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.
Psychedelic đ”âđ« World by Rikki La Rouge
Psychedelic World is my first poetry book before Scenery of Society which would come years later. With this book I tried to get it published I sent it to all of the major publishers out there for example penguin publishing. There are two versions one is in English and the other one is written in Spanish. I did the illustrations for the work myself and it is true to the book being that it is a psychedelic drawing. I canât explain the meaning of the drawing other than that itâs just cool and a snapshot of the machinations of my mind.
By Revista XCI by Rikki La Rouge about a year ago in Poets
Motherâs Sun
10/30/25 I think of Claire Keegan when the leaves turn yellow. I think she would want it that way. I think of you when the wind hurts my ears. I think of you when the sun hits my face and when the homeless man at the bus stop blesses me for looking in his direction. He shows me his teeth and tells me God bless you, God bless you, the sun is on us, God bless you. He shows me his cross made up of eight seashells, tells me itâs his mother, traces horizontally, Sea to Sea. He tells me weâre all going through something and it will all be okay, tells me his mother died two years ago at ninety-eight, God bless you, God bless you. I bless him in return, with God, with the last dollar I have, with the tears that run down my neck. He says heâs not doing well, this will come back to me ten times, thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope he finds the sea and it blesses him forever. I hope the sun and the yellow leaves find him wherever he goes. I hope you think of me when the trees turn golden brown and start to fall like lost love letters. I hope you think of me forever. I would want it that way.
By Olivia Dodgeabout a year ago in Poets
Through the Keyhole
I pressed my eye against the brass keyhole and met a silence that almost spoke. Dust floated in its private universe, spinning slow galaxies in the light. At first, I saw nothing; only absence, like a dream already waking. But then the shapes began to breathe: a chair, a coat, a forgotten mirror. And in that mirror; me, younger, unguarded, still believing every door would open if I only knocked long enough. The keyhole narrowed my world to one trembling circle of truth. It framed what Iâd lost; not people, not things,but versions of myself Iâd locked away for being too tender, too trusting, too alive. I wanted to reach through, to whisper to that ghost of me: Donât rush to grow hard. Donât trade wonder for armor. The world wonât hand you keys, but sometimes, thatâs mercy; because whatâs hidden teaches you to see. When I finally stepped back, the door seemed smaller. The keyhole, infinite. And I understood: we are all peering through our own small openings, seeking glimpses of who we were before the lock was ever turned.ï»ż the hardest truths about who we are arenât found in grand revelations, but in small glimpses; like peering through the keyhole of our own memory. This poem reflects that quiet search for the self.
By Barry Michaelabout a year ago in Poets
Halcyon
I've allowed my anxiety to speak for me. To tear me down like you always used to. You ridiculed my wingspan until it was nothing but bones. You didn't want me whole, you wanted me broken. You loved me when I was fragile and co-dependent. I've ventured out of the cave into spiraling sunlight. I still feel the discomfort because I'm accustomed to the inferiority. How do I overcome this trauma? How do I reach those blessed days of halcyon? I hold myself up to severe expectations instead of being kind to myself. I'm still learning how to exist without you. Succeeding without needing your permission. You can't keep returning and holding me hostage to the past. I can break free because that's not what's expected of me. You wanted me to fail but I have to disappoint you one last time. I was running out of time when I was with you. I was undermining my own potential to soothe your delicate ego. You wouldn't let the truth breathe. I'll take the lead. I'll take the chance that was given to me. This is the one I've been searching for. He's been looking for me too. I'll hang on with all the hope that is inside of me. We're a force that cannot be stopped. You tried to stifle this acceleration but this propulsion will break through. This ascension is something you cannot control, could not contain. The flames will skyrocket into the zenith while you lament down here on earth. The view is amazing up here. I'll take him with me as I explore other universes. When I eject myself into oblivion, you'll be there with me. I can't do this without you. Maybe I could but I just don't want to. When I explode as a supernova, I want you there to witness it. To keep me safe where I hold onto your hand with all that I have. I want to keep you with me for as long as I can. I was never anyone's until I met you. I can gratefully say my heart is yours because it belongs to you. I can't defy the forces that have led me to you. It was inevitable and I am yours just as you are mine. We are finally alive. We are the crack in the sky and we have been blessed with the divine. We are perpetually intertwined. We will stay like this forever until the end of time
By Anna Torresabout a year ago in Poets
Bitter Sea
It was ominous and I still ignored it. A captivating monster that lured me in. The bear trap kept me contained for way too long. I begged you to regurgitate me so I can live in peace. You were as hollow and vacant as a makeshift haven. Fickle and bipolar like the crescendo waves of eternal blue. Our intensity grew worse as we became more villainous. Your hostility was as infinite as the tide that cascaded in. Your presence was punishment that became my burden. Your absence is the reward that kept on giving. I authorized your removal but you were slow to vacate. I'm still drowning in precious salt water as I scream. No tourniquet will plug this visceral wound. You wanted me to perish but it wasn't meant to be. I fear I will never escape you. There will be invisible abrasions that continue to plunder me. There will be transparent bruises that you will never own. This laborious torture does have a timer. It will expire once you evaporate. This misery has evolved into ambition. You took my oxygen as your own but doubted my ability to surface. I sought peace over proving myself to you. I now claim victory over this endless, bitter sea. This was never going to be the death of me
By Anna Torresabout a year ago in Poets
