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.
Where Be Our Cincinnatus?
Where be our Cincinnatus? That golden hero of yore Where be our Cincinnatus? To whom even Washington swore Above reproach Pridefully evoked A common admiration Wielding power with veneration With the Aquei’s threat abated Upon the Field of Mars, abdicated Laying down stewardship's yoke Knowing it be no golden cloak Where be our Cincinnatus? Someone upon whom we can depend Where be our Cincinnatus Amongst these common men?
By Matthew J. Fromm2 months ago in Poets
Ledger
It's not my job or my commission to make you feel at ease when you turn the page in my ledger R. A. P. I. D Slow E X p l I cate this then If you can butwheye No handholding or making things eas I E R C O N T R O L (Confined) Exhibit a: confirmed Distract from disaster Distater from scandal Scandal for scandal H E L P [Trapped] 10safety10 Six denotes Pleisure S T A B.u.t. it's not my job to make sure you're okay L A I S Escher Please a M.inutes C.ilence Don't you feel tired like Ytniatrec Is tyred?
By Paul Stewart2 months ago in Poets
I C A R U S. Top Story - July 2026.
I don't think Icarus laughed as he fell, But wept so violently at the injustice Of being brought down for excitement That the ants on the ground mistook it For the kind of arrogant laughter they Expected to bubble from his mouth. I think he realized it was a lose-lose Halfway up when the clouds dissolved And the beautiful, empty atmosphere Spread its dark, wide wings of blue. The stars were too vivid and the moon, Far too small to find any comfort. Icarus must've known when he turned Toward the wide world of flashing blue And saw nothing but jeering expressions That the flames devouring his wings Were going to be the death of him. He must've known he was falling. I think Icarus knew that the world had Nothing but an obvious hatred for the Lofty eagerness of his spirit and smile The way it liked to dance with the stars Tempted the sun to make love to him And irritated the entire world below. Icarus must have wept when he peered Out of the sky itself like a god, like a star , And seen nothing but a cold ocean of deceit Pooling in the jealousy eyes of one hundred Lovers laughing as he fell, wringing themselves Dry on the pleasure of watching his doom. What is so funny about a man who only Wanted to soar through the sky and touch The beautiful edges of the thing that warms Soil and sand and souls and casts gold Across tree leaves and tea leaves floating In a teacup like Icarus across currents of air? I would have wept if I looked out over a sea Of souls bound to mine with braided strings Made of grass and words of eternal compassion Only them burning in their eyes, ignited by sadism. So there is no way that Icarus laughed as he fell. Icarus wept and the world pretended it was laughter.
By Silver Daux2 months ago in Poets
Edge Shelf Incident
Content fell on floor; it might’ve had some lure. It sat on the edge of the shelf, and I was called by the Siren friend. Content fell on floor. I opened the fridge with Herculean force. I stood in the magnet blip as the spaghetti whipped its hair back and forth. Content fell on the floor. I hope you don’t pour rage on top of the cure. But for the love of shelves, don’t balance food on the Lotus edge. Because content fell on floor. I had just lifted weights, but that is not why your system failed. The fridge doesn’t know its strength. When I overhear you asking for the spaghetti trail, I hide behind my door. Content fell on the floor.
By Caitlin Charlton2 months ago in Poets
