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.

part 10
Roses are red violets are dead and here I am messing with my own head so sad I feel bad running out of hope drifting down the slippery slope
By jas5 years ago in Poets
this is a horror story
this is a horror story. you are watching the screen and you know this and you can’t stop yourself from being the boy in the car, high as a god, driving faster than demons run, on a long purgatory road with his sister in the backseat, racing Time to the hospital,
By m.c. schwab5 years ago in Poets
Ramblings part 9
If you could go to any point in time What would it be For me it would be when our ancestors first discovered music I'd want to hear the melody
By Josephine Mason5 years ago in Poets
Ramblings part 8
Who are fairy tales really for Children or adults For children they're stories on morality Not so much for adults ~ Growing up means learning that sometimes you have to lie
By Josephine Mason5 years ago in Poets
Ramblings part 7
Today I mused on luck Since this is the seventh ramble And seven is one of my lucky numbers But then I really thought about luck
By Josephine Mason5 years ago in Poets
I SAY MY PRAYERS
I Say My Prayers Every Night! Dear God Please Watch Over Me Throughout The Night. Tuck Me In Hug Me Tight. Im Just A Child Terrified At Night. I Close My Eyes Pretend To Sleep. My Thoughts Keep Running Repeat.
By Daphne Sutherlun5 years ago in Poets
A Note to No One in Particular
Why are you scared of life? Do you fear that you will get hurt? You will get hurt. You will get hurt over and over and over
By J.D. Bradley5 years ago in Poets
Thoughts Streaming
Music is a scape from the concrete world and its rules The concrete world comes in the shape of an older white male telling me how I should behave, work, play, love, live, dress, be
By Isabela5 years ago in Poets
Halloween Night
Come Halloween night we could kill all the lights in the room. I’ll show you my skull with the spiders that twirl suicidal web pearls in the blackest of gloom.
By Kyla Smith5 years ago in Poets
Longlands
I want to think it was love of the kind you are afraid to touch the life I had built and torn apart a life that now moves through me like rain
By Timothy James Lane5 years ago in Poets
Loneliest Loneliness: Eight Poems of Being
One Season Into Man Yes. Yesterday, the clock soaked a flock of birds that sang the most noisy song of silence. Sounds euphonic, but pathetic. Because those tunes; soon be words
By Moch Aldy MA5 years ago in Poets
Transcendence
The night sky is the blue of your eyes that dreamed us into being and even now I search its expanse for some lingering sense of you.
By Jerrie DeRose5 years ago in Poets