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 Secret Bridge
They say there is a secret Beautiful morning lies behind the shadow of a smiling person Speaking in a foreign language that was never seen by light
E. NATASHAPublished 7 years ago in PoetsFly
I hear him coming... His singing makes me cry... I have to fly! The key is turning in the door... It opens, sunlight teasing me to run...
Jeff BardeauPublished 7 years ago in PoetsBy Tooth and Nail
In the Land of Light and Sun become we Liars, every one. Infants cry the Truth in Tongues; Infants cry, and Liars come. Infants cry, and Liars come.
Robert MooresPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Drum Case
His magnifying glass studies knurled knobs, imagining Vic Firth repetition, with hands performing notes, though fingers throb
The Killing
Isolated, choking on your words. Rope held up by a thread… Your flesh melts to the floor… Anger flows through your veins.
What Now?
I don’t know where I stand. I know where I fall, when the strings of my thrall, push my knees to the sand; my weight impacts land
Stiki NotesPublished 7 years ago in PoetsComes With the Rain
It comes with the rain, It waits for your power to cut out. When it’s dark, and you scurry about. It follows you, step by step,
Mark SwartzPublished 7 years ago in PoetsFalse Destruction
Friction builds underneath the soles, As you're forced to walk down a hallway filled with razor wire and shattered glass, The pain you'll endure will be immense.
75 Doors
I fill, I cannot effuse. I effuse, then I overbleast through the hollows. “Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war.”
1,000 Beers
I awoke with a tear drop On my cheek, Focused on The violence you preach. I went to the train station Seeking golden carnations
Christina BuczekPublished 7 years ago in PoetsAscend
Ascend the many thousands of steps of swirling, maddening, winding staircase; forgotten spaces in the cracked grey brick walls, left with faces of horror—or greed—or of anger, or of desperate need.
Chaffee WoodPublished 7 years ago in PoetsTormented
Tormented by a wall of terrifying movement, It sat twirling Its head around in discomfort and insanity. Not for very long did It wait when the episode subsided and Its head retracted from the many places around him it had been. Its skin twitched and tightened, leaving Its mind in anguish. It counted out two, then quickly three little pills, which it took glancing in every direction. It avoided the senses of Its surrounding shadows, and the layers peeled from the walls in a moment where Its frozen body was turned away. Another episode was beginning again...
Chaffee WoodPublished 7 years ago in Poets