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.
Slipped
Slipped and fell How do I get so caught up.. Feeling someone I have yet to touch .. am I too much ? My mind slips ..Hearts in a Rush ..
Steve RichardPublished 3 years ago in PoetsCandlelight
Candlelight by Tony Hoagland | Sunday, August 06, 2017 | The Writer's Almanac with Garrison Keillor Crossing the porch in the hazy dusk
kd HoccanePublished 3 years ago in PoetsAnatomy of a Lighthouse
I am the Shamrock green of security. Attachment Theory is the spectrum on which humanity is splayed haphazardly trying to relate.
A sophistry
In God, if exists, there is fate. And it is arranged. Destined fate, which is above man and cannot exist without that, has a possibility of deformation or destruction.
SAMYEOL SEONGPublished 3 years ago in PoetsA sophistry
In Gos, there is fate. And it is arranged. Destined fate, which is above man and cannot exist without that, has a possibility of deformation or destruction.
SAMYEOL SEONGPublished 3 years ago in PoetsThe Face of a Man
There in the way of summers Young morning There stood a man In the suns golden lighting. Nothing appeared off With his tired yawning
Marcus Alan PerkinsPublished 3 years ago in PoetsBackseat Crutches
Shaken, afraid, Delusional, ashamed. Crutch in the backseat, My pain lured me to cheat. Cheat I did picking up the crutch,
Hannah HooperPublished 3 years ago in Poetsin my mind
Sometimes I don’t think. It’s like throw up coming out of my mouth. Sometimes I want to sink. But then I’m scratching to come out.
gasoline
There’s gasoline being poured down my throat. He sells souls and makes a profit. His lies are filling me up and I’m starting to choke. My hatred for him has taken off like a rocket.
She Talks to Me in Colors
She talks to me in colors. She shows me beauty everywhere. She dances upon the waters. She is the happiest when she’s there.
Won’t You Come Out to Play
He hides behind this wall. He’s blurry and out of focus. I can see him there. And he’s being attacked from all the thirsty locust.
Finally Free
It trickles like the blood that falls off of my fingertips. Every time he speaks, it’s like space and time completely rip.