In the past ten years I became interested in writing prose and poetry. I found traditional poetry somewhat arduous in reading or at least much of its tempo distracting from its content. The poetry of the last century has been more to my liking, free verse especially, which introduced me to surrealism.
Surrealistic poetry attempts to express the functioning of the unconscious with imagery and juxtaposition of content. I found I could relate to it with ease, particularly in stream of consciousness. Thus, I will use this medium to share my creativity.

In my creations you will note many lines end with an italicized word. Those italics mean the word or phrase relates to the subject that came before and after, just like our human mind operates. One thought leads to another and quite often without clear logical inference, but by  some kind of uncanny relationship the mind may have with it. For example, in thinking of an orange, it can conjure a thought of a ball, a curve, the sun, the moon, a related color, hair, rough skin, a person's head, a tree, a root, a leaf, another fruit, or an occurrence related to it when it was in your presence, a lost memory of years ago, a photo... So now let's see what flows.

 

 

Augur

 

As he approached he stopped, looked, contemplated

and hesitantly entered the building

blocks of any country lie in integrity

takes more than vociferating ideas

that come up suddenly

last summer

always has lots of rain, plants grow, birds flit

among the memories are many things we’d rather

cool weather today of all days this is

one amongst the many  to come

on now where are we going with this

has to give way or bend a little

tyke ran out into the street full of traffic

in drugs especially cigarettes, cigarettes, two for a dime will get you

cancer a zodiac sign for the month of July

named for Julius Caesar who was very august since he was

an augur not to be confused with

auger your way through a piece of wood

nymphs are dryads

frolic in the forest

protection preserves much for future generations,

and generations of people

destroy

the earth

is all we got.

 

An Artist without an Easel

 

In the same vein of explaining surrealism, often in our stream of thinking we

Don’t know where it is going to take us. It is either the mind is tired of the subject and is looking for other challenging thoughts or memories or the sound of the word conjures unrelated thoughts to the subject at hand. It tends to take us hither and yon

Headman in Washington is a con artist without an easel,

Easel reminds of weasel, an animal that is brown in the summer and turns white in the winter

Of anyone’s life should be a lot broader in thinking than it was at birth

Is involuntary, just like many thoughts upchuck into a void filling

It with more reflections

In the mirror can be frightening or assuring.

Hey! I’ve done the right thing.

What?

Anyway an artist without an easel has no standing.