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.

Sea Soaking
There seemed no way out of The dank darkness of The silent sea cave I spent my days wasting away No avenue of escape From the thickening smoke
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Poets
Still Life with Thornes
A bruised rose wounded my window sill, The reflection is no longer a mirror. A harp played in the silver storm— Time bent where the silence grew dimmer.
By Angel Aguilarabout a year ago in Poets
Written Will
Flashes of time tick by, while aging is called life at its finest. Finding new meaning to what this all really means only feels relevant
By Marcus Hillabout a year ago in Poets
Vanishing Haiku
How to disappear. Need to fix my perspective. Washing my soul clean. This is my frontier. And this is my directive. Existing half seen My task is unclear, But I won't be deflective. Stuck here in between. Struggling for years. Yearning for a perspective. Vanishing foreseen. Do I exist here? Am I just irrespective? Will I not still bleed? Now I only sneer As I thank the corrective And remain unseen
By Colt Hendersonabout a year ago in Poets
The Tale of Elric Thorn
In the Vale of Eldenmoor, where the mist won’t clear, Lies a tale the villagers still whisper in fear. Of a boy named Elric, quiet and lean,
By Muhammad Rahim about a year ago in Poets
Jealous Visions
I hover above a great burbling lake Vanquished rivals stir beneath my feet Searching for solutions and Souls to take Staring into my diviner’s bowl
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Poets
A Gentle Guide to Vanishing
Untie your name from every thread, Let it drift like leaves long dead. Erase the lines that made your trail, Be the breeze, the blur, the veil.
By Muhammad Rahim about a year ago in Poets
The Mirror My Mother Left Me
The Mirror My Mother Left Me I didn’t want the mirror. When my mother died, we boxed up her things with the efficiency of people trying not to feel too much. Grief makes organizers of us all. We labeled, divided, gave away. Old sweaters with her scent still folded into the arms. Recipe cards with ink smudged by flour and time. And then—there was the mirror.
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Poets
Silver on the Doorframe
He always came in the night, shining hands touching every inch of my pains, softly breaking through the beveled glass, filtering the dark
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
Pack Your Shadow
You want to say goodbye to everyone you know and why. I can't say it's a good thing, but it can— can be done. ~ People need people
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
The Art of Becoming Nothing. Top Story - July 2025.
First: Weep until thy tears carve rivers through the mask thou wearest for the world. Let the fire burn away all false names
By Tim Carmichaelabout a year ago in Poets
Whispers from the Wind
Poem Come sit with me beneath the sky, Where clouds drift slow and sparrows fly. Let silence soften what you feel, And I’ll share advice that time made real.
By AFTAB KHANabout a year ago in Poets