Surreal Poetry Quotes

“Tale of the Holy Hitchhiker by Stewart Stafford

A motorist drives by the Blue Church,
Of left-handed compliments,
And omnipresent righteous sins,
Where the Holy Hitchhiker dwells.

Waiting for God at the stop sign,
No thumbs, he blesses passing cars,
Chanting his destination's directions,
Then going into silent meditation.

A fated pause at the railway crossing,
Purgatory train takes an eternity to go by,
Time for confessional contemplation,
Swift redemption with the accelerator.

Thankful prayers at the journey's end,
Payment made as alms for the poor,
Then a smile as he vanishes into light,
The driver sees the Blue Church again.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Like a mermaid on a shore I loved you. Abandoned, a bit dead, a bit dreamy, like a mermaid.”
― Felicia IANCU, SONG FOR YOU / CÂNTEC PENTRU TINE (Bilingual English–Romanian Edition / Ediție bilingvă engleză–română / 2025): Poems of Love, Madness & Resurrection / ... nebunie și renaștere

“you sat breeding
multiple & varied as a ghost”
― Will Alexander, Compression and Purity

“Submerged Suburbia by Stewart Stafford

Fell out of bed, dragging my soul,
Looked out the old goldfish bowl,
To see suburbia was underwater,
And I was engaged to Neptune’s daughter.

There were buses like whales,
Driven by aquatic snails,
And jellyfish squatters,
Chased by octopus coppers.

Crab and lobster schoolkids,
Scurried by making online bids,
As a serial killer shark,
Prowled for surfers before dark.

Someone let the water out,
And it all went down the spout,
Flopping fish still tarried,
But I got out of getting married.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“From The Darkest Depths by Stewart Stafford

Salvation swallowed in a bleak abyss,
Of impossibly lost and betrayed souls,
Swarming screams of frantic contrition,
Clawing collisions in a drowning grip.

Drops of reason cascade down the vortex,
Falling infinitely through the fallen infamy,
Snaking doubt constructing every delusion,
Of false idols, prophets, and graven images.

Scaling its putrescent and lacerating walls,
Is a repentant struggle beyond endurance,
Then distant dawn appears, growing nearer,
Darkness fades and a basking reign forms.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved”
― Stewart Stafford

“Hallucination Country by Stewart Stafford

A furious tribe of leaves,
Chased a logging truck,
As forked flames waved,
From a burning backyard tree.

A half-eaten unicorn in a ditch,
A warning from hunters nearby,
Slaughtering fairytale creatures,
Cryptids were their mint targets.

An abandoned Volkswagen car lay,
Half-overturned, underbelly exposed,
The injured driver, now hitchhiking,
With a spree killer or tow-truck driver.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“A Bloodshot Mind's Eye by Stewart Stafford

Hyperventilating loudly,
Feverish visions crash in,
Flinching ever so strongly,
A farrago of the brain's bin.

Home is sadly unsweetened,
Not like old Lynyrd Skynyrd's,
Fell into mashed-up bananas,
Looking like a lizard's innards.

On a plane crashing down fast,
Door closed on a switch to cars,
A parachute instantly appeared,
And I woke from sleep a superstar.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“Southpaw Serpent by Stewart Stafford

She was a left-handed artist,
More paint on her face than on canvas,
'Here, take this,' she said to me,
'It takes you to the snake with the atlas.'

I grasped the nettle of her riddle,
An eyeball roulette elixir of time.
Each sandy step I took after that
Veered from horrific to the sublime.

I found myself at a beach house party,
Remorse coiled in laundry bags hissed,
They reeked of promise unfulfilled,
And of sweet opportunities missed.

Girls morphed into southpaw painters,
Pointing and urging me to go on,
A police raid, I fled to the rooftop,
As dawn cracked open the sun.

I frantically crafted glitter collages,
Kaleidoscopes of close friends and I,
The leftie girlie dyed her hair, judging,
The winner was a mirrored all-seeing eye.

© 2024, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“(WHEN I WAS A CHILD)
I was told that I was insane,
seeing doctors in hospitals
far away from home.

LITTLE WHITE PILLS
inside small transparent containers
that could fit my baby teeth
like seashells, I dreamed.

WHEN I WAS A CHILD
my mind made up things—
not castles of sand,
nor careless childish dreams.

NOW I AM GROWN
I can’t see myself anymore,
behind walls of lights
I painted on as a child.

(BUT NOWADAYS)
I cannot think back and wonder
if these things ever really happened.”
― Laura Chouette

“Pet Haunts by Stewart Stafford

Ghosts pinned my cat to the wall,
So I reached out to pick him up,
In the strangest flip to our world,
They then turned him into a pup!

Spectres floated my pet downstairs,
Confused as he hovered on a step,
Species-fluid doppelgänger mirage,
Without moans or chains to schlepp.

Dare we dig into this canine tale,
Let me lick myself clean and think,
Corporeal companions, some not,
We all link up as one past the brink.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“On Darkest Paths by Stewart Stafford

Temporal loop on a ravenous street,
A vampire denied a ticking heartbeat,
Restless spirit of night's prettified edge,
Bound acolyte of the infinite pledge.

Human life, another planet’s memory,
This skittish flock, a prized delicacy,
Blood frenzy mingles with death's choir,
A living essence merged with undead fire.

No loving touch nor warmth of light,
I must stay numb, shun my plight,
Solitary, not lonely; sated yet lost.
A fickle captive in my permafrost.

I spurn self-pity’s indulgent call,
My wastrel's drudge to primal thrall.
A millstone for necks of mortal strays
Perishing slowly in diminished ways.

An inversion of creation, a deviant lie,
A predator's bloodlust can never comply,
Rogue feeders, unbound by pack affliction.
Until driven away or freed of addiction.

© 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford

“My brain flops over the desk and oozes into the keyboard.

Grey and white matter seep between the keys, leaving behind a sticky residue.”
― Brian M. Ross, Names of the Kingdom

“Aubergine, Auberga, Life Goes On by Stewart Stafford

The Devil is in the oxtails,
A foetus lacking the superb,
Granny Smith or Granny Shit,
Modulation without the reverb.

A penguin picked up gingerly,
Unaware what had hit his ice,
A Matterhorn tuxedo Cha-Cha,
Casinoed fits from tumbling dice.

O, to have knees of broccoli!
Each eye a glittering ruby grape,
A peacenik parsley neck surrender,
Florid garnish to an eggplant nape.

Forgive me if I go daydreaming,
Your déjà vu’s recurring nightmare,
An offer of hunger strike insomnia,
A gun-to-the-head vigil with flair.

© 2026, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford