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.

don't ever tell me you haven't tried
baby in the air water slide fun, palm trees; bright colours can change all * 18 Jan. 2023 *** Thank you for reading!
By Sun Bee4 years ago in Poets
Life On The Edge
Debt, divorce and death Life goes on and on and onThen, you’re truly free
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden4 years ago in Poets
The Mythos Minute Podcast Volume 1
Friends, be careful when making eye contact in public. You never know who or what is looking back. In the butcher shop I saw the man eat raw meat
By Jason Huls4 years ago in Poets
Purpose
We are guilty of it, almost everyday. There is no justification or a logical excuse. It is simply because we are human. They say it’s in our DNA;
By Grace Blessing4 years ago in Poets
Even Numbers Always
Rocking back and forth on my chair Tap tap tap tapping on my thighs Even numbers always Usually groups of two or ten Odd numbers don't ease the pain
By Paul Stewart4 years ago in Poets
Ingredients to Reign
Edify this clay. Til this body, is Mountain. Breathe life, into Rock. … Breath. Yours…is enough. To Whisper away vices.
By Ques 4 years ago in Poets
The Earth is a Frying Pan
The elements speak louder to the destitute with their thin barriers. Air is a carrier, howls through cracks in the window—
By Kaia Rae4 years ago in Poets
The Next Chapter
I want to write a book about someone else. That starts with the night in your car, my hand out the window, the rain like small pebbles flying backwards.
By Jamie Ramsay4 years ago in Poets
Bed Sheets, Easy Rain
I missed you today. I think it was because I woke up early, after a full night of sleep, to a cold pillow case against my cheek, a cold morning, an insecurity in my heart that feels like sick nostalgia. Snoozing my alarm for five minutes, and then five more. The insecurity that belongs to a new job and not knowing where I belong.
By Jamie Ramsay4 years ago in Poets
Listen to the wind
I shouldn’t have had coffee. It’s day three of this tiredness in my chest, it turns into a tree branch, ready to snap in the wind.
By Jamie Ramsay4 years ago in Poets
I am waiting like a child moving in the climates of my interior!
I am like a flower swaying on the hem of the season. A wild rhododendron, perhaps, that is open to the scepter of love. The seasons are spring and the city fire has just subsided. It is as if there is another me exploding inside me.
By Recipology4 years ago in Poets
Infused
Body—hidden world: warm blood, breathy lungs, water drunk, venous trees—Me.
By R.C. Taylor4 years ago in Poets