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.

Home Sweet Home
I am dizzy and floating and so is home. The door tilts and shifts. My shoes scrape the rug when I walk in. Bright green pocked walls envelop me and I can’t see my relfection in the devil-warding mirrors.
By ayame5 years ago in Poets
shorts
it’s but a simple pool, a temporary place to store one's thoughts, emotions, pain. but once the pool is full, like a magician pulling scarves out of their sleeve,
By Holly5 years ago in Poets
my thoughts, my mind
it’s how i feel, don’t change that. it’s my thoughts, my mind and so i’d take a bat, to fight the anxieties that strip me of my identities.
By Holly5 years ago in Poets
They Can't Take That Away
The Other had a dream One changed into someone different One, an imposter An enemy from The Other’s past There are some experiences we never recover from
By Jayne McClure5 years ago in Poets
A Tram-line Reminisces
The meandering tramline stared earnestly towards the sky, few chirpy birds flying away across the horizon, their sounds fading gradually,
By somsubhra banerjee5 years ago in Poets
the only all
how many skies are there, after all is there another mind that is truly known beyond your own? there's no meeting more than one set of eyes in the mirror
By susan marie loehe5 years ago in Poets
A tragic tale many know.
A tale of old, a story told, Where hearts were young, And nerve so bold, With heartstrings rung, With songs then sung, And the days were dark and cold,
By Jordan Zuniga5 years ago in Poets
The Tornado with Shimmering Lights
Running under the heavy rain, Moving up to the mountain. To reach the colorful tornado, Like you are a desperado. Up ahead are two pathways,
By M.G. Maderazo5 years ago in Poets
Xy's Stinky War
Come gather around, and I’ll warn you. Of deeds that Troglodytes might try. A disgusting race of Creatures, that live in the old mines of Xy.
By Mark Stigers 5 years ago in Poets
Look threw my eyes
So it begins just like it always does, just like it always has.... As night becomes morning and dreams become memories, I awake feeling the gentleness of my dreams drifting away and the cold weight of my reality set in. How I wish my dreams where reality and reality nothing but a dream.
By Shawna Mackenzie5 years ago in Poets
The Mark
“Hey, Boss there’s a big bag for you, I said, “It has come from Brazil.” They said, “I tell you what to do,” Take it to the house on the hill.”
By Mark Stigers 5 years ago in Poets
A Knocking At The Door
The devil wears a grin A master of disguises His presence a grim spewing vices Don't let him in he'll roll the dices It's a wicked games of life
By Gabrielle Din5 years ago in Poets