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 Abyss
Have you ever been down a hole so dark and deep? Not a glimmer of light... just sadness and grief. Your will to live lost and your urge to fight gone.....you struggle to distinguish what's right and what's wrong.
Natalie RileyPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Storm Within
My heart and mind lay bruised and tattered from pounding waves on rocky shores. I ride a constant wave of sorrow; can barely stand; wounds deep and sore.
Natalie RileyPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe River of Snakes
Coughing plumes of smoke my voyage is so loud but standing on this pointed bow my ambitions are so proud I am searching for the holy ones, who brought us all good will
David AlemanPublished 7 years ago in PoetsPhotograph
There's a voice in my head Spitting reason. I can't deny A choice I've neglected. Afraid to choose for Myself. There's a consequence
Penny EnglandPublished 7 years ago in PoetsPoet to Poet
bold strokes on an empty canvas photography and seeing existence through a photographer’s eye / angles shadings themes
Torey Seymour-RussellPublished 7 years ago in PoetsMidsummer Day's Dream
Trolley rails burrow in the charcoal black asphalt, purple and green and yellow beads dangle from tree limbs and mingle with
Makeda JacksonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsMy Brush and Canvas
Late at night here I lay awake wishing upon a star It's 3 a.m. yet all I can think about is death Here I lay wishing I could sleep and never awaken to a new day
Pickle in a Jar
Preoccupation with internal frustration has me pickled in a jar, and I'm not going far. I'm turning sour and cold. Some other being has control. When and where I'm consumed will soon unfold. Can I revive back to fresh? Vinegar in my flesh has cleansed my mortality. As far as morality, some like pickles. I shouldn't trickle on the thought of being forgotten. If I was a cucumber still, I'd be totally rotten by now. I was picked. I was tricked. Went for a swim under the rim. Turned sweet. Under the lid I hid before I bid ado. They chewed me up and swallowed me down, but the looks on their faces were upside down frowns. I admit that this is kind of sappy, but I'm content with the fact that I made you happy.
Alexander HanebrinkPublished 7 years ago in PoetsHe Will
So, what now? She asks herself. She moves her hair with a simple blow. She reaches for her friend she hid on the top shelf.
Tanaka MadzimaPublished 7 years ago in PoetsClover Scratch
Mr. Scratch is tired of old Americana folk songs He can’t even propose to a girl without her mouth twitching The South does that to a pretty girl
Bogdan ZahariaPublished 7 years ago in PoetsWhy
This is your prison. This is how you die. The light flooding through such desperate eyes. This fragile lifetime, that tragic death, no one is promised another breath. Spend your time wisely. Hold tight to your dreams. Things in this life are not what they seem. Illusions of comfort, and tyrannical fear caged in the same body year after year. Anger and rage housed in benevolent calm, and hatred and love like a soul shattering time bomb. Drifters in space, So helpless, and unaware cling to the face that doesn't look as scared. Searching for love, and planning such meanness, they say every soul has its own million reasons. Live, laugh, love, die, rinse, repeat, and always ask why!
Ashley HarperPublished 7 years ago in PoetsIn the Garden
The light overhead had begun to grow bright, and the tallest of the flowers opened its petals to the light, spreading its leaves so that it would get the benefit of the warmth after the cool of the darkness. The smaller plants all around it continued with what they had been doing when the light had faded into darkness, the way they always did.
Aurora SkyePublished 7 years ago in Poets