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.

The Rudder
Emotion feels heavier than yourself lifting your head takes mighty effort and nothing stack up as you would wish, these are the days you work hard and resist.
By AA5 years ago in Poets
Elevator Knife Fights
The time I lost myself soul-searching in bathroom mirrors, I discovered what it means to be alive. You wrote me the Bible when you said,
By Zachary Blaine5 years ago in Poets
Pain Part 4
Without another thought and as quick as a blink, I rush into Love's arms. She smiles like a bride as we embrace. Then, we both begin to weep, my pouts sounding like an injured child. Her breath smells like peppermint, but it is her skin, ever so soft and lightly perfumed.
By Kevin Klabon5 years ago in Poets
Lady in Satin
When the lovers finally are still, The moon sent aloft over the hill, The mighty angel army encamped In shadow behind the table lamp;
By Charles Turner5 years ago in Poets
Vigil
The cause is not lost. It is identified with every stroke of my brush. I must be vigilant with phenoms. This new feeling is wonderful and it permeates joy.
By Todd D Chastain5 years ago in Poets
Learning to Say Goodbye
My Bedtime Fairytale It’s the same old story. Your sob story. Your success story. Your cover story. Every one a tall story.
By Maria Shimizu Christensen5 years ago in Poets
The Angular Gyrus
The room broke into a kaleidoscope: A flurry of stained glass with no particular organization. Gravity receded but resistance made me jolt.
By Gregory Valdez5 years ago in Poets
My Life on the Moon
Life on the moon Ain`t really bad When you`re in love And feelin` sad Nowhere on Earth To run from the blues No one in space
By Charles Turner5 years ago in Poets
I Need Like Seven Dollars by Lolly Vieira
trip, trip, trip be careful not to fall off the edge of the earth and into a wall trip, trip, trip you never know what you’ll see
By Lolly Vieira5 years ago in Poets
Time Spent Alone
a mental war is waging mirror tell me, am I aging? time’s tornado pulls me out the window and scrambles my frontal lobe
By Lolly Vieira5 years ago in Poets
My monster
She fell through the cellar door Day turned to night She heard the clock ticking And in the dark, she cried "Ghosts down in the dark with me today, listen to me and what I've to say,"
By Joni Écrit5 years ago in Poets
She is Blue
she sits and stares, a stone-cold statue of blue back beside bare brick blocks of a brutal blue stoically sober she lingers, sick of seeing
By Lolly Vieira5 years ago in Poets