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.

Wrestling with Heaven
On and off relationship If anything, ours is what people call a situationship I could lie to myself and say I am mad at you
By Harydo Neonabout a month ago in Poets
A Different Kind of Love. Top Story - September 2026.
The way I feel about you Is a different kind of love . It’s not the sort that lights the sky like fireworks on New Year's Eve,
By Calvin Londonabout a month ago in Poets
Monster
You will always be capable of being a monster. It is what you have chosen over and over again. - You will
By Sara Wynnabout a month ago in Poets
Not All Losses
Where I could be but I've held back where the sun was but now, it's black. - Not all losses are bad. Look at what I could be,
By Sara Wynnabout a month ago in Poets
Lost Things
The days have lost their meaning and shape What mattered most is gone Yet a core remains within me, one I guard Significant only to me, to no one else I know it is good, this thing of greatest value The opinions of others hold no weight here They have already spoken, that I never wrote it down That they will not read it; they ensured that would be the case Even though I wrote it under their influence To help them understand themselves To heal what was broken within them It matters not, they will not reach for it anyway It seems to me they have stepped onto a path of no return Flowers bloom, yet they cast no fragrance They boast of their colours, while I see only rotting roots There is no room for healing in their homes For long ago, they abandoned themselves Pretending nothing happened, that everything is fine I suppose I see things differently than they do And so, I must be punished for being myself Yet in reality, they are punishing themselves Using the cruellest weapon: the neglect of their own souls
By Sun Beeabout a month ago in Poets
A Recipe For Success
Riding the same wave from the past Was never beneficial anyhow How to tell the next one he reminds me of the former one? That’s just not going to work So many types, so much wasted time The list is endless, stretching on for miles Who would want to count those lost days? Better to just forget Take what matters and let things flow There is still so much To be written in the story’s pages Get the girl and save the world Or get the guy and break his spell Because he won’t become the next hero, no way! Spend a few months with each story Then appreciate what you have There’s nothing more to do or say As new, good characters emerge From the bad ones of the past There’s a chance to keep the rhythm going Move boldly forward, leave the regret behind Besides, in this scenario, it was never meant to happen anyway
By Sun Beeabout a month ago in Poets
a strange little miracle
i have always thought a photograph is a strange little miracle the way light touches a thing and says stay. your hand in mine your head thrown back laughing the afternoon caught in your hair all of it already leaving even as the shutter clicks and still there you are. perhaps that is what love is too— not stopping time (no one has ever been that lucky) but noticing it noticing the coffee going cold between us the wrinkle beginning beside your eye the way your fingers find mine without looking the ordinary holiness of being here at the same time. years from now someone may hold this photograph by its edges and see two people standing in sunlight but i will remember what the picture cannot: what you said just before i laughed how warm your shoulder was the tiny breath between looking at you and knowing oh. it is you. it has been you. and maybe photographs were never meant to make anything last maybe they are only proof that for one impossible second time opened its hands and there we were— loving each other while the light was still on us.
By Nicole Oleaabout a month ago in Poets
Follow The Black Cat. Grand Prize Winner in October Challenge.
Pint-sized panther paw pats Pink Ladies; prizes plummet: piloerection Apple orchard tizzy Salem's look-alike swats premature grounders with her tail Eastern grey squirrel bounces across golden brown leaves Omen crouches, clicking her teeth Placing each paw carefully on mid-autumn's blanket Whoooosh Indian Ladder Farm gates swing wide Distant murmuring, chatterbox children Approaching underfoot crunching, rolling wagon's creaking moan Tenderage handclaps— twig SNAPS 9-lifer skedaddles, curling up in an old Maple trunk hollow Plop, plonk; apple pickers rattle baskets Off-target Evercrisps thud, roll, settling next to windfalls Mulch made boozy, new grounders make potent comrades Wafting intoxication triggers wiggles; in-limbed licorace's nose Trailing human feet, twin emeralds GLINT Jean jacket moms hand out plastic bags; tiny hands stretch Thwack-Thwack-Thwack One flaps away atop a hard-to-reach branch Bat out of hell, shadow floof BOLTS
By Marilyn Gloverabout a month ago in Poets
Sister Samhain
My sister's home is quaint and has a chill. The winds echo the voices of our past. When I arrive they come and shreak and shrill.
By Lizzy Roseabout a month ago in Poets
Celebration September. Top Story - September 2026.
The scent of aster wafting on the breeze Bringing with it the promise of a bountiful harvest Trellises covered in brightly colored morning glories
By Mother Combsabout a month ago in Poets
What do you love?. Top Story - September 2026.
What is it that you love in others, in the world? Go do and be that! This is how we replenish the planet with more of what we love about it. Do you love those who are patient with you? Go be patient with someone who tests you. Do you admire those who do charity work? Be charitable. Give your jacket to a homeless man, bum him a cig, too. Do you love mountains and clear lakes? Go and fucking see them! Do what you can in your own personal life to keep the place clean, pick up trash and try to make less waste, clean up a random park nearby, it may not be mountains, but it's all part of the same thing, our dirt roads and our homes live on the same rock flying through the vacuum of space and that is a mighty magical thing. Do you love whimsy and philosophy and writing and painting and dancing like an absolute idiot? Do it!! Be it!!! This is the only time you'll ever have as yourself, we make the most of it by living as what we love to experience, that is one's mark on the world, what they bring into it.
By Lolly Vieiraabout a month ago in Poets
Pyrite Hope
Your sapphire smile held open this hope, hinges rusted wide the [DO ORS] Leaving all of me exposed set free my heart ran wild The light of you began to pool thru D E E P It glitters in the corners of this mausoleum my soul ...wondering is it the light, or I, that is Pyrite.
By Ellie Hoovsabout a month ago in Poets