Long Surrealistic Poems
Long Surrealistic Poems. Below are the most popular long Surrealistic by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Surrealistic poems by poem length and keyword.
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.
The panels faded o'er time earlier creativity constrains
Yet the material value of past visions maintains
Canvas now tinted with darker hues; youthful vigor restrains
But each, underlying tone, burnished with yesterday's dreams, remains
Once gilded strokes now meaningless, paternalistic strains
Yet the meandering pattern an innocent quality still contains
Each, delicate, insecure swab the grainy picture retains
But on the brash backstrokes the forgiving eye trains
Every callous blot each year more opprobrium drains
But every thoughtful deviation the quilted fabric ingrains
Glossy pictures of green pastures corroded by earthy stains
But ephemeral beauty from burgeoning fount surrealistic vista still feigns
The counterfeit copy the brokered ideal even more disdains
But the bartered images serve to rationalize nominal gains
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!
Light
One is unable to relive ones past.
For, it is unhealthy to live in one’s past.
History enlighten and lives within us every day.
No matter how much we would like to wish it away.
It comes thundering at us, at the speed of light.
When it does, we climb aboard and take flight,
venturing into the mystic realms of hindsight,
a world of surrealistic dreams, seeing we might,
upon wakening, the truth of our psychic, predestine course,
one that most of us follow, karma’s, fate’s empirical source
that drives us onward and upward or sends us down,
spiraling head long into the ground, never to be found.
B. J. “A ” 2
October 5th, 2026,
***************************
Cosmic Consciousness
A four year old boy, 1946, awakes from a dream ?, with insight.
Could it be Cosmic Consciousness that has come into his sight,
as its long journey, through all the universes at the speed of light,
awakens as he looks out his bedroom window, eastward, into a night sky.
A thought forms that comes to him out of the corner of his mind’s eye
informing him, that out there is a craft, later named a flying saucer,
containing a library of all the history, the life of our little blue planet.
One has to wonder why him ?, especially before the 1947 Roswell incident,
when flying saucer came into the conscious minds of mankind
the buzz word for what is now named UFO’s.
Epilogue
Eighty years have swiftly gotten by
yet flying saucer, UFO’s still intrigue
continually fill my mind, my eyes
An addendum
Zion Canyon, Utah 1977 saw a UFO
Burnaby Mountain, BC 1988 saw a UFO
Port Coquitlam, BC 2001 saw a UFO
B. J. “A ” 2
October 6th, 2026
I begin,
with spearmint breath, barefoot, and hushed skin
woken are earth’s aromas of prayer and namaskar
spilling intentions auspicious a focused vow within,
with a promising salutation to the resending rising star
for the faded filaments of ashy ailments, as well
I hear their praises of open routes and yellow brick roads,
fast tracks to filigree of fulfillments where egos swell
gritty goals, lickety-split in their surrealistic abodes
its competition stirs the soul, yet their ebbing eyes be blind
to suit oneself and not the self, the soul-search sold,
to stay true becomes onerous of an untruth abstract mind
The scribbler’s hastened house upholds,
phasing flowers into a creative expression explored,
literary archaic yet no soul from muse’s molds
some choose to pull from brutal banks previously implored
A game of Scribbage, the deal, the play, the show,
noted nothing less nor nothing more,
vintage vantage, a cribbage of blank blurt we all know
forgetful is the fact that we’re all amateurs
Take my savory words you, I’ll take yours if kind,
let go the ways to wicked wharfs, it’s the way to putrefy
away from stagnate depths of opaque layers grind
for those without weakness those of you rise
without the wormwood shells of bitter taste
the lower plains and the pains and alibis
of watering wells d i s p e l l i n g waste
There’s innocence in our hearts
an inner chamber where the divine never dims
there's a purposeful purity that never parts
it lives inside once broken down, our bones and limbs
it fills the ovoid, gives opportunity, I end with this,
as an appointee, in a designated avatar,
in n o w mindful we won’t miss
as we are receptors of higher light,
held above varmint vestments tsar
we transform our image gone the dark knight
There’s a secret garden inside, drunk on lovestruck swilling
becoming well known, follow the pathless path amidst
to the road I’m on, there, the sacred wells worth drilling,
the one path known as blessed bliss
—A Monk of Quiet Quest
Contest: Brooding Nimbus Sponsor: Edward Ibeh 6-19-23
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brooding Nimbus
Midnight trails a filmy brooding nimbus,
Idle shadows etch lines on the daylight;
Vertigo lingers, teeters on limbus,
Distorted ghosts escape into dawn’s sight.
Remnants of realms, inborn of misshaped clouds,
Ruminate raindrops to bleed the bizarre
Palpable phantoms the mid-day enshrouds -
Reclines as shape-shifts in murmuring stars.
Hobbled memories drifting unresolved,
Surrealistic needles stab dazed eyes
Fretting repines, floats in veils unabsolved,
Fades slowly into the unanswered why.
Slowly day chases back mystic extremes
Evening broods in misty nests of new dreams.
Molten lava spews from my eyes
My mouth feels dry like the scorching desert
Fear, like a heavy boulder, sits on my chest
My heart seeks where the Chimera dwells
A pit is forming in my stomach
My head is riding upon a vortex
Conflicting thoughts swirling through my mind
forming a surrealistic whirlpool,
And I stand rooted
to the ground like an Ancient Oak.
A sense of emptiness mushrooms within me
like the morning miasma obscuring the visibility.
My past carried off into the oblivion,
Every moment henceforth is
pregnant with some novel challenges,
tackling a new task overwhelms me
despair overwhelms my soul undeterred—
Bogged down by fate
Tethered to my faith
I am mired in a spiritual quagmire
unable to claw my way up to the Mount Calvary.
I love Paul Merton
I just wish he'd keep his shirt on....
Stop flexing his pecs
In front of Ant n Dec,
Even Vladimir Putin shows more respect
To the long suffering viewer;
Paul:- climb out of the sewer,
Resist the urge to flash
Your naked rippling torso
You're rightly famous cos you're so
Frivolous and witty
It would be a real pity
If your elegant urbanity
Was eclipsed by this inanity,
The soul of wit is brevity
So confine yourself to levity
And keep that sex god bod, son
Securely wrapped in cotton -
Think of all the panel shows you've got on
Whilst staying fully clothed
In doublet and hose,
The paps dont need to see your nipples
It just creates unnecessary ripples
In the light entertainment pond
You are never going to star as Bond!
Stick to your faintly surrealistic reflections
On whether Cumberpatch keeps Capons,
And for pity's sake Merton
Just keep your blooming shirt on!
Temptress beside the river
she beckons me from a hill
Lust permeates my body
driven insane by her shrill
Temptation does pirouettes
Dancing naked within reach
unquenched and oozing fire
let me taste you, I beseech
Temptress blindfolds my eyes
her suiters are nothing like me
Ego seduces the conscience
when passes are seemingly free
Temptation is wearing a veil
insatiable between the sheets
Together we undulate in sin
as her hair caresses my feet
Temptress is a hall of mirrors
warping everything I can’t see
Projecting a sirens darkness
into surrealistic fantasies
Temptation controls the mist
morphing through my dreams
Brings me inside quasi heaven
slave to her orgasmic screams
Temptress is an open invite
closed mind’s always cheat
Spiked was the vamps chalice
alas addiction’s bitter sweet
Temptation, I sup her last drop
then go searching for desert
Back into the vales of yonder
one hour before she gave birth
By
David Kavanagh
Dreaming of frogs playing guitars, lounging on a campfire pyre,
Her manifestation of these little hopping miniatures tickled her
Naturally nude with an upside down hat, she was uninhibited, fully exhibited.
Two prissy potential suiters ran out screaming, recognizing her strength.
Attitudes of grandeur did not play in her head.
She meant no harm to these males; yet they had been clearly terrified.
Women who are fantastical and barbastical confuse ones who are weak.
She did not wave, frankly, had not noticed they left. She was playing a harp with her bear.
Is she bizarre, modern, an alien or just weirdly avant-garde?
Status quo relatives who were watching were also consternated.
Their brains often pitter-patted by the norms society revers.
Creativity was outside their jurisdiction, thank God!
Pink woman’s frog dreams led to a parade of unicorns and eunuchs,
Horrifying the refined who sneaked peeks at her surrealistic attitude.
Why can she not conform? What is wrong with her?
Hell. How did they get into my dream state Pink wondered.
The watchers did not realize her spontaneity was a result of natural play-ity.
Which is why she moved away from them, for how could brilliance stay?
She took the frogs, unicorns and eunuchs with her of course.
The bear elected to remain. He loved frightening the relatives.