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.
Soft Defiance
In a land where the daisies dance with glee, Lived a cat named Whiskers, as bold as can be. He’d strut past the dogs with a flick of his tail, Defying their barks like a ship in full sail. “Why chase after balls when there's sun on my fur? I’ll nap on this fence post—oh, don’t you concur?” The dogs would all howl, “Come join us for fun!” But Whiskers just yawned and soaked up the sun. One day came a storm with thunderous might, The dogs sought their shelters and trembled in fright. Yet Whiskers just watched from his perch oh so high, With the softest defiance—a gleam in his eye. “I’m not running away from a little old rain! Let it drench my fine coat; I’ve no need to feign! While you cower in corners and hide from the sky, I’ll prance through the puddles with mischief nearby!” So he danced through the downpour while lightning struck near, Each splatter of water was music to hear. His paws flung confetti of mud all around— A whimsical waltz upon soggy ground. Then at last came the sunbeams to dry off the day; The dogs peeked outside but had nothing to say. Whiskers stood proud like a king on his throne— In his soft little way, he had wholly outgrown. For sometimes it's best to go gently your way, With laughter and joy that’s not bound by dismay. In defiance that's tender yet fiercely profound— You find strength in softness; it’s here that you're crowned.
By Forest Green29 days ago in Poets
Understated Truths
Being way too deep, where secrets lie, The quiet truths begin to sigh, Beneath the weight of hollow dreams, Where silence drips like whispered screams. A faded mirror cracks with age, Reflecting tales that haunt a stage; The laughter masked by veils of night, Concealing fears from morning light. In twilight's grasp, the heart unwinds, And darkness finds what daylight blinds; An echo lost in mournful halls, Where every whisper softly calls. The lies we weave are threadbare spun, Yet in their fabric lies our fun; For pain is ink upon the page— We pen our sorrow’s cruel wage. A phantom touch on skin so cold, With every truth left untold; These understated threads entwined— Beneath the surface darkly shined. Embrace the dusk where shadows creep, For in this realm our secrets keep; And though the night may cloak our fears, It sings of all that disappears.
By Forest Green29 days ago in Poets
Gentle Resistance
In the hush of a small embrace, Soft shadows weave through tender air, Gentle resistance stirs beneath the skin, A murmur against the weight of despair. Petals brush against concrete sighs, Delicate blooms in cracks where they lie, Rooted defiantly in urban decay— Nature's soft heart beats on as we try. Hands clasped tightly yet open to change, The earth whispers secrets to those who will hear; Each small act a ripple, each word an exchange— An anthem of quiet that grows loud with fear. Beneath heavy burdens we rise like the sun, A chorus of souls unafraid to be known; Through silence we rally—the battle begun— With love as our armor and kindness our stone. Bridges made not from steel but from grace, We gather together as threads intertwine; In this fragile moment we find our own place— Gentle resistance—a tapestry divine. And when thunder rumbles and shadows conspire, We'll stand side by side in this fervent decree: With hearts ignited by passionate fire— Against all that's harsh—we shall simply be free.
By Forest Green29 days ago in Poets
Muted Colors
In the early hours of dawn, where colors hold their breath, the world is a canvas— a whisper of grey, soft as forgotten dreams. Clouds hang low, muted hues, like secrets shared between worn pages of a book, stories waiting in the wings, each line a gentle sigh. The trees wear coats of shadow, leaves trembling with quietude; their greens softened to mossy whispers— they speak in half-tones, an orchestra in stillness. Sidewalks echo with footsteps lost; pavement stained by yesterday's rain— beyond the reach of vibrant cries, life flows like watercolor rivers; each moment bleeds into the next. A child’s laughter floats on air— candy-colored against this backdrop; but all we see are echoes now— a fleeting glimpse through foggy glass: the joy wrapped in sepia tones. Evening tucks itself away, wrapped in an embrace— the stars blink shyly overhead; they shimmer dimly like unspoken thoughts— each glimmer a reminder to be still. In this muted spectrum we find ourselves, woven into fabric that is neither bright nor dark; in silence we discover voices unsung — a beauty carved from absence and dusk’s soft touch.
By Forest Green29 days ago in Poets
Gourmet Boot
In a quaint little bistro, where laughter does bloom, I ordered a dish that would surely consume; The menu proclaimed it a savory treat— A fried boot, golden-crisped, daintily neat. With a flourish they served it on porcelain white, My heart raced with hunger—oh what pure delight! But the waiter just chuckled, his eyes full of glee, "A culinary wonder; it's boot à la me!" Each bite was absurd—a crunch like old leather, With flavors reminiscent of storms and bad weather. Garlic and salt danced on tongues in dismay, While patrons around me just stared in dismay. For who could have thought that this shoe-sole delight? Would spark such reflections on appetite's blight? That taste buds so fickle can lead us astray— To dine on a sole when one's craving soufflé. Yet here I am feasting on irony’s plate, A dish made for jesters at destiny's gate. So I'll raise my glass high to this strange little feast— A boot of all things—a most curious beast! In laughter we gather 'round tables adorned, For life’s truest pleasures are often well-worn. And though I might savor this gastronomic ruse, It’s love for the absurd that I choose to peruse.
By Forest Green29 days ago in Poets
Void Whispers
Silent rooms where shadows weave their tales, I hear the echoes of a voice unspoken, A whisper flits like dust through sunlit veils, Yet solitude’s embrace remains unbroken. I sit alone, with thoughts both vast and stark, The walls conspire with secrets never shared; An unseen breath ignites the stillness dark— This phantom conversation feels so dared. “Do you not see me?” sighs the air I breathe, A jest upon the lips of time's cruel jesters; Yet here I am—a captive of belief, In company of ghosts who are my testers. For every word that dances in my ear, The silence wraps me tighter in its shroud; The irony: I seek what’s far from near— To find connection in an empty crowd. Oh sweet delusion! How you twist and play! In whispers heard but never to be found; What irony unfolds when night turns day— To long for voices lost in hollow sound.
By Forest Green29 days ago in Poets
Veiled Intentions
In shadows cast by silvered night, A tapestry of empty dreams, Where intentions flicker, fade from sight, And truth dances in elusive beams. Beneath the veil of soft-spun lies, A heart concealed in gentle guise, Each word a thread pulled taut with fear, Yet longing breathes within each tear. The porcelain mask smiles wide and bright, While secrets curl like smoke in air; What hides beneath this artful light? Is it hope or anguish we dare share? Hands tremble on the edge of fate, Tracing lines where silence drips— Promises woven in threads of late, With jagged edges that brush our lips. In corners dimmed by time's embrace, Veiled intentions swirl like mist; To trust is but a fragile space— Where every heartbeat feels amiss. So let us peel this shroud away— Reveal what lingers underneath; For love unmasked finds strength to stay; And honesty begets belief.
By Forest Green29 days ago in Poets
Beauty of Imperfection
In gardens wild where tangled shadows play, The blooms, though flawed, are vibrant in their hue; Each petal whispers secrets of the day, And shows us all that life can be askew. A crooked path leads to a sunlit glade, Where laughter mingles with the rustling leaves; Yet even there, beneath the bright cascade, The mark of time is etched on boughs and eaves. What’s perfect shines but fleetingly at best; It’s in the cracks we find the stories told. A heart laid bare reveals its truest quest— To learn that love is gentle with the bold. Embrace each flaw, for in them lies our grace; In every fault, we find a warm embrace.
By Forest Greenabout a month ago in Poets
