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 aim was song
The Aim Was Song B Before man came to blow it right The wind once blew itself untaught, And did its loudest day and night
I(N)ert
I(N)ert 🕳 Matter that’s darkest, the goddess inert. Undetectable only, lmited certainty (because it’s fucking inert!) Electro-magnetic technologies. We.
Paul BeckettPublished 3 years ago in PoetsTHE DEFINITION OF ME
I always cry on the inside to withhold the sorrow from escaping my eyes So no one knows that my heart mourns or that my tomorrow has failed to exist So I scream within because i'm trapped in a world that's unfit for life That's polluted with tribulations And that bears a distinct portrait of what hell is said to look like
Nyutu WoodsPublished 3 years ago in PoetsI’m Not a Morning Person
Mornings come like a chainsaw buzzing, biting, in my brain. I am gruff and hungry – a bear whose long, dark sleep has been interrupted
Maria Shimizu ChristensenPublished 3 years ago in PoetsThe Physics of Shakespeare
Why would anyone wish to defy physics, the truest science of all? It is like asking Einstein to forget everything he ever said and thought. I can easily defy religion and most nutrition guidelines too. When it comes to physics, I am adamantly resisting but I’ll play along.
Patrick M. OhanaPublished 3 years ago in PoetsClouds Within
Dark clouds Suspended Heavy Water Heat of Hurts Distillation of Pain Condensation of expression The Flow of tears The birth of water
Joseph OvwemuvwosePublished 3 years ago in PoetsSleep
Sleep screeches at me like angry sirens waiting for their next victim. Oh, what a cacophonous sound! Your crystallized glare hurts me with its diamond appeal. Dew holds only the highest quality moments within her morning leaves; waiting for the next opportunity.
Raissa DasselPublished 3 years ago in PoetsGem-in-I
Refraction Spurts of creative honey flow from an unknown source The Gems of wonders reside within  Vapid leftovers of an old self give way for the new to emerge
Kurt. B (RahZhi)Published 3 years ago in PoetsThey don't see me
It’s not over until you see the rainbow, but can you stand the rain though. The best thing done for man was giving him a woman to make him feel human. But what about you man? Are you a hue man? We’re the ones who got locked in cages like a zoo man. Back in the days we wore shackles and chains, but the more we changed, the more we stayed the same. They cut the mane, then washed the brain, now we wear shackles and chains for fun. Curse each other’s names because our hue isn’t the same. It’s silly to blame each other for our misery and pain, our blood stains the grounds where our brothers are slain. Please believe me this isn’t easy. What you see on TV doesn’t appease me. Police they see me, I tell them be easy, but they mock and tease me, then call me lazy, they all want me to fall to a crawl to shoot or tase me. Now my hands are up, then locked in cuffs, I’m down on my stomach, they won’t let me come up. I can’t breathe but they won’t let up. Knees on my neck, face down on the deck, please give me a sec. I deserve some respect. I call out for my mother, please watch over my brothers. My life is slipping away, I don’t have another. I feel the pain getting stronger, I can’t take this any longer. My little sister captures the drama on her cellphone camera. Load it up to social media, now my Face Book(ed) like Expedia. Remember me. Don’t let there be another me, my life is a tragedy, it didn’t really have to be. There is a light at the end of my path, life washed away all my deeds like a bath. Turn the other cheek to conceal my wrath, and you made me a statistic like a graph. My murderer had his day, to hear what the people had to say, the scene ended like a play, and he lives on another day. My soul’s in purgatory, until I see glory, everyone will hear me , and they all say surely, we all know the story, there will be no more me. Until there is another me, and another, or my brother, mother, it doesn’t bother me. They say our Protest is grotesque, it’s not worth it. No matter what our vote is, it won’t change the context, who they want to con next. Our votes don’t count unless it’s read (red). But for my votes they will put shots to your head. All of my concerns got bleeped out when voting in the deep south. Did you peep how, they passed those laws to keep out, all the voters of a certain complexion, I feel there’s a certain connection, they won’t let us stand up like erection so they claim we rigged the election. Smoke and mirrors, watch the deception because it was here from the beginning like conception. What’s the big lesson?
Chris RicksPublished 3 years ago in PoetsOn Leave
Start A past of unforgotten walls behind while looking at the open door. As the cubs leave their den you venture on, hesitant to find bears.
Leah HicksPublished 3 years ago in PoetsOn Taking
Your job is to eat the worms and feed the flesh. With your instinct and knowledge, you will fill a box of fruit only for it to blow up.
Leah HicksPublished 3 years ago in PoetsOn Dignity
When you judge shame or scorn, another a barrel of oil pours into the sea. Broken glass and shattered scars, beaten until death with knives and stones.
Leah HicksPublished 3 years ago in Poets