cherish.
Streets are narrow and quaint, tiled roofs falling over each other,
clinging to the beam by their nails.
Atmosphere is sultry with sun, *** and surreality.
Surrounding me is you, in a warm womb of induced coma.
How will it be if my head were to be in your lap,
your fingers combing through my curlies?
Should death come at this moment,
I would welcome it with an embrace.
Heat, a beating heart and a stiffness in my *****
my last few vestiges of emotion.
Jun 21, 2016
Jun 21, 2016 at 12:27 AM UTC
hold me,
never let me sink.
hold me,
don't let me drift.
hold me,
I'm drowning.
hold me,
I'm slowly fading in surreality.
hold me,
I just need someone to assure me.
hold me,
I'm forgetting more and more of my existence.
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 11:23 AM UTC
give me that meaningless ********
sweet nothing nonsense
sonneting on & off & on again.
everyday, all day
we were softer shades of comet spitting stars across the cosmos
I feel awful about feeling awful this morning. we were alone together in the dark
lost for the most part.
the sound of lights
of day & of night inspire me
& I'd like to try to fly even though I'm
really really tired
&I; know I'd end up this
amorphous red inkblot
of blood & chunks of flesh
on the sidewalk.
just an absolute mess.
the fever broke then settled in &
I went the way
of the sugar rush instead.
I like you to death.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
I find myself repeating the verses,
the tones of hope, and embodiments
of kindness; the surreality of freedom,
and reverence.
I find myself, hoping to go back;
though I regret not my growth nor
bending wakes which have aroused
upon the grieving dismissal
of the elements I cursed
over the sake of the intellect.
I rewind, reform, and inform myself;
“these biddings are none but illusions,
ignorance, bewildered by a tragic coat
of happiness”, yet that blinding
world was much more comforting
that my currents misconceptions - the real ones,
which I have never succeeded to eradicate:
the demons.
Were I in the guiding of a celestial mentor,
would it make a difference?
Or would this guardian unveil me as
I proudly did so myself?
I do not wish for a tone,
I do not wish for a course,
I do not wish to the frightening of my curse;
nor a god.
Yet, in these precious and tumbling days,
I find myself praying.
I pray for nothing other than the essence
that left along with these figures.
The child I abandoned in my search
for reason.
I find myself reciting words I never could
have captured, and actions
I never would have wished to perform.
But it is not the words nor actions which
engrave our being - it is our soul.
Mine is hidden.
Conceptual yet senseless.
I find myself singing
the words which used to fill
the ambience with glow
and truth.
But nothing comes of it,
other than my need to recapture
my previous being, while
tangling on to my current presence
and gladfull knowledge.
Though sadness is cause,
I pay no heed towards commotion,
**for I find myself
finding a reason.**
Feb 6, 2013
Feb 6, 2013 at 4:17 PM UTC
An artist
In Japan, I think, or somewhere,
Built a swimming pool
That looks like a pool
But isn’t
And people go inside it and can look up
And see the people looking at them.
I saw it on Facebook,
“Like if it’s cool.”
Heart heart x x.
It doesn’t beat actually being underwater,
The surreality when you open your eyes
And the chlorine or the salt stings
And you see swimming trunks
Or fish
And things better not mentioning
And you look up and see the ceiling
But beyond that is the sky
And beyond that is space
And beyond that is stars
And beyond that is galaxies
And beyond that is…
Everything.
And you feel so deep underwater,
But you’ve barely scratched the surface.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 12:55 PM UTC
Inflection
Infliction
Infection
Defective
Defenseless
Impressive
Depression
Impression
Departure
From
Reality
Surreality
Purity
Into
Frailty
Depravity
Definitely
Causing
Confusion
Diffusion
Profusion
In
Inflection
Infection
Imprison
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 2:10 AM UTC
We arrive at the place
Water running off our faces;
Looking like disgraces
Glibly explaining
That it is still raining.
Just a smattering patter.
Not that it matters.
We'll just sit and chatter
Like social Mad Hatters
At a move-down afternoon tea.
We're all hooked on surreality.
The ladies-who-lunch bunch;
Character assassination over brunch.
Some gossip while we munch
Embroidering on a hunch.
Anything to stay in out of the rain.
After all, it's not our personal pain.
It's some other sucker's sorry.
We will forget it by tomorrow.
For today, while we quickly forget
We just sit and watch the streets get wet.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 3:39 AM UTC
my shy, hesitant frame was first taken to obligatory ballet lessons when it was only 5 years old
the pale pink clinging leotards and scuffed leather slippers decorated with neat string bows would always outweigh the strain of my mothers scraping nails against my scalp in order to achieve the perfect ballerina bun seconds before each and every lesson in the vastly daunting and vacant room
where our innocent and wide-eyed little selves were our sole company in the face of the towering glass pane staring straight back at us
the sheen of the never-ending polished pole stretched right across the middle
and we strained to try and make ourselves grow taller than each other
to look like real dancers practising their pliés for hours upon hours
and I made my small body bear the unbearable
the strung out aching the myriad of assorted stretches lit in my weak limbs as I tried to train my fingers to kiss my tippy toes
like a desperate attempt at mimicking the distance between fingertips in The Creation of Adam
always almost within reach
but never meeting
soon enough the pink and the pretty and the pleasing image this form of dance appeared to me to be was no longer enough
and the sparkles and sequins and garish glitter costumes began to fade along with reflecting rainbow coloured stage lights and 4 years worth of overpriced Academy Lessons and Exams
I guess I gave up on touching my toes
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
You ain't gotta lie
You ain't gotta try so hard
You don't have to flex to impress me
Be real and cool and maybe we'll vibe
You ain't gotta lie all we have to do is chill out and vibe sit around smoke an L lay back listen to music I'm allergic to ******** come at me with it I split like a banana I know that's random but I'm proving a point you don't have to lie to get in the joint
You ain't gotta lie
You ain't gotta try so hard
You don't have to flex to impress me
Be real and cool and maybe we'll vibe
You ain't gotta lie mom's said there'll be days when you question everything in your head she said those were the days when you find out who's gonna be real and ride with you until you're dead life ain't all about chasing that cake and making bread we're all gonna be in the same grave six feet deep permanently asleep so you don't gotta flex like a young dude about to have ***
You ain't gotta lie
You ain't gotta try so hard
You don't have to flex to impress me
Be real and cool and maybe we'll vibe
You ain't gotta lie I can't talk to a mattress I'd rather speak in a surreality to a canvas plant this seed in the soil of your mind
That all the loudest cans are the emptiest inside so that same logic applies to all of humankind
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 2:34 AM UTC
Between
Black and White
Right and Wrong
War and Peace
lies the
Gray zone the
Blurred line
Middle ground
Limbo
No boundaries between
Good and Evil
Moral and Amoral
Thin ice and
Solid ground
No safety net to prevent slipping into extremes
No caution signs or flashing lights to guide our steps
We live and die in a
Fairy tale with alternate endings penned by
Politicians
Media moguls and
Religious fanatics who
Convince us to
Choose from a stacked deck to
Win a fixed game
Compliment us on our finery
tho we are threadbare or naked
We live in the land of the free where the
Rule of law applies only to commoners
Opportunity comes with a price few can afford and
Everyone has the
Right to work and the
Right to be exploited
You might be dwelling in the kingdom of surreality if….
Conflicting images are presented as harmonious
Opposites are blended to form bland
Ugliness is sugar-coated and swallowed whole
Love and passion interfere with success.
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
You asked her to describe herself. I can tell you.
She is daisy petals falling and the slipping on a wet leaf in autumn and putting on pajama pants and cotton candy as it melts and stepping into sunlight in the morning.
You are the cold slap of hitting the water and running your fingers through your hair when you wake up and taking a sip of too-hot tea and the feeling when you ski faster than you should and the brush of your pencil when it's at the softest, darkest angle that makes everything beautiful.
I am waking up warm in the middle of the night and the secret brush of fingers and lighting that strikes too close for comfort and cold cement under bare feet while it rains and the soft surreality of hair underwater.
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 12:50 PM UTC
/|\ °
°
•
'
¤
*Can't freeze a caludron with only witchbone and cigarette dreams.
No sir; I live in the city not a
surreality. The smoke can kiss my collarbone, not my vexed mind.
The only thing I am is the color of lightning and all I have to offer is my glass.
As in hour, not luminous wine.*
....
Jun 28, 2015
Jun 28, 2015 at 6:50 PM UTC
Call me Don Quixote,
For I am a dreamer on a journey,
Travelling forth with noble cause
To see the wondrous sights
And save fair maidens.
And though you say,
There are no such things as Giants,
The Dragons are all dead,
That a Knight I'll never be,
I tell you this:
The journey itself is magical
In a way you will never know,
For all of your logic is but a crutch,
A way to keep to safe Roads.
And so you will never understand
That windmills were never windmills,
But Giants all along.
So call me Don Quixote,
For the Surreality I perceive
Is by far the greater than the Reality
By which you are deceived.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
**I'm that fictional character in your life.
The deleted movie scene.
Filmed but never made it to the screen.**
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 4:22 AM UTC
In the dark of night
I have seen a wild sight
That made some say
“That’s not really right!”
When visitors go walking
Through walls an such
Reality is far out of touch,
And good common sense
No longer means that much.
A logical person, that is me,
With no love for surreality,
Instead an intense inner drive
For a world of abject sanity.
Until, to my upset and surprise,
A kind of person, before my eyes
Appeared to spiritually enchant me.
Surely a ghost and not a disguise.
On a pleasing evening walk
I spent a while in chatty talk.
The fellow so handsome
I could find no way to balk.
He told me an interesting tale;
A wandering life of freedom and jail
And meeting other vagabonds
Riches and fame both no avail.
We shared about the weather
We talked for hours together
I noticed his suit was three pieces
Wool plaid instead of leather.
I am sure I was quite obvious,
He couldn’t have stayed oblivious
Of the way I was wanting him
My face gave away my wishes.
He said he had to go quite soon
And my heart, a burst balloon
Also showed on my sad face.
Smiling, he pointed to the moon.
From his lapel he took a shiny pin
And fixed to to my collar and then
Smiling, he kissed me warmly
Which set my head into a spin.
Then, his colors began to glimmer,
The ancient clothing started to shimmer
And my lovely suitor began to fade.
My passion for him soon left to simmer.
Because like a camera trick he was gone
And I was left on my own to move on
And face the facts that I was looking at air,
Just me and a memory on the city lawn.
I questioned myself and my sanity too.
What else could any sane person do
When faced with such a visible mystery?
How could any of this have been true?
I looked down to my collar and there
Was that pin this ghost had pinned where
I could not deny his existence was real.
So, perhaps you see why I had to share.
Brent Kincaid
5/16/2019
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 3:17 PM UTC
Dollar signs painted upon walls
While psychopaths grieve it's surreality
"Not real not real, must have more"
They all chant in unison
Gobbling and devouring wealth
The black holes of greed that they are
Never feeling love nor happiness
Just the want for more and more
Million dollar cars pour from golden driveways
As monogramed gates open wide
Wouldn't you wish to peer inside?
See the extravagant joys that await?
Scarves cover their bones, they are without skin
And soul, they lack as well
Instead they have it replaced
With the almighty dollar
Dec 23, 2012
Dec 23, 2012 at 6:22 PM UTC
Take me to the line
Whisk me to the end
A place of lived reality
Where it makes sense
Take me to the river
Drown me in a fall
A place of abstraction
Where magic happens
Take me to the icecaps
Freeze me on the peaks
A place of surreality
Where ecstasy copulate
This space of fiction
*** brewed as a drug
Lovers a bought right
Lines of ruins and glories
Draw the line to see
A bridge of realness
A tow halved illusions
Drag me to the in-betweens
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 10:54 AM UTC
Let your lips play around with mine
Adrenaline explodes through your eyes
Heart starts racing
Skipping beats when it's you i'm facing
Not used to breaking free from my control
It sinks into my lungs where it unfolds
The sweetest pleasure of this new experience
Overwhelmed with the surreality of your existence
Yet it shelters itself in the warmth of your hands
Roaming around not knowing where to stand
Blushing red, rose shy
To let the world know that you're mine
But pink cheeks and intimidated emotions
Draw it deeper
And deeper
into the shadows of your motions
To cover up the intensity of their flow.
Thus ask your heart for it knows
The celebration that my body throws
Each time you come close
Each time my aura interwinds with yours
Each time my spirit senses the pulses of your soul
Mar 19, 2015
Mar 19, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Why worthy wonderer, whispers no words
About fleeting feelings falling featherlike,
Better than bickerings boasted about
Sweeter than sugary surreality.
Truly a challenge to change nonchalant
Thoughts and then think so thoroughly that
At once and all over; obviously, we ought
To learn love in life like a listening lot.
Say, sharper than a sparkling star-filled sky,
Simply, I sigh seeing sight of your eyes.
Proven so purely precious prized promise,
Marvelous mystery making me most meek.
And although all acts are always adored,
No one knows nothing nor never alone.
Really, rough loving rivets writing wrists,
Yet you, I yearn you, yes, your yearning of me.
How had my heart helplessly heed no hails,
Empty of every eager everything?
It is indescribable, indefinite, infinite.
We would be the world's wishfulwise wonder.
Come clean, conclude, close calmly this cast.
Admit all affections are ardent and awe.
Truth telling ties tongues too tight to twist--
Here, have my heart, hear hopes howling hell.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
We don't remember the sun
for the blisters on our skin
but for the way it sets
in beauty and grandeur
on a fiery horizon,
with surreality and colour.
We remember the sun
for the climactic ending
to a short,
passionate life.
Dec 30, 2013
Dec 30, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC