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.

Child of Mine
A giggle carried inland by the wind, I stare out to sea Blue eyes watch me From the crest of a wave. Marshmallow legs run through salty foam,
By Leanne Penfold5 years ago in Poets
Not recommended reading "AKA": who could have, who didn't
what happened as a direct result of the baiting the pittance given the malicious stories the threat of starvation insanity
By susan marie loehe5 years ago in Poets
THE IMPORTANCE OF SHOES
I was getting ready for my prom. I was running late, and my hair was a mess. Split in the middle and so flat, that my ears were sticking out. With big curls on ends. I got to the venue. I looked down and I was wearing two different shoes. I was at work. About to leave. It was raining outside. I had wellies on. They disappeared. I found myself standing by the front door in my socks. They were soaking wet. I remembered I had another pair of shoes in my bag. They were my summery raffia sneakers. I took my wet socks off and put the shoes on.
By w_d_5 years ago in Poets
Kindness
Kindness is like a lamb surrounded by wolves like a rose surrounded by thorns. It is that extra mile that few people take.
By Sadie McNeil5 years ago in Poets
from black and white to color
When I was 13, I wrote a story of blood and gore. Ripe, scarlet blood flowing down my legs and arms, as I lie in the pristine white porcelain bath. Will anyone find me? Will my life flash in black and white photographs before my eyes? Will anyone, even myself, care?
By Lillian Bujniewicz5 years ago in Poets
Red Rain
Red Rain Lightning strikes and there’s nowhere to run / fake as gangster no bullets in yo gun, Tonight’s weather report also calls for thunder and rain / paper thin as nigga played in this player’s game,
By Thaddeus5 years ago in Poets
Hank
HANK Justice is blind, just do your time Innocent or Guilty, the decision is mine The gold shield I hold, sad stories are told
By Thaddeus5 years ago in Poets
My Body Is Not My Own
Growing up I'd never know why I couldn't stand my name, Why I would feel dislocated and nauseous when my mother called for me,
By Cameron5 years ago in Poets
I Am Grey
I am Grey But I will not fade Into the background I am Beautifully, Brilliantly Between I am the space That connects us all
By T Greyhawk5 years ago in Poets
Mystical Dust
I am the opaline moon Gazing at myself In the silver-ripple lake. Distant stars fade In my stolen radiance. Now I am the black whisper
By Pamela Darbyshire5 years ago in Poets
well crafted tiles develop colour over time, as do I
even now, brilliant reflecting to you small flecks bent in sunlight eyes thrice colour, mine elaborate that they changed their mind
By Gillian vR5 years ago in Poets
A Peek Into My World
A Peek Into My World brightening a tabletop with buttery, yellow daffodils . . . meditating as a drop of food coloring melts into a water-filled, clear, glass bottle . . . discovering joy daily while riding a blue and green marble floating through space
By Diane Reindl5 years ago in Poets