Tag Archives: Surreal

Laughing in my Sleep

I took shape… I was like a dolphin with endorphins… an endolfin maybe,

and all the while, somebody was flying around at ground level;

on a rolled up gym mat.

Yet, the children walked by, never blinking an eye; it was the only thing they could do whilst getting lost in the playfields.

It was then, when i had returned; waist deep in pond water; lifting a sorry flower from the aqua; reminding me of intricate, unfolding origami, it bloomed instantly in my wrinkled palm.

Oh… me and the encompassing crowd,

we barked and clapped like a close knit colony of slow-motioned seals; high on friendship and wonder.

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The Face in the Dirt (in the Festivals Field)

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The face in the dirt in the festivals field

Has always kept quiet, never been revealed

The face in the dirt prefers lying low.

Only appears where grass doesn’t show.

One eye is on the clouds, the other; passers-by.

Never communicates, doesn’t even try.

Drinks from beer spilt and other revolting fluid,

Gobbles dropped food out of view from a steward.

A peeping tom from experiments gone wrong,

The face; never has said cheerio, so long!

It may be under a tent, where someone’s sitting,

Under you’re porta-loo with the smells emitting.

Maybe it’s just enjoying the music, the atmosphere.

When you tell people, make that abundantly clear…

And have a nice time!

Rising Fall

Losing my grip now,

and so gravity ensures

my future’s prescribed.

Gently tumbling;

prolonging, 

buoyant;

like a fleck of fresh dust.

How structure and design

now discards me;

to unearth odd ceilings;

calmly engage my feet;

on hovering,

flirtatious,

ground.

 

Field Ban For Rocking Horses

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Only real horses with real legs allowed!

The signs, at the field, ordered, as the wind howled.

 

The rockers rocked slowly; utterly devastated.

Being fed a downright lie; their field was so highly rated.

 

In their fury they rocked hard and rammed the signs down.

The real horses while shitting; fled, galloping to town.

 

The field was now theirs and everything was great!

Until the towns-folk arrived with rusty saws and spiteful hate.

 

A long, calamitous battle commenced in which nobody won.

Then the contractors arrived…

 

 

Firesky!

At an aggressive speed

I was losing my way

I was feeling so alive

Seeing what could never be

The atmosphere burned red

And so I thought of what will be

…from now on

I noticed then what I never see

Chrome slithering roads and bloodied sky

With all moistures weeping in blue

Rolling, cruising, endless

On and over flattening mountains

This is what I’m telling you

Those slow buildings in green

I’ve finally found out what I almost lost

And sensed what I had never seen

All around while dissolving out

Through and into the Firesky!

 

 

 

New Old Woodlandia

 

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Earlier, you found yourself at an edge of woodland; you stood at its beginning or its end, you couldn’t begin to tell.

Impatiently, the trees blurred together, all around you, trees branches holding others that spun ever wilder, entwining into an eye-shattering carousel.

In the loop, you do not know or fear the time it takes for the motion to slow, winding down, tired, the branches let go, clumsily flicking leaves at each other,  like young children; engaged in dance, then distracted, but always pure and in play.

You, look around you with your peripheral vision desensitised, you were somewhere else, just left of wherever’s’ centre; you could breathe deeply, consistently as one; with a carpet of mimicking leaves.

Now, feeling so spongy underfoot, you’re subtly falling and rising, falling and rising in exact time with your steady pulse; you were now at the heart of everything.

 

Today, I Buried the Car

Today, I buried the car under the garden, or enterrer la voiture sous la Jardin; it makes no difference to me. As I sit on its corroded roof of raised ochre paint and brushed steel. By coincidence, I sit at sea level to distant oceans that are full of old weather and distress.

I know there is never a sea that’s forever as level as this laid lawn, and so I recall, on purpose I left the engine running. So it is that I’m repeated to fade as time delays the dream in which I sit, statuesque, waiting on my cars dented roof, for something to erase what I didn’t mean.

Then, suddenly the car drives through the soil, searching for oil. I’m destined to travel with it. With consummate ease, I’m driven forwards, for I assume that is where I face, and above an underground road, with all speediest motion of the most stubborn small hand of a basic clock, through terrain as varied as the subconscious memories of the recent dead.

My progress never slows until I discover the edge of this world dissolving like an old cake from age, churned from its constant turning. Now I’ve slipped into another world, of some sense. As I arrive, seamlessly through a subtle zipped window, I’m suddenly driving through dull traffic, so dense; with the clumsy authority of a process mounted car on set. I’m steering the wheel, it’s looser than I imagined, it’s no use, and the scenery is a little disjointed from the direction I steer in. Maybe the next world will find me before I find it! Or before I find the brakes.

Untitled Morning

I awake from sensitive sleep. I’m out of tune to the bed-sheet; like magnet

against a magnet, not yet fully formed to be part of this new day.

My right hand is a cutout, a hole; in shape of a hand on the edge of

substance.

I attempt to grab for my duvet, but my hand sinks through it; as if softer.

Then, like warm sands engulfing cold, ancestral rock, my hand slowly returns to

me, as I watch it closely re-generate; appreciation of owner-ship is fulfilled,

and it proceeds to move by my own accord; to turn off the irritating alarm!