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.

Last Drags
I lay here, in the crack of the pavement, waiting. People pass by above me, none taking the time to glance down and notice me. The wind blows and a few freezing drops moisten my paper wrapping.
By Britt Hull6 years ago in Poets
a THING
oof n’goop : conglomerate-entity-blob. plopping i want to push it out, birthing impossibility -- an extraction, dissection, plucking with tweezers, the exactness of a ginormous THING. right from organs/intestines/inner-goo, dripping drop-by-drip dissolvable-powered stomach acid, emanating ripe rancid smells smoke stank gaseous liquids solids, radioactive with privacy: personal, embarrassing body-gloop.
By MINDSOCKET6 years ago in Poets
Romanticized?
To everyone romanticizing suicide, fuck you It's not something you and your boyfriend do one day because you're moving away from each other
By Em6 years ago in Poets
until we meet again
something of dragons and gifts is whispering from a distance an idea unformed but rolling in transformation a time lapse cloud front
By susan marie loehe6 years ago in Poets
Association
I have become associated with three things Over the course of my existence, In concordance with my accomplishments, ideas, thoughts and crafts,
By Mihaela Vasileva6 years ago in Poets
A Cure to Misgivings
Empathy shines through bleak ignorance. Footsteps once forgotten echo in the cave. Sounds, like words, bounce from wall to wall of the cranium
By Khalil Shaw6 years ago in Poets
Water Borne
Life becomes so simple when ignored This protest of a presence Presents itself bored Meaning hollowed Too much energy borrowed
By Khalil Shaw6 years ago in Poets
It Began With a Story
It began with a story. It always began with a story. Whether it was a comedy in which the jokes made no sense, or a drama that pressured its audiences to cry alongside its actors;
By Mihaela Vasileva6 years ago in Poets
Convenient Rhymes
I don’t know how to do anything. How to read, how to watch television, or even how to sleep. All I seem able to do is lie uncomfortably in a bed kicking off sheets and socks and thrashing at the heat. My brain is sorting ideas and thirsting for images to absorb and words to combine into thoughts. But it’s boring. How? Why?
By Gabriella Warnick6 years ago in Poets
Memory
Forgiveness, it is said, is a healer. there is no action that comes to mind, beyond distance. hours could be lost in what I watched you do.
By susan marie loehe6 years ago in Poets
Author
I've become addicted to words One after another They form their bond And leave me speechless in their wake I play God With words so powerful
By A.M.Bowers6 years ago in Poets
Hijacker.
Moments — There are so many in a single day. Let alone a lifetime. Some euphoric. Some a shit time. Some pure bliss. Others simply are what they are.
By Emily Rose Flowers6 years ago in Poets