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.

The nightmare
The Nightmare That made me live my dream Dad was reckless, not driving, more like careening. Me, terrified, motionless, petrified. Seized in a state, as if I’d been calcified.
By Yejin Choi4 years ago in Poets
Try
The soft pad of bare feet mine overlay the constant hum of the fan Air swirling in the open ceiling settling over half-built walls
By Heidi Armstrong4 years ago in Poets
Black with White
You sat there in the void Seeming anything but annoyed Floating on air Wild was your hair Time is an illusion Feeling so familiar nothing like intrusion
By Heather Marfeo4 years ago in Poets
I Work The Night Shift
I'm shepherded into the stadium, dripping with darkness. Shadowed seats host invisible spectators, while a silent game transpires on the floor.
By Chris Heller4 years ago in Poets
“Open Your Eyes”
Darkness looming Running in place I see people But not one face. Why can’t I move? My anxiety is through the roof Cause it’s dark and I’m alone
By Brittany Mays4 years ago in Poets
Blue Clouds, Red Sky
Blue clouds Red Sky * It can’t be real I’m dreaming I’m fleeting * Blue clouds Red dreams Red clouds Flowing downstream
By Patrick Poulin4 years ago in Poets
Itching
I’m itching. Two xyzals in and it’s not gone I am thankful for where I am But I feel insecure I’ve worked hard to not feel that way
By Kaitlyn Chung4 years ago in Poets
Lucid Harvest
I'm pacing my minds lucid harvest with a sling blade hand. I place the crops in my basket case of wicker and thought. I'm falling so fast over the edge of my sanity trying to bring reason behind this imaginary treason. My eyes are slammed shut like shutters in Kansas when the wind picks up. But I can see. There is an ancient rosary held up by a blue tack on a solemn slate wall. I heard a voice say "take it back," the words seemed to slowly crawl,
By Ellis Esco4 years ago in Poets
bête noir
there is a room with a chair and a window and outside that window is the moon. with every passing second she grows closer
By l.j. swann4 years ago in Poets
Wolf Moon Rising
She escaped… The invisible, writhing hold the demon had on her, which strapped her to the bed. She sat up… Sweating, she glanced over the side of the bed noticing an open pinhole in the floorboard.
By Julie Flores4 years ago in Poets
Blank Stares
Chaos ensues in the lobby Familiar faces surround me They seem lost, brainwashed like looking in the eyes of a zombie Conversation distorted
By Anna Kenniston 4 years ago in Poets
Getting Lost in Unfriendly Dimensions
It feels like a Sunday, lethargic and honey sweet, as I sit among the dead. Suddenly, she appears, out of place, holding an old television that doubles as a door.
By ashley hale4 years ago in Poets