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.
Insomnia
I can't sleep. I won't sleep. I refuse to sleep. Because when I'm asleep, they come out. My demons. The memories, the thoughts
Naked to the World
I can see it when you speak. The words crawl out your mouth Like a spider. Slowly and carefully. You make sure to know the words
Mary LouisePublished 7 years ago in PoetsSymphony of Midnight
I've become completely nocturnal The night throws tired shadows on my shoulder As I walk the yellow-lighted paths of the park
A. R. AmbrosiPublished 7 years ago in Poets-Corina & Volas -
He didn't need to understand her, all he needed was to believe her. Though most of the sea was real to her. It spoke unhindered truths of past lives and loves.
Crowned_RisenedPublished 7 years ago in PoetsTrance of Old
And so I see myself lifted up in the spirit Taken far back to the event that changed history On this hill, though thought to be deserted
Harydo NeonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsGame Over
Sometimes I wonder if I’m meant for this world, or is it too harsh for my paper thin skin. Too harsh for my brain to take. It seems like nothing changes. It’s just a chain of anger, pain and disappointment. Things go wrong and you try to smile, remembering the day is supposed to get better. Supposed to. For me all my breaks just get ripped right out from under me. So I return to square one. But there comes a point of replaying the game of feelings over and over. So it leads me to wonder if I’m cut out for this. Or let the screen GAME OVER become all that’s left.
Lindsay SchmidtPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Whispering Demon
I have fought with the pain that lurks, it fills my head with its poison. Even if it flees for a time. I could wake up with a smile on my face and my head clear, but the clouds return. The Whispering Demon returns to its home inside of my head; salty tears falling down my blotchy face. For I am not accepted; viewed differently than I originally thought. Even worse these distorted images live in the eye of my guardian. In the eyes I use to seek for protection, I now flee to avoid pain. I am a broken mirror in the eyes of my Father and slowly in the reflection of myself. I may be a warrior who's not afraid to acknowledge her pain but the demon is a stubborn wall. I don't know how long I can fight with this infection. It's hard to get through when Father leaves the phone silent for months on end. I'm drowning in hate and loss. But, although this fight is difficult I wish to beat the self-doubt. I wish to banish this demon of self hate from its lair forever. Let a new guardian take over to help protect my sanity.
Lindsay SchmidtPublished 7 years ago in PoetsA Perspective of Truth
We live in the kind of world where no one wins. but we continue to place ourselves on top. This is our discerned reality. But no one bothers to read
Lacy WaltersPublished 7 years ago in PoetsI Stare at the Sun
I stare at the sun with my eyes wide closed Moving my hands Flayed out and fan-like Back and forth Across my lid-eclipsed field of vision
Look Both Ways
Look both ways before you cross your heart and hope to tie Your shoes say, "You can’t dance if you don’t try." Just move your beat to the sheet of ice beneath your toes.
A Weekend In Spider Country
I’m here Sitting by the lake If you can see me now What do I have to lose? If I wasn’t here it wouldn’t matter If I’m not here it wouldn’t change you
A.R. MinhasPublished 7 years ago in PoetsForgive Me
Father for I have sinned. It has been nine days since my last confession. I have been disturbed, by this blue eyed creature
Chinonso OnukwughaPublished 7 years ago in Poets