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.
Heart of the Storm
On the cusp of the horizon, scattered storm clouds collect moisture in a rose like pattern, as a shutter of light flashes-
Michael GiglioPublished 7 years ago in PoetsUnwrapping
Tendrils lovingly wrapped around Slowly tightening that which bound Needing the force to come detached Allowing the natural eggs to hatch
Dorn SimonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsSystem
You think you have The answer? There's nothing here But time, Headed where I'm Going? You've run into My grind— Running thru my
Ron WalkerPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Struggle Is Real
The struggle is definitely real.... Working extra hard and not getting anywhere has me not knowing how to feel.... Complete strangers don't hesitate to stare with true disgust.... This atmosphere makes me walk around wondering who I can and cannot trust.... You have to be careful when living out here in the street.... You never know who you can cross paths with or who you can meet.... You see the devil comes at you in every color, shape, and size.... You better choose wisely on which vessel you decide to despise!
Charles ZitzowPublished 7 years ago in PoetsFailings of Man
Failings of Man Perhaps it’s pathetic to a degree That her coy-ness has sprung me In vigor and esteem The old wise man’s caution
Jordan WilliamsPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Drowning Rose
Have you ever seen a rose drown in a pond? Have you seen how at first it still holds on? It sits at the top while its surroundings try to bring it down,
Ironic Recipes
I know a lot about knowing nothing. Found all I needed in all I lost. I'm letting go of holding on, cause I’ve built foundations from hanging castles. I’m excited by numb faces... I speak to their silence and jump like I hear replies. While you ask rejection for a dance cause the steps of acceptance are too predictable.
Henry WellingtonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsDark Line
Twisted up, And running blind— Wasted ashes left behind, Crumbled words Lay at my door— Silent footsteps, Nevermore...
Ron WalkerPublished 7 years ago in PoetsI Know Who You Were With Tonight
I know who you were with tonight. He seems he comes from angels spawned from Michelangelo. He has the eyes of a sailor who’s seen the dark pit in the ocean.
Hustle
Flames engulf the hands of father time - i lose my place, while injecting shadows, darkness spills across my space- when the demons whisper,
Ron WalkerPublished 7 years ago in PoetsFortress
Fortress. I see it that way, with heavy doors and gate keepers, well, the bouncers, pulling glass doors with an extra grunt.
Untitled
Like Aphrodite’s perilous steps that found her fallen in the traps of love Adonis was whitened flesh, Deceased delicacy, bipolarity, in gentle
Lunaneres /Published 7 years ago in Poets