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.
What time cannot do
Time can dry an ocean raise a mountain one speck of dust at a time. __ Time can watch a jungle grow from a single wind-tossed
Roderick MakimPublished 8 months ago in PoetsWorthy of You
Worthy of You Please note that this poetic series is dark and purely fictional. In no way shape or form it glorifies violence and other horrible behaviours. Reader discretion is highly advised.
I wish I had a lot of money
I wrote this because I was bored and unhappy and broke. "I wish I had a lot of money" I wish I had a lot of money It's not even funny
Gladys W. MuturiPublished 8 months ago in PoetsSHHH DONT TELL ANYONE
On Nepalese peaks, in dreams we meet, That wooden cabin we always seek, With mountains guarding from three sides, In whispered fantasies, our spirits collide.
Naomi GeorgePublished 8 months ago in PoetsThe Evanai
Where am I? From whence have I come & whither do I go? I cannot answer these, do you know? Are not these the essence,
Randy Wayne Jellison-KnockPublished 8 months ago in PoetsSET ME FREE
In dreams, the sage imparts grace, Wisdom, love, in ethereal space, Filling me with a universe's lore. . For in his eyes, completeness lies,
Naomi GeorgePublished 8 months ago in PoetsMIND GAMES
Take me again on a rendezvous to the secret place ours On the mountain peaks so serene you come to me mystically
Naomi GeorgePublished 8 months ago in PoetsYOGI LOVE
IN LOVE WITH A YOGI I am in love with a yogi, soul serene, A vision in my thoughts, a sacred dream, Each day, he lingers in my heart's embrace,
Naomi GeorgePublished 8 months ago in PoetsTwisted Redemption
The squandered chance. The sacrifice made. The nerves twisted. The gut check. The bloodshed seeped through wounded bones.
Snacks 👀
I Don't Just SNACK!! 💚 I Spoil MYSELF with EDIBLES😉🍃
HandsomelouiiThePoet (Lonzo ward)Published 8 months ago in PoetsRest Easy
Not quite such a thing so sweet as eyes kissed shut and the sound of your breathing; gentle like the hand that brushed against my arm while the night floats on.
Ghost invite
"It's a ghost!" "No, it's a demon, an evil spirit from hell!" "Both of you are wrong! Papa Ebuka said it's the spirit of our ancestors. It comes to watch over us at night," Nneka asserted, attempting to correct her two brothers. "If it truly is the spirit of our ancestors, then why does it frighten us when it visits and tries to harm us?" Arinze questioned. "Ariy (short for Arinze), I don't know. Maybe next time it comes, we can ask it," Nneka replied thoughtfully.
oduko solomonPublished 8 months ago in Poets