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.
Screeches
The silent stillness breaks somewhere within the dark hours. Far away at first, a chirp in rhythmic pattern. A tune faithful enough to set a clock to.Still in the distance, another bird chimes in unisonSoftly poking at sleeping earsWhere groggy brains realize morning is soon.But just like a snooze on an alarm,Sleep wraps me up in her loving arms to ignore the feathery disruptors.
By Jesemynn Cacka7 years ago in Poets
Wormy Goddess
The moon shook me from my sleep, Slid tendrils of silver shine through strategic cracks in shoddy blinds. Wispy fingers slither underneath my lids, Prying open already loose shutters. Early morning, when witches dance, hounds snore, And sleeping men are turned to darker corners, I am face full to the rays of reflected sun. Dim in his conversations with a full Luna,She tries to translate what I can't understand,With face scrunched and eyes wincing under a bright blue sky.In the solitude of my wakefulness, I can't help but greet her: Hello, good morning, Banging on my soul like there's a fire in the house in urgent warning.With how things have been going lately, I might as well be surrounded by flames. Wormy goddess, Slipping through windows in iridescent clothing. It's nice to see you so full after weeks of waxing and waning. Through example I've learned the intricate dancing Of when to let go and keep holding on. I still step on toes and trip on laces, But at least I can recognize when I'm in the presence of greatness. Slide through my window, push through my blinds, Knock on my lids,When the dance is mine. I'll be here waiting between the lines of slumber and divine.
By Jesemynn Cacka7 years ago in Poets
Tumble Dry on Low
Someone put a coin in my ear,Heard it clank on the graveyard piles of quartersIn the depths of my gut.Shut my jaw, pinched my nose,Selected Tumble Dry on Low.A mechanical whirl of hiccups and swirls,Ribbons of sloshes, and toe curls.A fleshy door with no hinge,Just a hatch at the bottom,Of folds and expanding holes.Break glass in case of emergency.
By Jesemynn Cacka7 years ago in Poets
