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.

Wandering
Almost almighty yet still, a fire lies alone, spirits of lackluster and no home, broken boxes without masters, seeking their bones, only the darkness and nothing their own, eternal shuffling of footsteps of the same man lost without pause carrying a deck on his back sometimes self imposed others hewn and bestowed more than few have chains all are alone flickering out belittling the last cracks before they can no longer know they are cold a goodbye that was never again met by hello.
By Gambit2 months ago in Poets
Just Minutes Before. Honorable Mention in Negative Space Challenge.
And maybe I’m reading into it, I tell myself it’s burnt a little then eat it anyway ‘cause I’m hungry. If I knew all the words for touching my hands would be free for feeling, touching all the words I can't reveal, my hands would be free of feeling. But here I am on the top step feeling, topless, feeling speechless feeling numb feeling, topless feeling—folded over feeling sun feeling my head hoovering— folded over no feelings feeling no words feeling my head hovering inches above the concrete feeling no feeling.
By Gerry Thibeault2 months ago in Poets
The Way You Look at Me
You look at me like I have been placed on a silver plate, still warm from the kitchen of some strange moon, garnished with stars and something you cannot name.
By Nelo2 months ago in Poets
Tomorrow's Mist
Tomorrow's mist is waiting at the window. It has no face, but it knows my name. It crawls through the morning like a quiet ghost, hiding the road, hiding the trees, hiding what comes next.
By Nelo2 months ago in Poets
We Are The Remedy
it rushed through the streets like the angel of death the cries and debris with all the hatred of hell politics and religion
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 months ago in Poets
Lachrymose
What were these deadened eyes sundered for? Eyes that have seen only black, blue, and sickening green on my ceaseless worldly tour. Languorous from reddened trickling disdain. Absorbing naught but ebbing pain. This daily ritual, a dabbing display. Inescapable, my mortal form’s been inundated with melancholic figments. I’m wasting away from the inside out. Frigid fickle winds eroding down to particulate, escaping in a gale force cyclonic spout. Spewing forth from my ceaselessly faltering mouth. Deposited in the delta slowly formed. Flying south of the slaughtering fields where lie the fallen bodies of dread and self-doubt. Told the way to happiness was deadening my heart. Quest fulfilled, yet the spring still flows, more lay buried within the fibrous graveyard now unleashed. An endless stream, no flinching or blaming. There is only taking an account. Torrential disconsolate fits overwhelm me. No matter my company or location I fear no eyes or lips of reprisal, my doleful brokenhearted wails echo wearily over the county. The shallows and deep waterways carry my penetrating intonations. They carry, mournfully striking spectators to their core. Escorting lachryma to hazy eye, involuntarily, and forevermore.
By K.B. Silver 2 months ago in Poets
When the Hologram Cries
What lies beyond The ever broken window’s wake Who do you hug When the hologram cries Who cares when the automaton makes a mistake
By Atomic Historian2 months ago in Poets
October's Grove. Top Story - September 2026.
Wandering through a vast blooming meadow Heat permeates my mind and dampens my skin When the sun starts to wane on the flowers of summer When light falls through branches in A lacy pattern of shadows I press on through the treeline, to find my long-lost kin
By K.B. Silver 2 months ago in Poets
Out Of The Blue
A quote from a 911 survivor: “we didn’t see color, we were all covered by the same ash” It returns every year and repeats without change
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 months ago in Poets
Voices
he always found it hard to sleep said it’s always been that way because the darkness was too loud and always had too much to say
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 months ago in Poets
Welcome To October
It rises like the moon On the howls of a hound Lighting the night sky like a fuse Crickets singing out loud Hints of chill in the air
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 months ago in Poets
In the solitude of the cupboard
He develops the photographs one by one, Dipping them into the tray, Hanging them on an old clothesline. Colours emerge, pulsing with life;
By Sun Bee2 months ago in Poets