Surrealist Poems - Poems about Surrealist

“There’s a cow at the table,” I whispered, not wanting to be rude. It’s horns curled like question marks, which seemed quite Apropos Now that I’ve been to college, I can tell you, there’s a lot that I don’t know. But a cow at the table, no matter how well dressed, left me, well, confused. “How do you Dooooo?”...

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I am one of those in a world that stopped whether it was for seconds, fractions or millennia but the engine of time broke down mid action mid conversation, mid thought and for a beautiful period we were all framed in a snapshot that may have lasted eons and some called it enlightenment and when the buffering released us all was...

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a lady of swollen years sat knitting with glorious colours she said her name was saint something or other I didn't quite catch it must have been the gum she was chewing her lipstick was smeared anyway I asked what she was making she said stain glass windows for the cathedral being built behind her I wasn't going to believe her but I couldn't help it...

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a one against all iconoclast eat my shorts was his hello after being driven from the village by the Iceberg Clan physical therapists and their dictatorship of deduction a mere fascination with the grotesque boasting an indignant moral high ground their vast distortions parading as what's next none of which was actually observant ordered the award of a certificate of exile prompting futile biographical excess told...

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have you lost your mind not that I'm aware of just another flat penny train wreck let's survey the blaspheming survivors an army of gossiping lawn trolls have been detected in your garden do you a. get out of bed b. run screaming into the night c. splash a little more gin into the horn of screeching hell that feathered chaos aviary thronged with hollow boned creatures squawking...

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My YouTube Russian car crash wreckophilia comes from a bad head on in the family car near rural Shreveport Louisiana in 1947 when I was a tyke whose favorite berth was the stowage space behind the back seat under the wide rear panorama window of our forest green '42 Chevy Fleetline last I remember was mom screaming oh Ed quickly followed by...

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Eternal Surprise Productions presents the It's Time For Your Enema show bringing news of the day coast to coast reading every offhand inflection as though it were a rescue beacon from the constant din of battle between intensity and superficiality being close to utter annihilation I can recklessly speak these equations without fear of instant retaliation does being a case of political neutrality make you an...

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I don't know about you but the seeming me abused and cursed had all my birth fingers burnt off at the first knuckle before the first lullaby from too many here hold my beer blithely eager watch this rolls of the dice simply to gain a little altitude a little vista no audience necessary or even indicated just a little reconstructive surgery by...

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truth is in fact an unreality and unattainable often outrageous and will make you or your self image crazy if turned into a fetish the object being in every case to avoid compulsion the future expands infinitely we know this self evidently what else do we know self evidently the rules of self evidence come to mind in a fog you burn fog with sunlight whose vehicle...

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how is it we look into the future using only what what bends our fingers with all the assumptions that keep us on the daily throttle but less than safe hidden from each others' true gaze by acts of will made default by time in a lost ignored numberless realm where mysteries remain so again and again by acts of blissful ignorance again...

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A children's rhyme called Little Ponzi all our emotions are a two edged sword they can soar or mess things to high treason apparently playing evil A against evil B has paid off at the ghetto bookie parlor taking us all on the zigzag route to tomorrow because because fields of potential interact join the Navy see the world the poster goes my...

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the river here runs backwards and it's the fish that catch they enjoy the dark nights when they see better the sun burns down to the algae men swim desperately in the shadows and nothing seems to matter...

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A Surrealist Observation YOU You are wildfire, The candy in a kiss Open windows of eyes Every breath...

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The artist’s prime passion dissolves in the spectrum of colors, looks for an empty canvas to flow and make a masterpiece. Finds inspiration in you from the rainbow of your heart. With its shredded chromatic patches paints a surrealist fresco. December 14, 2020 Contest : It Feels Surreal Sponsor : Nina Parmenter...

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arched mirror on the cold stone, blackglorious dress, Xoloitzcuintlis at heel. quiet reflection, forfeiting Frida’s apparition beneath her underclothes. her fate was switched from doctor to artist painfully so she’s pretty with eyes closed, heavy-petaled headgear. Diego paints ash on canvas, surrealist unibrow lifts — Frida’s suffering relinquished. 10/25/2020...

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