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.
My Mind Is Within a Haze of Uncertainty
My mind is within a haze of uncertainty Over the severe losses It's unreal!... How the dunes of forgotten sand were washed away by water and land. A single tower stands by a cliff-side overlooking the ocean. Eons passed so swiftly and the leaning tower ages; I stand atop it gazing into the melting sunset. And from my eyes comes the blossom of sharp rich crimson flames, like a burning flower in bloom.
By Chaffee Wood8 years ago in Poets
Street Lights
On these nights, in the middle of the street or the middle of the sidewalk, whether we remember what happens on these nights, holding hands, who we accidentally made out with when we were drunk, how many headlights came at us, getting bigger and brighter the closer they got, the number of porch lights turned on when we passed, the songs we danced to but didn’t know, we find a bed somewhere in one of the three hotel rooms, but not the one we were assigned to, or maybe our own bed we place our hands under our heads, curl our knees up to our stomachs, blink once, blink twice, until our eyelids are too heavy to hold up anymore, we blink a third…
By Bella Harris8 years ago in Poets
Lines
On these nights, in the middle of the street or the middle of the sidewalk, whether we remember what happens on these nights, holding hands, who we accidentally made out with when we were drunk, how many headlights came at us, getting bigger and brighter the closer they got, the number of porch lights turned on when we passed, the songs we danced to but didn’t know, we find a bed somewhere in one of the three hotel rooms, but not the one we were assigned to, or maybe our own bed we place our hands under our heads, curl our knees up to our stomachs, blink once, blink twice, until our eyelids are too heavy to hold up anymore, we blink a third…
By Bella Harris8 years ago in Poets
