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.
OUR JOURNEY
Giving and recieving a graceful dance. The warmth of affection in every hug. Joy and sadness, feelings intwined. Through crying and laughing, our spirits join.
All In A Day’s Work
The warrior rolls with the punches of the early morning heat, Sweltering under the sun as he smiles in joy, Excitement runs the gauntlet of the sweat upon his skin,
Colleen MillsteedPublished 6 months ago in PoetsSticks & Stones
Sticks..& stones may break my bones, your words must love to hurt me.. There’s no love left inside my heart, my clean soul’s now so dirty..
Desmond RazzanoPublished 6 months ago in PoetsSnafu: Convicted by a Thread of Humanity.
Coy Eyes. Human. So Vile!
Shane Charbonnet, P.h.D.: HCDI & UXDE (bka; dba) 'Dr. Shane Jaycee.'Published 6 months ago in PoetsConvicted by a Thread of Humanity.
EPIPHANIC MOMENTS. Neolomicro Challenge: Neologism. Subheading: (verb) To experience a series of epic moment. (noun) One whom encounters a series of epiphanies. (adjective) The state of being in a series of epiphanies.
Shane Charbonnet, P.h.D.: HCDI & UXDE (bka; dba) 'Dr. Shane Jaycee.'Published 6 months ago in PoetsGenesis the Battlecorn
Genesis did not want to be Battlecorn anymore She wanted to be a unicorn She did not want to fight and go to war She wanted to make peace and love
Mother CombsPublished 6 months ago in PoetsEmotional Points of No Return
Remaining objective once easy—until it wasn’t. Your choice, of course, your choice but consequences are an effect cascade
The Dani WriterPublished 6 months ago in PoetsKiss Me In the Rain
I once tried to paint you by numbers. But I failed because I made the foolish mistake of thinking your beauty could be
Red Lips
Color of blood Fresh blood Red blood On my lips I put it on I take it off I like it on Can’t show it off
Your Destiny
I want to fill my senses, with the leaves on autumn days to make time stop, like frozen caps on peaceful, sleeping lakes to reach the depths within my soul, like the moon touches the shore
Kelli Sheckler-AmsdenPublished 6 months ago in PoetsA Well Lit Room
Who needs hand warmers? With a touch filled with warmth Walking slowing into the room taking your coat off so slow The fire cracks with passion in the air in this well lit room
Mason DarniellePublished 6 months ago in PoetsWAS HIS LOVE THEN JUST LUST
Something a little classical Maybe mirror, mirror on the wall Or yes, Roses are red, violets are? I don’t know, but whatever it was