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.
El Raval
Christmas vomit remains in a bucket as a stray dog wanders by. I follow him. His fur is matted by the days and nights wandering the streets of El Raval. I carry the bucket to a fountain to wash it. The vomit mixes in the fountains water. I walk back through the streets in the morning light the dog no longer remains with me. Only the homeless and muslims linger outside their shops. The brain of the streets narrow and bend; cavernous and silent on this Christmas morning. The Christmas stupor has set in.
By Dakota Pederson5 years ago in Poets
Light of My Life
I never imagined an end when I was forged. When glass was laid into my grooves. When I was transported with the others. Some scuffed, scratched, broke their glass, but I arrived pristine. And I kept it that way for years. No bird dared. That I’d be alone as I lit a dirt road. Kids used this road for school, couples for courting. One man lent on me in a drunken stupor and I bore him up. Then the factory caught fire. At first, I thought I was lucky for my view, then it descended on me. I ended as I began, in the flame.
By A.M. Mac Habee5 years ago in Poets
