Long Surreally Poems
Long Surreally Poems. Below are the most popular long Surreally by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Surreally poems by poem length and keyword.
Fun time and flight
A clock from Salvador Dali warped and draped in place
surreally oozing the minutes from birth to demise in a
landscape of our own making of how we narrate life and
the story filled with passion love disappointment transition…
Paintings of words and brushed colours danced song
oiled voices splash meaning fly along our journey for
when bells toll time-pieces chime ‘Chronos’ floats in
remembrance anticipation flights of fancy and escape…
Strange and humorous those days past realigned by
the present one blink and the moment is gone while
the river flows around us never the same as time stands
still and ticks just the same cascades the rapids of life…
Sequential on one hand of the clock times counts and
alludes to one thing leading to other like a winged relic
of reasoned emotion with intuition significance left behind
intervals measured and quantified like delusions of science…
Can ‘Kairos’ the indeterminate yet permanent quality
of en-lived stories and en-storied lives of narration and
lined context fly just the same when epiphanies last forever
when what matters most positions the other hand firmly…
Time journeys meanders along the path both forward and
backward remembering the future and changing the past
that is how both ‘Chronos’ and ‘Kairos’ move neck-breaking
speed’s painful arrest when Dali’s meaning melts us together…
It seems funny how and when times fly or when we placidly reason that
our perspective is moving and not the clock after all
05th October 2016 flying past or is it?
Let’s relax along mentorship pleasure
to bask in varied students’ excuses when facing pressure
as they abound for sure…
Learner A says, “There is a lion in the way”
so I’m late for the reporting schedule today
hope to fulfill it later, I pray.
Learner B uses blame game, insinuating
“the serpent beguiled me” into such tainting
thus, I succumbed to the ranting.
Learner C retorts with confidence reign
“the dove returned not again”
when asked of his assignment he forgot in vain.
Learner D enumerates alibis to cover negligence
even citing Balaam’s talking ass confronting guilty conscience
pledging to show next time enduring diligence.
Learner E lets absenteeism be justified
testifying, “I’m the lost sheep personified
needing teacher’s patience, greatly magnified.”
Learner F, for missed requirement, declares candidly:
“Mine was done perfectly; indeed realistically...
... and then a flaming pterodactyl ate my homework surreally.”
Learner G, muses midst rationalization glow:
“'When thoughts cease to flow ~Where does ego go'”**
May, I please be forgiven as I ask for understanding-flow."
Well, as a learner myself, I admit with earnest confession
my human nature is no exemption
so my heart seeks the LORD*** for wisdom’s implementation.
*Proverbs 26:13 The slothful man saith, There is a lion in the way; a lion is in the streets.
**Unseeking Seeker
***Proverbs 2:6 For the LORD giveth wisdom: out of his mouth cometh knowledge and understanding.
February 4, 2021
Edited on May 14, 2022
Tristich in Rhyme form
3rd place, "Bubble of illusion" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker; judged on 5/20/2022.
HER WONDERFUL MOTHER NATURE
Once upon her entering and exiting
Her comings and goings
Groceries, gym or mall
Mother Nature made the mirrors love her
All-knowing reflection,
No adjustments needed...
Please...not one correction
Causing confusion, she's unflawed
Everywhere, in every room, claiming, stealing all attention
Gorgeous green eyed-snake women start hissing,
Salivating, half-dog half-men, jaws stuck, stalled
Remember her...Oh, don't they all?
She and I, sometimes engage in
A carefully unscripted conversation
And so from mine own imagination...I will share
She leaves the world, with rare...souvenirs
Letting us know she was near
A trace of her intimidating yet inviting, invisible scent
Where her valuable diamond time was spent
But none free to spare
A lost, left behind, strand of hair
A walking razor
Her shadow click-clacks in,
Legs, classily crossed ladylike, saddled that lucky chair
Sipped only a pair of cocktails,
Her figure a musical note, a cursive signature,
Her FORM flows, dips smooth and full
Stunning, so easily capturing us all
Her smile, does accurately spell
The wonderful definition of the word Beautiful...
Look her up in the dictionary my friend
For she is a non-fictional woman
Strong-her world has gravitational pull you apart
Aquarius without a speck of ugliness
In February she effortlessly
Valentines a fool's heart
Can never look messily
That is quite improbably, an impossibility
Surreally painted together perfectly
Like a Dali nude canvass on art,
Breathing...responding...moving
Wonderful Mother Nature, knew exactly what she was doing
Marvelously done, on her part.
PRETENSIONS
a fantasy
ego
self pleasing
sentimentality
symbolizing the
figurative
in
bejewelled
attire
in
distinctive
gesture
so allegorical
& memorable
floating
surreally
in primped
pefection
yet
pecularily
distorted
&
detached
but still
signalling
the flirtatious
in
meticulous
unreality
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
UNDERSTATEMENT
language
confirms
the
familiar
even a weakness
angst
melodrama
wonder
the
significant
reciprocated
precisely
a
modern echo
momentarily
a
slight
foretaste
vibrant
elegant
twirling
surreally
&colourfully
rendered
an avatar
of
estrangement
in an
unmistakable
panoply
of
glowing
visages
eyeballing
sallow
isolation &
unsettling
existence
animated
swirling
fathoms
of
fantasy
irradiated
with
innocence
exuding
the
will-o’-the-wisp
influence
expressly
apparent
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Moments later, a furious Michael stormed in, eyes ablaze with determination. But the moment he stepped closer, he was faced with an army of Penneys and Guses—four, five, six reflections dizzying his focus.
“What?! Which one is real?!” he bellowed, frustration splattering onto the walls.
“Time to play, Michael!” Penney called out cheerfully. “Thanks for coming to our show!”
The laughter from behind them—the teenagers, the Bunny, and the overall allure of their escape room adventure—turned the tension into pure comic chaos. Michael, now lost in the funhouse of mirrors and illusions, momentarily froze in befuddlement.
As his gaze darted and the gleam of confusion started to settle, Penney and Gus seized their moment. “Let’s get out of here!” they shouted, hand-in-hand running down the hall toward what truly felt like freedom, the echoes of their laughter trailing behind them, like farts.
Once more, as the chaos of the mall became a distant memory, they could sense that they’d survived a wild adventure—but not without the magic that came from both friendship and a sprinkling of absurdity in the heart of a place where fantasy could intertwine with reality.
After all, in a world that sometimes felt like an endless loop of chaos, assassinations and CIA controlled Media, they had found their own sanctuary, a kind of brotherhood befitting a brave and whimsical hero's tale—surreally absurd, but undeniably memorable. Unlike the Satanic Olympics in Paris, which probably lost money, and embarrassed the people of France, leaving communist Beijing, snickering from poetic, politics-apologetics.
Menacing clouds, with faces black,
fierce thunderbolts that roar and crack.
Strong howling winds that make trees snap,
Wind-driven rain that windows slap.
The storm that fills our hearts with fear,
gives way to skies, surreally clear.
The calm belies the peril posed
by the fierce storm that ‘round me closed.
It makes a fool of frightening fears
While howling winds assailed my ears.
As pranksters’ tricks can make me squeal,
the calm clouds a fear that was real.
The calm that follows a windstorm
Should our impatient hearts transform,
the storms that at times roar and rage
prepare us for our life’s next stage.
But if we do not pass the test,
We sure will miss life’s very best.
BASTION of TRADITION
the erstwhile
contemporary
surreally clustered
together
mellowed
to an extent
that
immortality
still appeals
driven by
an impulse
of
isolation
against still
prevailing
then
but
now forgotten
bourgeoisie
then
surely
antagonising
stunted
&
scandalous
outpost of
controversy
of
inverting imagery
errors in society
the motif
producing
a
furore
against
of moral
decay
&against
in mistrust
of in
authority
NOTE:THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE using spaces&breaks without grammatical symbols ,the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and responds thus making this enigmatic form a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood is inherently variable.
Copyright © Brian Strand
I felt myself traveling rapidly in my own direction
Not north south east or west, an unnamed direction
Believing in my abilities and talent as I never had before
I felt there were invisible wings on my back
Propelling me forward,
Enthusiasm and strength saturated my soul as I moved
Confident and self-assured; the sun moved out of my way
The flowers and the grass cheered me on my journey
I was invincible, untethered, whole and surreally me.
A superb feeling of might and power overtook me.
I had shed all of the weeds and thorns of my past life.
There were no slices or chips out of my being.
I was queen of myself, with paranormal energy
Living my truth in a new way
Making my own path
Heading in a new untraveled direction.
The direction of me.
Alas oh how grave and horrendous misfortune...
Relapse written all over whole
fudge besmirched countenance
American as apple pie garden variety troll
tell tale evidence eats away
at me heart and soul
argh so much for new year's resolution
straight and true healthy eating goal.
Lofty ambition to attain once upon time
coveted, prized, and
treasured toothpick physique,
no not necessarily becoming
thin as anorexic pencil necked geek
scores of years ago,
when yours truly resembled
quiet as mouse phantasmagorical
disembodied prepubescent freak
surreally bobbing long Battle Creek.
Morphological body distortion bid me
to allow, enable, and provide suicidal
grimly reaped tally ho
with feebly uttered see yawl
back in the day circa approximately
my thirteenth circuit round the sun,
I sought to disappear into cellular vacuole
formerly carefree boy
his loose higglety-pigglety
hogtied psyche psychological,
(not in yeast wryly bred) did unroll
severely psychological afflicted son
taxed his mama and papa where
somber appalling death knell
deathly silent lugubriously reverberated
figurative emotional bell toll,
Matthew Scott starved yet hungered
for sustenance of body, mind and soul.
Pact nearly signed, sealed,
and delivered signaling demise
(mine) unwittingly inflicting horrific guise
kickstarting pinteresting repercussions no lies
lifetime developmental delay no surprize
even now this aging baby boomer tries
to shake off pervasive thought process unwise
fending off punishing
self destructive reflexive urge
after experiencing wages
of culinary sin where surge
impossible mission just desserts to purge
thus sink dentures into sweet treat
taste buds relishing joie de vivre emerge
(think chocolate fudge) flashes me memory
prior lovely skull and crossbones
nearly acknowledged funereal dirge.