Best Surrealistic Poems
Seduce me in Black and White
You reach toward my face
and touch my lips
Tracing the slightly raised pink curve of them
gently - lightly - before
the urge to kiss me seizes the opportunity
Surrealistic sensations immortalize
as our lips seek and lock
Interchange of strange, new emotions
flow as our tongues entwine
Sun having a siesta under his canopy of clouds sends
sombre golden light slanting through the old colonial blinds
Enough for me to see ~
I want to see ~
Caressing fingers don’t stop as kisses linger
moving in seductive circular motion
Circling - tracing - moulding
twin peaks to unashamed pertness
Tantalising ripples course my body
Like the soft waving flutter of butterflies winged kisses
creating sensuous ripple upon ripple
Of pure undulating pulsating
I want to see ~
Fingers urgently move now to my navel
circling, tracing, tinkling
Like a pianist on his keys
of black and white
Are they really only two colours?
Why then do they lilt a rainbow of colours to my ears?
On my fevered skin caressing fingers script my Rhapsody
The slow whirring beat of the ancient ceiling fan
picks up a harmonic note
of a solitary flute
Wanting to add to the sultry scene
It lends its own mysterious charm
A tantalising urge to arch
I want to feel ~
Impatient now for them to move further
Fiery Desire entices curious fingers to touch
dew that cumulates dusk to dawn on my awakening rose
Exciting, enticing emotions
The aromatic rapture floats me to you
a tortuously slow feeling to satiate
Propels bodies to engage
I want to feel ~ I want to feel ~ I want to feel you
A frog croaks discordantly outdoors
Snapping me out of my reverie
Startling me out of my romantic fantasy
Eyes fall back on monochrome words of my book
I long to dwell in this erotic moment
Weaving the music into a mesmerising crescendo
However
The old wooden blades of the ceiling fan
resume back to the rhythmic measured clickity clack
The spell now broken
I reach for my phone to call my lover
He awaits my call …
Video Clip - Yanni - Romantic piano
Caustic memories dissolve on my tongue
Lingering tastes of battery acid and nicotine
Cause me to choke on putrid saliva.
Staring at melting walls, clocks tick in unison.
Distorted birdsong hums outside of jagged windows
Under the warped sun, an unrepentant landscape blurs.
Freshly budding peonies liquefy;
Veils thin, evaporating the delusion of reality.
Why must I mould to the edges at your bidding,
Contort to the point of my own dysfunction?
For such fleeting worship, this devastation lingers -
Devours and disconnects my inner workings.
I lie highlighted in shadow, a beacon of quiet distress;
A dislodged scapula desperate to be labelled angelic.
Grounded, wingless, and forever out of time -
Wearing the last face you cared for as a comforter.
Neon venom warming twisted arteries,
Sinister patches stitched upon a breaking back.
A narcissist's crown digging into my head
Like rusted nails plunged into worm-infested wood—
Permanent disconnection, frayed cerebral cortex.
Blurred vision obscures insidious figures hiding in hushed corners,
Whispering in Babylonian tongue. Hallucinatory illusions haunt
What was a once-pristine sanctuary,
Now morphing into a surrealistic asylum.
Revelation exists above shadow in temporal machination,
I'm consciousness not yet swept up with sand;
Closed eyes cleanse my corneas - I rest in a balm of clarity.
Your power superficial, a cankerous cataract peeled clean off.
It is you who is bereft, washed up with the shell you created.
All the walls of your empty room fallen flat,
As I unfurl in the mirror beyond the shoreline,
I realise - it was never me you couldn't stomach.
Black-blue paint bleeds from within the cracks of crumbling cement walls,
Crushed skeletons infused within limestone erode,
exposing nameless sorrow hidden behind faceless grains of gypsum,
while a forgotten galaxy's celestial ceiling peers through a decaying thatched roof.
Misguided souls reach out into night's void,
screeching repeated sins into feverish gusts of wind,
tethered to each rusting rebar that's barely holding what was once their haven together,
unable to let go, doomed to relive past grievances.
Weathered spiral staircases lead towards nowhere.
Bleakness suffocates while hope is snuffed out,
like the wick of bitter candles drowning in their own wax.
Spinning surrealistic scenes melt into intangible realities,
each soul writhing in agony, trying to break free of abject cycles,
yet punishment clings like the smell of burnt tobacco,
unable to separate the scent from the fibres of existence.
Disembodied voices find no reprieve,
only more excruciation
at the hands of cruel judgement.
All that I am I simply can’t impart
in just one poem; I’m simply too left-brained
and practical, so when I share my heart,
to rhyme and rhythm also I am chained.
I sat for half an hour while trying to
compose a free verse poem on how I feel
about that modern style some poets do
with such aplomb, but are their poems more real
than mine, in which I’m wont to make words rhyme?
It’s so much simpler using what for me
comes easily when metered (such a crime
to surrealistic poets writing free!)
I do not rant or write from a good cry,
but at my sonnet’s end, I heave a sigh.
Written July 31, 2015 for the Contest of Charlotte Jade Puddifoot
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 organ; 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
Let someone's light shine everywhere,
darkness must not prevail when hope becomes
the candle that flickers waiting to die,
but somewhere a rising voice sings
and makes pretty roses bloom and butterflies fly:
come out of your hiding and dare
to defy anyone who doesn't care!
Like most of us, you have gone through hell,
beaten your chest, and cried from pain and dire:
isn't it time to make amends and restore inner peace?
Put love first and listen to the sweet sound of a bell,
when harmony is missing: life becomes a sky without geese...
a meadow without flowers, a face without a smile!
Let someone's light shine everywhere, let it scatter
shadows that hide every star insight, and the nocturnal visions
we seek in surrealistic dreams not limiting our fantasy;
if Earth is our home, let's live here peacefully...
caring for others and taking care of each other.
Nobody must be neglected, even without possessions;
derelicts can fill up their paper bags without revenues...
don't look at their worn-out clothes that resemble rags
and might tell us a pitiful tale, let's consider their values!
Like many who have put their ultimate faith in trustworthy people
and got disappointed, they show anger, discontent, and mistrust;
when all else fails, you have God to rely upon: he's your last resort,
He will not dishearten you but make you strong and not tumble!
It’s surrealistic in what I see
In the most unlikely places, in fact.
Especially when unexpectedly
They appear before wearily eyes, abstract.
Was eating my usual cereal:
Shredded wheat with sliced ripen banana.
Staring back from my empty spoon revealed
A face, the ghost of my Marianna.
Startled, yet saddened, my head turned around
Expecting to see my wife’s lovely face.
Instead I had found a man with a frown
Mirroring back from a glass-door bookcase.
Her haunting visits, this angel of death
Will continue I guess till my last breath.
Restless and unhappy,am I!
To be so desirous to live totally free, under blue skies.
Not living one day more, behind closed doors.
So fed up with sanitizing floors and doors.
People in masks look totally ridiculous.
Perhaps some love this fear-carousel,so totally incredulous!
Created by none other than that beast, Satan in hell!
His green eyes glow with your utter fascination.
That you are upset that you cannot get that vaccination.
We have God's power to make things right!
Those children without real schooling are in a humanitarian blight!
Lock downed states have more deaths, a surrealistic blight.
Not in Florida, where you can live free and take a breath.
I ask again....Is it really only me?
Who wants back my full American dignity and liberty?
2/22/2021
~2~
Intoxicated pinkish elephants
electrified in splendiferous drunkenness
surmised surrealistic playgrounds
of surround sound echoing laughter &
expansivly lit hot air balloons
merrily drifting to embrace star-dusted
skies' kaleidoscopic enchantment
ever wonder,
do intoxicated pink elephants hallucinate
the same as our own alcoholic delirium
Recurring Dream – 2
No talent
Dreams come on the crashing waves of R.E.M. sleep.
They come from the darkest oceans of the subconscious deep,
whispers of time exhausted, drifting into the midnight hours
perilously merging, in darkness, with what we thought ours.
Not !, for there is this other recurring dream.
From its surrealistic messages, I do glean,
a missive from its distorted images seen
- there is no talent coming from within me –
This is why – it seems – all I will ever be
is a laborer, an apprentice, a go for
doing all the **** work – nothing more
in these dream - my life , slowly closing the door.
B. J. “A ” 2
June 15th 2005
Traveling life's murky waters,
Were these brave men.
My friends in dark jungles.
Dying for many who did not care.
Malaria and typhoid invisible enemies;
Still then, that occasional sniper bullet,
Snuffing out a life in an instant.
Fighting for country yet hated by some.
Freedom was all they tried to preserve,
While every night evil pounding helmets.
Unrelenting hatred killing one at a time;
Sometimes a dozen in one blizzard of shells.
Living in a hell on earth to protect liberty.
Seeing dead eyes of buddies seconds ago alive.
Oh to understand what terror really is;
Surrealistic death in drowning bloody color.
Brothers found de-bowled and castrated by enemy,
Bodies hanging from beautiful rain forest trees.
Life bodily fluids dripping to feed their roots,
That horror which still lives in their minds.
Flag red stripes brightened with bloodied courage;
I ask how many Americans truly realize this?
Flying Old Glory only on National Holidays,
Oh that mental pain it has caused so many soldiers.
Coming home to icy cold stares,
Murderers seen in the eyes of some Americans.
Heroes welcome buried in front pages of wrongful war;
Medals tarnished before seeing light of another day.
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn
Traveling life's murky waters,
Were these brave men.
My friends in dark jungles.
Dying for many who did not care.
Malaria and typhoid our worst enemies;
Still then, that occasional sniper bullet,
Snuffing out a life in an instant.
Fighting for our country yet hated by some.
Freedom was all we tried to preserve,
While every night evil pounded our helmets.
Unrelenting hatred killing us one at a time;
Sometimes a dozen in one blizzard of shells.
Living in a hell on earth to protect liberty.
Seeing dead eyes of buddies seconds ago alive.
Oh to understand what terror really is;
Surrealistic death in drowning bloody color.
Friends found de-bowled and castrated by enemy,
Hanging from beautiful rain forest trees.
Life bodily fluids dripping to feed their roots,
That horror which still lives in my mind.
Flag red stripes brightened with bloodied courage;
I ask how many Americans truly realize this?
Flying old glory only when under personal siege,
Oh that mental pain it has caused so many soldiers.
Coming home to icy cold stares,
Murderers seen in the eyes of some Americans.
Heroes welcome buried in front pages of wrongful war;
Medals tarnished before seeing light of another day.
Note: This piece is dedicated to all American and Ally soldiers who have ever
been in combat! GOD Bless America and our Allies!
Copyright © 2014 Robert William Gruhn - All Rights Reserved
"A poem to me is the essence of any thought,
Being built from its foundation into tower scraping sky.
It can fly like no other bird to places never seen,
Even spaceships can only dream of taking its place."
© 2014 Robert William Gruhn
RIDING ON
Destination Dallas
home of the cowboys
land of the brave
intentional target
aimed with precision
at new paths to pave
gravitational phase
surrealistic
skyward wave
spurred on to
something new
beneath God’s
sun and moon
eyes turn inward
anchors pull out
onwards toward
landfalls legends
devoid of doubt
brevity flawed
weak kneed but
hardened jaw
riding on….
© Kim van Breda—14 August 2015
(moving on in life to USA)
An adventure
Down those subconscious, mysterious corridors,
into one’s memories hoard , behind closed doors.
Into a surrealistic world of undecipherable dreams,
were one’s life is portrayed in reflections, it seems.
We move within this world of moments, to recall
moments, we pray, with pride, we did stand tall.
Moments, I have to say, where we also, did fall
Moments, I must say, we also lived behind a pall.
One looks from within the precincts of the cranium
to see, to find where one’s spirit, one’s soul did come.
The subconscious ?, a puppeteer ?, pulling the strings.
Creating a dance, to glide us across the floors of our past.
A voice that whispers in our ears, a voice that fervently sings
of all the adventures, all the experiences, with shadows doth cast
moments of uncertainty, moments filled with ghosts that haunt
one with memories that linger on and on, memories that taunt
one with passions lost, much like that of a fading, beautiful sun set.
At what cost doth one face impotence ? For how long must one fret ?,
over memories transported from our past, incorporated into our living days.
Memories of times which will never again see the light of day, only in dreams.
B. J. “A ” 2
October 21st, 2017
SUPERLATIVES
S uperlative sentiments subliminally stupefy- salubrious solitude
U niquiviocal uproariously unconventional, uninhibited, unabashed
P reposterously pedantic, precarious pandemics, perilous pandemonium
E uphoria exemplified, exquisitely exorbitant – eloquently enthralled
R eiterated relentlessly, radically rambunctious--ruthless retribution
L inguistically ludicrous, lavished lackadaisical— listless laments
A bundant accentuations, adorning ambiguous animosity—antithetical
T ranslucently tantalized, tediously thrifty tumult—transfixed
I ncourrigeable impediments insatiable, idealistic irrelevance-illustrious
V ernacular vindicated vivaciously, vehemently visceral—venerated
E xplicitly effervescently exonerated, eclectic exuberance—elated
S crupulously steadfast solitude, surreptitiously subliminal – surrealistic