What is an abstract piece of writing? How about surreal? How can a piece be considered abstract or surreal if it deals, point on point, with normal everyday meanings. I would like to challenge those poets out there to really delve into the world where one's dreams mirror the soul. Test your use of symbolic language in this month's poetry challenge.

I stared at my screen and set upon a mission treading upon the tracks of human nature, going the path of the rebel, trying to find acceptance where truth is a shadow. What is Art the common cry? and Ceasar looked up and said, "I'll tell you, for you are a little person and by nature the answer it too hard for you to comprehend". http://www.renderosity.com/viewed.ez?galleryid=464143&Start=1&Sectionid=35&filter_genre_id=0&WhatsNew=Yes

I have to admit, I don't have an instant grasp of this concept.

Poems that fit into the surreal or abstact grnre use symbolic language to transmitt meaning the surreal tends to juxtrapose items that may reflect a positive reflection while dadaism reflects a negative one. The abstact uses symbolic language but doesn't necessarily reflect either a positive or negative meaning. It may, in fact, reflect a reflection. Hair is a primative reflection on a woman's sense of beauty, while losing teeth is a symbol of a loss of power.

Thanks for the additional information. It may still take a while for assimilation. I look forward to reading the forthcoming submissions.

As I tilt my head sonic chaos is buffeting around. A lighter cast of orange is in top left but only diffuse veins remain. Suddenly the scene shifts but the place is the same. A fake marriage of Faust and Stockhausen erupts, about to collapse. Cut-off and fade, and attention shifts to distant engines. A beatific nightmare enters as a non-actor snores. (And I probably haven't even posted in the right thread. Feel free to point and laugh)

Not bad Jim and you've got the right place I was working on this but I feel the references are pretty common. The way of the Maiden I wandered through the market When a tender maiden with a pearly smile and dark-mirrored eyes offered me an apple. Crisp and red, glistening with the dew I saw it in her hand and found myself on a lane where bulldozers prowled and preyed on trees, where beautiful homes waited, standing empty. Storm clouds came and left debris; The houses grew up again. while the ground grew soft and sank down in the sand. I was in darkness, and afraid, lost; enveloped Falling, I cried for the maiden to Laughter's echoes and though I knew it wasn't right grabbed her fruit, and took a hefty bite.

Here are some thoughts I have on the subject of abstract and surreal, for what they are worth. Might help clarify the issue for some, or totally confuse all. :-) tjames can slap me down if I'm totally off the mark. Surreal is to more or less create a dreamlike state, be it good or bad. Franz Kaffka's The Castle epitomizes this, in prose. The Castle definitely gives you the feeling you are trapped in a bad dream. It's one of the few book I had to quit reading before I finished it, it was such a nightmare. A more poetic, and enjoyable, example to me would be Hotel California, by The Eagles. Definitely surreal, as far as I'm concerned. A good example of the abstract would be Nights in White Satin, by The Moody Blues. jon

canvas and caustics...
blood splatters petals
dripping into river styx
and acid rain seeps.

and the colors bleed ...
see them try to run!
absorbed by sun,
dried and immobile.

faded away

cruel cold death...
fragmented in crystalline frost!
forgotten froth feeding
the springtime of youth.

epitaph: they have bled me dry
and now I, but a mouldering
slime, sink into the depths
of time...

where gone the glory days
of childhood dreams?
grandeur and grandiose schemes?

promising ventures come to naught...
and all gifts given, promptly forgot!

acid etched and weakening,
and fibers stretched.

canvas and caustics -
all stories end.

Brother Wolf and Sister Bear J. M. Strother Brother Wolf and Sister Bear Sit beneath the raising moon Weeping in their sad lament As they sing a mournful tune. Sister Owl now comforts them Under her protective wing And entreats them to recall Memories of joy to sing. Brother Wolf and Sister Bear Sister Owl, Coyote too, Sit in circle on this night bound as one, as spirit flew. Waters now flow swiftly by, Whisking off the spirit freed To the hallowed halls on high, While on Earth, still grow, her seed.

Blessed Or The Damned? Of darker days and disenchantment, when fantasy last roamed free Among the world of mere mortals, living out their mortality. Upon towers capped by spires tall, intricate, ornate design, Curved upon arched, winged gargoyles, guardians of the night. Of churches crumbling to the dust, like skeletons left to decay, Their chapels capped by stone made cross, that somehow does remain. Where street lined filth is easily maneuvered, by turning away your eyes, And that includes those victim fallen, into the preying kind. The misty clouds that veil the eyes, and make the way more dense, Lighted by the halo of flames, lashing out at the last defense. Darkened ways that lead unto a more dangerous sort of path, Without the fragrant scent of life, to linger here but death. Disenchantment, it is known for no fairy tale might prevail, Along the streets of reality, where belief has all but failed, Each corridor a one way street, with flanking doors to side, Each unlocked, slightly ajar or pulled on and opened wide. Invitingly or otherwise, Ill not lay claim to know, But thus this pass leads the way to where we want to go. To fantasy, reality, your enchantments true desires, Or merely blackened by our life despite our untold fires. Burning brightly within our breasts, the need to just hold, A fantasy of great proportions, the one we only own. Does such fantasy really exist, enchantment linger in way, Or does the path lead but the blind further to go astray? I question now the firm grasp mind, which reality stands aground, No quakes of tumbled excitement, to shatter the mass abound. But to firmly stand embedded, to root upon this land, Disenchantment for reality, blessed or the damned -Angel (not sure it exactly fits, but.. I did enjoy writing it and thought to share, -angellro)

I always thought the surreal writer was kind of like the prisoner, where none of the events taking place in the cell made any sense, but as a whole each item was a symbol. True the dream could be bad, but an enchantment fantasy could also be surreal. "Alice in Wonderland" was surreal, but the political overtones were the symbols that drove it not the subconscious, "Gulliver's Travels" was another political reflection of the surreal. The key is the symbolic language does it connect with the introverse or is it a reflection of outside events?

MIDNIGHT MASQUERADE - Stars sprinkled through the clouds, held like ornaments on a tree. Holding silken hands up to the brilliance of the winds, held completely in ecstasy by its cool breath. Whispering its swirling melody plays upon her ears seeping rivers into an over flooded heart, sending the senses reeling. Rain like diamonds spills upon the heavenly earth, leaving behind looking glass mirrors. Making its midnight mistress a crown of glass gems within soaked hair. Leaves shiver in chorus of the nights symphony, Notes moaned through the ageless trees. Secrets of the composers wisdom, Written in the shadows, whispering a vow of silence. The nightly queens court acts out of willingness, their services ready at her every command. Praise and compassion falls from her shimmering lips speaks of their ever waking beauty seen only by her.