surreal poetry

Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.

It was such a lovely CONversation
We had such lovely conversations before you saw me in person. Attentive, paid attention to detail. You let me know you weren’t that guy. You didn’t care about the coke bottle frame or the cuffed ass it was my mind you wanted to embrace.
By Lovely Latifa3 years ago in Poets
The disgruntled goldfish
For weeks my colorful goldfish swam it's reddish, orangish, goldish head so calm neck, body and fins flitting here and there
By Novel Allen3 years ago in Poets
Body
My Baby. Her beauty doesn’t lie between her thighs, But son, don’t lie that you haven’t taken a glance or two, Probably three.
By Gideon Mugere3 years ago in Poets
Walpurgisnacht
I From a grim purple fire The demon Lilith was born From her came a new offspring Of women carrying death’s toll And from that day onwards
By Matt B.3 years ago in Poets
A Symphony of Senses
In the quietude of twilight's glow, A tapestry of colors flows, The golden hues of the sun's descent, Merge with indigo, heaven-sent.
By Best Knowledge Base3 years ago in Poets
This King Son of David
Ce Roi fils de David, où le chercherons-nous ? Le ciel même peut-il réparer les ruines De cet arbre séché jusque dans ses racines...
By Rob Angeli3 years ago in Poets
I hate you!
I hate you for using me. I hate you for the way you smile at her when you think I can’t see. It hurts more because you can’t even smile the same at me.
By Rachel Jackson3 years ago in Poets
As Flowers Love the Sun
I love how flowers face the sun Hopeful despite, full of promise and light Bright smiles painted in golden rays Each facet illuminating tacit joys
By A poem to you3 years ago in Poets
MS Night's Dream
MS Night’s Dream, a Lullaby? Mocking and to tender, Mozart special moments, melodious meddling, come softer to bedlings: singing low sing so high—melding sirens to changelings
By Rob Angeli3 years ago in Poets
Gilded Revolt
In the debut gleefully goldenly landed in the lap of luxury a Patrician class is always problematic: [gilden] AGE slept not slept, moved
By Rob Angeli3 years ago in Poets
My Mind is your Throne
[my spirit is your bed] Between the sky and the earth lie the eyes and the earth and the sky are the prize; the sun could be a blind eye
By Rob Angeli3 years ago in Poets
Juicy Red Apples
I see a red orb up in the tree. I feel the apple's smooth luscious skin. I taste the sweet juiciness from the first bite.
By Kylecovey Smith3 years ago in Poets