A Haunting Love

It’s surrealistic in what I see
In the most unlikely places, in fact.
Especially when unexpectedly
They appear before tiredly eyes, abstract.
Was eating as usual, cereal:
Shredded wheat with sliced ripen banana.
Staring back from my laden 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.

poem by Albert Ahearn
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Street Art

I don't want to know A car's make or breed
I'm not really concerned About its maximum speed
Just so long As the windows are clean
And the duco is smooth As silken sheen

So I can watch As I do pass
The surroundings reflected In the glass
A curve and a bump Can distort the view
And force you to see The image as new

And if the glass is not thoroughly Uniform
Warped surrealistic patterns There can form
Clouds in the roof Reflected lie
On the bonnet a building Towers into the sky

A car passes by And it can feel
Like a movie moving By on wheels

poem by Peter Elliott
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Mitt Romney True Colours

Mitt Romney in surrealist sensationalism
inadvertently modernized 'the tell tale heart'
when he bare all branded 47% of US voters
with a rich condescending flippant remark
pitilessly stating a poor over exploited 47%
are dependent on the national government
adding salt to unemployed bleeding wounds
Romney who grew richer on corporate policy...

send jobs factories to foreign sweat shop workers
declared his victim job stripped 47% have nerve
to think believe they are discarded nobody victims
who believe their government has a responsibility
to care for them but Mitt Romney dropped smart
bomb declaration the poor are not his responsibility...

remember earlier in Mitt Romney presidential
campaign when election hopeful Mr Romney
said he 'wants to help all Americans struggling in
the Obama economy' well he was lying friends...

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Part of God

created in his likeness
the anger - thunder
the warning - lightning
the tears - rain
the smile - the breeze
the punishment - earthquake
lesson - the echo, memory
the trees, birds,
sea, clouds and sky
his pictorial poetry
in his likeness
i paint them
with words
that run
like a river
reflecting their beauty in me
styling them in realism
on a calm day
impressionism
on a breezy one

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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Pocketful of Miracles...

Butterflies in our centre takes our breath away
Eye's mirrored in beauty disable our defences,
The moment thru open windows sways silence
We can no longer hear the ticking clock.

The beating of our hearts commands everything,
Folding down side by side we float into surrealism
A dream of wonder, loveliness tingles our bodies,
The fruit of our love runneth over so beautiful.

Nothing else matters I love you, you love me,
We are in an envelope sealed with a kiss,
In dreams, in dreams on the honeymoon train,
The universe is ours not to miss.

Thru stars, over rainbows, down lovers lane,
Never once letting the feelings go,
Always hand in hand for ever and ever,
Like children with a pocketful of miracles.

poem by Ken e Hall
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Scavenging

All the boys crammed
The puncture of evanescence
Like kings with poly-vinyl thrones
Eyes moseying the harried ducts
Prying, calculating, or simply
Living on the surface of things
Life ebbed and they're still
A wolf pack; licking legs,
Grinding fangs, cigarette parting
The superfluous lips
And I was there, somersaulting
Behind the surrealistic blur
Scavenging amongst the wolves:
A swarthy incompetent sot
With an illustrious frivolity
Of a decaying carrion
In the wolves' den,
Prying, calculating
The oddities.

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poem by Norman Santos
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Poets of Cardboard

Sullen pirates steal the golden fire
Ezra Pound with terse tight words
Surrealism and Dali fight the world
Picasso only paints abstract lust
War infects Enlightenment poise
Poet Laureates of the system
Paris dapples stringent classical paradigms
Van Gogh’s potato eaters the man of earth
Pablo Neruda lets love come thru the soil
The Lost Generation, exiled
The Beats Howl with rebellion
Real art, real writers, street poets, angst

In the distance ice gathers
Modern fragmented man
Bureaucratic hollow man
TV man
Herd man
Images of success
Tummy tuck poets with face lifts

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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Lady Of Gold

Dreams from Vienna, vernal troubadours
Violins play soft, cafes in romantic light
French poets with symbols of rebellious mirth
Walk the ancient streets, parades of ghosts

Cobble stone, centuries, clocks, silver myth
Surrealistic images from the sea of Kings
Royal crimson halls where queens smile
Crystal glasses of gentry, castles, carriages

Narrow roads roll through the Alps
Aegean verse from a sea of Keats
Spanish romance with eye's of fire
Crimson goddesses in castles of Italy

Paris and Rome under a full moon
Dance the night in satin dresses
Mediterranean art in moonlit soul
My elegant love is a lady of gold

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Ghost of Paris

Fauvist moon smooth like Newton
Relative without warning
Nothing shall stop the coming cubes
Ulysses talks a new language
Sate painters in café haven
Change the motif of dragons
Avengers of amethyst poetry
Language of the future laughs
Choreographed in splinters of war
Stravinsky dances without melody
Gertrude Stein sighs like a panther
Art fornicates with Paris

Form relinquishes like deco stars
Boundaries melt into stage sets
Embrace the modern deluge
Freedom and choice celebrate
Boundless sea of color
Surrealism tides of the Mediterranean
Chagall, Matisse, Picasso, Braque

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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Buddha

Buddha's thoughts found its roots at the
Bodhi tree, budded and bloomed into
A thousand flowers blown to all corners
Of the world converting myriad thoughts of
Adherents repainting
The fabric of religions analoguous
To artists who style the world
In shades of Impressionism, Cubism,
Surrealism and Realism.
Through Zen, a meditation discipline
Where masters could even tell through his ears
Which hand a disciple uses in knocking a door,
Ramayana where spirits of the heavens crowd
The world to help sin-ladened souls escape
The grim cycles of reincarnations;
Fate of souls also fooled by the movement
Of the universe spawning superstitions.
And Theravada where each being sanctions
His own hell or heaven through deeds.
The Buddha sees and listens to all in quiet repose

poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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In Love You and I

Butterflies in our centre
takes our breath away
Eye’s mirrored in beauty
disable our defences,
The moment,
thru open windows sways silence
We can no longer hear
the ticking clock.
The beating of our hearts
commands everything,
Folding down side by side
we float into surrealism,
A dream of wonder,
loveliness tingles our bodies,
The fruit of our love runneth over
so beautiful.
Nothing else matters
I love you, you love me,
We are in an envelope
sealed with a kiss.

[...] Read more

poem by Ken e Hall
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Rainpictures On Glass Canvass...

Watching th' ever sadness, of th' rain....am i
Listening to it speak......between its torrents
On winded wings it strikes defenseless sod
Yet, thru these window panes of fog'n streak
I open th' Pandora's Box....natures teary fall

Water paint images streak th' clouded glass
Like an abstract, surrealistic...faux-pas finish
Streetlights, like spotlite...on a fresh Picabia
Before my watchful mind, th' picture changes
Kaleidoscopic lines invent.....with criss-cross

Some say: ''a picture paints a thousand words''
If true, th' artistry of rain, paint thousands more
Radiance of window panes adorned in nature
And, on th' other side...a smiling child marvels
With fingers pressed on fogged glass canvass

poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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I then wore his eyes…

I met him reading the forward on “Voices from Leimert Park: a poetry anthology”
Glued to his words; I wanted to wear his eyes
I searched and searched for his whereabouts
I then purchased a one-way ticket and slept between his words.
Pages after pages his poetry became my sanity
Drinking this marathon of knowing
I came across an image, What a beauty!

I then wore his eyes and saw…

Folds of memoirs,
An antic mahogany well polished and aged,
Eye lids heavy with expression,
Books resting on his shoulder,
His mouth full of “Beat” notes,
He is a graduate of life school
An alumnus of mother earth…

I then wore his soul…

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poem by Emu Getachew
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That Feeling Again

It weren't deep slumber or
the state of utter wakefulness

Trance if it were or realism,
it were improbable to assess

Saw a silhouette waft past gracefully
to stand by the aisle

A cuppa held delicately and
that inimitable dimpled smile

With same mischievous glint
that got lost long in maze of time

Rekindling of fond remembrances
when our youth was in its prime

All come flooding right back
those joyous moments of yore

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poem by Sunny Chopra
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The Nonsensical Enigma - Love

Love
The fusion of being
To an intangible wealth, yet a collector's bounty
When the heart is soaked by surging tides of affection
By the ingrained succulence of another life form
Partiality, transcending roots, kinship or pedigree
Fidelity, surpassing the legacy of your shadow
Devotees to commitment yet free of slavery
Reverence, exceeding faith's inventory of icons
When godship is humanized to flesh and blood
Where blood is rarely splattered, but worshiped in to flush
Where flesh is seldom mutilated, but traversed for pleasure
Where the heart is captured by both an earthly and heavenly desire
The endowment of wings to the flight-impaired
The gift of the fountain of sight to the unsighted
The bestowment of a compass to a wandering heart
The bequest on man, transcendence from mortality
To the surrealism of an earthly divinity
To hold in your heart, that nonsensical enigma - love

poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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341

dramatic spans
years and years of waiting
to get exactly what you want
in what you do

you reflect the need to wait for the return
of a particular quality of light,
time of day,
or time of year,
in order to proceed

selecting the mood
waiting for the right
time to unfold

about your struggles
with uncooperative weather
or other alterations in your chosen motifs,
in your effort to record faithfully
what you see and feel

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Mangle Bangle

dramatic spans

years and years of waiting
to get exactly what you want
in what you do

you reflect

the need to wait for the return
of a particular quality of light,
in order to proceed

selecting the mood
waiting for the right time to unfold

about your struggles

uncooperative weather
or other alterations in your chosen thoughts,
in your effort to record faithfully

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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First Monday In December

This first Monday in December,
Comes with a beauty none like I can remember.

The Sun so bright in a cloudless sky.
Air clean and fresh...
A gift that surprises.
The first day of the month,
Beginning on the first day of a work week.
After spending a joyous festive Thanksgiving,
With family and friends and having fun!
What a gift!

What a joy it is to witness this.
I couldn't wish for anything better,
On my Christmas list.

This first Monday in December,
Seems more like Spring.
With birds chirping,
And barren trees without their leaves.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Surrealism of Liberty

Open your eyes
Connect to your fellow man, me Dili
A quenched soul, parched of steadfast hope
Filth of the man that used to walk the soil
With a bounce in his steps, the gait of a free eland
Yet, the winds flurried my essence
The sun evaporated my soul
A lion's roar transformed to a squeal of a yard mouse
A day sleeper, a bat stripped bare of echo-location
Bouncing from tree to tree, erect corpses
Deaf to the echoes of my screeching lungs
Gasping for air, as the heart labors in to the dire depths
Of an agonizing slumber, awaiting a winter's hibernation
For the rupture of vessels, as pirouetting blades of apathy
Carve open the crumbling heart in its final stance
As my pillows of freedom, my sheets of privacy
Were stripped off the cradle of my life
As I, an innocent baby feeding on the buxom bosoms of mother earth
Await a call from the convivial heavens, to levitate
To embrace a kingdom where freedom flows in tidal magnitudes

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poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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Post-Mortem Life

Need necessitates not
learning reading absorbing
boring facts inflating trivia.

Retrack life highlighted
story. In surrealistic detailed...
distorted disjointed gloss segments.
Choreographed descriptive insignia.

Pieces presented
pervert logical coherent order...
meaning read
within doctored words

spells meaning
lacking missing pieces.
Forged jigsaw puzzle
force fitted incomplete.

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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