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.

Ship of hope
Once upon a time. there was these boys that where like "hey bro" "lets make ship. they say there is a new world ya the jews own it.
By Heather Blasko4 years ago in Poets
Prism/Prison
Praises to the divine cloud. The source-mind. Searching… Searching… Peering for a glimpse of the All. What am I if not disconnected?
By Kristen Keenon Fisher4 years ago in Poets
Solitude Too
I think I found her.. Instagram damages the brain but the lack of communication damages my heart . Blackout drunk Rambling got me scrambling to apologize again
By Marcus Wilkie4 years ago in Poets
Off-Kilter Poetry 3
red eyes tired from collecting rye black ink to express what I really think came from pink, come for pleasure grass ain't always greener, some lawns got better weather
By Flo Buf4 years ago in Poets
Arrow In The Sky
The natives on the horses they ride, and their makeshift bows and their arrowheads pointed high The incoming American frontiers, on the opposite side, gunslinging bullets, they shoot to the sky
By Octovo Libra 4 years ago in Poets
Pen Behind The Gate
As I walked down the hallway Thoughts in my head began to play As an image that I’ve seen for the thousandth time Haunting me, taunting my mind
By Thavien Yliaster4 years ago in Poets
Off-Kilter Poetry 01
Picking my hair Picking for follicles Ears beard and nostril Picking for coping Itching for change praying and hoping Picking for gold ,
By Flo Buf4 years ago in Poets
I Am The Twin Flame Of Hurricanes
I will never be known as a pet dog’s bark Or for that matter a sleepy cat’s meow, I’m more like virgin wilderness personified
By Colleen Millsteed 4 years ago in Poets
Raindrop's talk
Hearing the raindrops Creates realizations How deep your ocean of tears went Through your foggy life’s mops “I do not want to hear you,”
By Victoria Mineva4 years ago in Poets
The Pneuma
I look in the mirror and see through the eyes of the living clay death mask that holds pieces of all that went before this moment.
By Katherine D. Graham4 years ago in Poets
She Needed No Other
As you walk into the room, you catch her eyes Where she sits quietly, hidden in the recesses, A smile graces her majestic face, so confident
By Colleen Millsteed 4 years ago in Poets
The Waystation
She sat on the yellow line, the red line, the blue line. Echoes in her eyes, they rang white and screaming, a thorny humid trap of a mind. Limb in limbo all askew, thoughts in a loop of prayers, which like magic, are supposed to grant some wish. They flood up into the “heavens,” maybe just in that direction, poor lost spirits never knowing their destination.
By Shanice Steadman-Olliver4 years ago in Poets