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.

Blue Body
Let me just start with I drew for me: blue body That I must part with.
By Ángel Sierra4 years ago in Poets
Blue Eyed Ghost
Where, along the lines, You're disguised behind blue eyes, Though through them, they're brown.
By Ángel Sierra4 years ago in Poets
If You're Not Dying...
If you're not dying Then you're not alive just yet As the sea's blue-green.
By Ángel Sierra4 years ago in Poets
The Blue Room
This is a blue room Meant for two—too, meant for ruse— Velvet curtains thick.
By Ángel Sierra4 years ago in Poets
The Institution
Not a cloud in sight The Institution is near— Hear Mr. Blue Sky.
By Ángel Sierra4 years ago in Poets
Blue Demon
So I was born sick— Am I part of the disease? I'm blue—doubt I die.
By Ángel Sierra4 years ago in Poets
Blue Beard Man
the forbidden rooms decaying female bodies I'm the blue beard man *** Thank you for reading! If you like this Haiku, you can add your Insights, Comment, leave a ❤, Tip, Pledge, or Subscribe. Your support means a lot to me as a writer!
By U.Rdiya4 years ago in Poets
Juicy Gems
My hands are empty I grab those blue juicy gems; hunger melts away. Thank you for taking the time to read another one of my poems. If you enjoyed this poem, please give it a ❤️, share it with others, comment, and please feel free to send me a tip/pledge to show your appreciation and support. To find and read more exciting content, please consider subscribing and visiting my public profile. Stay tuned for more poetry, recipes, stories, and much more!
By Talia Devora4 years ago in Poets
Planetary Neighbors
Red, dead giants loom fixed on her zesty surface envious they creep
By Joseph Feduniewicz4 years ago in Poets
AM Chatter
Sitting in the garage, drinking her morning cup of joe This was becoming her favorite daily place to go The colorful leaves blowing in the breeze
By Crystal Rae4 years ago in Poets
In Search of Perfection
within the deepest shallows of the soul exists a need for perfection, yet, we’re not perfect, we’re not meant to be! perfection is a virtue exceeding the normal,
By Moe Radosevich4 years ago in Poets
Fear Thy Sleep
With my chest pounding, my breathes feeling more dense and shallow. Every muscle in my body begins to tighten, only able to slightly turn my head to the right. I open my eyes to see those glossy grey eyes staring back. Clenching my eyes firmly back shut, I begin to try to scream. Yet it feels as if my vocal chords are being crushed so I am unable to make a sound.
By Magnar Arne4 years ago in Poets