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.
Foggy Dreams. Top Story - September 2026.
I'm dreaming of something out of reach. Silver like the rhinestone smile of the stars. It's blue around the edges, bruised by intent. Black in the middle, an obsidian ink stain. It presses against my eyelids at midnight. Lingering there like a houseguest low on luck. I'll never be able to capture it like this. There's a crack in my foundation. Someone cut a corner in my construction. They knocked out a beam and laughed. Ah, but I can't forget the silver spit dangling From the lips some fox on the silver screen Waiting in the sliver of silver moonlight For her prey to wander just a little closer. The dream flutters away and I am hollow. I bask in the vacancy blooming in my chest. All signs point to ' full up. move out.' There's never anywhere to go when you dream. It's like navigating the fabric of a sweater. Such an impossible task it turns seductive. You see how the dream draws me away? It pulls me from the silver-toothed devils. Still, the soul wants what it wants, doesn't it? I suppose I must not want to dream, but live.
By Silver Daux2 months ago in Poets
Blue Melody
They see the bravery on my handsome face... I fight against my pride to remain in grace... Everyday is a battle for me. I laugh out loud, so they can't see those silent tears, trying to escape the flooding river of my fears... Honestly, it's Nobody for me, I feel like I'm at my lowest that not even God can see me... I try to remain Optimistic, but how to, when life just keeps hitting 🎯 I see they act to understand but they never get the point- I unmasked the Truth, that I never really knew you... What's real can be replicated, Artificial Integrity...
By HandsomelouiiThePoet (Lonzo ward)2 months ago in Poets
A Bird Flies Up
A bird flies up, And becomes the sky. Feathers outstretched, Feeling the wind. A bird flies up, Bringing the trees with her, The memory of branches Sway within her. A bird alights on a branch, And becomes a nest. Eggs coddled, All down and soft grasses.
By Natalie Wilkinson2 months ago in Poets
