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.

Homecoming
Mother Homecoming Open Arms. Smile so wide. Ears ready to listen. Heart to feel. Whenever I need to vent, she's home. Whenever I need to cry, she's home.
By Tina Jay5 years ago in Poets
Rhodolite
Hiding in the palm of my hands as you look me straight in the eye you shine with love and peace. Only you say one phrase to me
By Talia Devora5 years ago in Poets
The Home of Resilience
Chaos brought by many, adults fueled the chaos within with addiction and low vibrating behaviors. * We grew and flew from the home of chaos.
By Sheila L. Chingwa5 years ago in Poets
Home is where?
Home. It’s a four-letter word. At least that’s what I’ve heard. But what is home? Does home exist in familiar arms, a moving palm against my back?
By Laura Warren5 years ago in Poets
Home
It's the beginning, the renewing and constant rebirth. Home is an empty void, a barren shell with a longing of wanting to be filled with you, with your imprint, your influence and life giving energy . it is our calling, as it has summoned and drawn you to be there, it beckons you forth into the stillness of the womb where it has so lovingly and caringly formed you. The comfort of warmth of knowing, you'll always have a place to freely be yourself.
By Tassie Tash5 years ago in Poets
The Unknown
Lost No map No direction How do I get back? Distant and near. The Key Is Me, I’m certain. I Keep myself locked out. Longing for my bed.
By Tatiana5 years ago in Poets
Tonight You’re Coming Home
Dawn, a cloudy light on a cloudy morn The sun breaking through misty white Dispelling the nightmares of last night Allowing new dreams to come alive.
By Paul Douglas5 years ago in Poets
The Confederate Patriot
The son of a Baptist preacher Who showed up to the “Show Me” state Confederate as the day is long and driven by his northern hate
By Christopher Herald5 years ago in Poets
Donner Pass
Eighteen hundred and forty-six A little late in the spring Migrating toward the setting sun was a real fashionable thing
By Christopher Herald5 years ago in Poets
Moonlit Memories
Listening to the crashing of the waves under the moonlit sky, my mind goes back to a much simpler time. A memory comes to mind of when it felt like time stood still and everyone else disappeared.
By Katrina Pride5 years ago in Poets
Divine Mother
Divinity felt like family The contours of my house are made up by the playful creatures that inhabit them Pockets full of sunshine and creative gestures had my kids smiling like jesters
By Patrick Oleson5 years ago in Poets
Double Edge Paradox
My home is something that cannot be measured. It is my true addiction in this world. I find myself traveling to my home in the darkest of times and in the brightest as well.
By Desche' Durant5 years ago in Poets