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.
Gulf of Consciousness
I repel into the depths of revelation Snapping at the end of My sturdy hemp rope My drowning head collides With the dry soles of my feet Neck cracking audibly Flecks of spittle fly into the breeze Whiplash rules Head dangling but attached Hands twisted and knotted Behind my burden-bent back I dangle above a chasm Brimming with the emptiness of my past The density of the truth drags me Into its wide gravitational path Faced with only one viable choice Be devoured by history or Fight through the darkness Waging war with my psyche
By K.B. Silver 2 months ago in Poets
The Beast Without a Stomach
The walls were said to be strong and steady, but water has its way. Unstoppably pushing and pouring over steel and brick, it surges, it rumbles, until the city turns thick. Entire nations eaten alive by the beast without a stomach. It swallows everything in its path, starting with your swollen feet, causing your next steps to waver your hands to bend to your knees. The beast without a stomach comes when called, the rich man poured billions to make it so. And the rich man lives atop the highest ground, looking down as you fall. The water rises, red, brown, and heavy. tossing and pulling its victims along until it's had plenty. It knocks you down, like a child playing too roughly. The beast without a stomach flows over your heads and keeps eating. It gargles you push it floods you stop. And the rich man sighs, blames someone else, and goes back to his game of golf. The beast without a stomach will never have enough. The beast without a stomach will devour the living and blame someone else.
By Kera Hollow2 months ago in Poets
Should I Depart Early. Top Story - September 2026.
Should I Depart Early, please do not fret For almost a certainty I’m home, tucked in bed Should you search there and find me gone It’s fair to say I rose again And walked along Off to the garden Off a beaten path Follow me Toward the endless sea Should I depart early Seek a quiet place Like a stone So merrily do we roll Unsettled in our grace I likely took time To reflect on these rhymes A simple moment Fleeting, unfamiliar In these vapid times. Should I depart early Think of it not in terror We so often find silence harrowing Instead take heed And mire in its pleasure Should I depart early I might have flown away, But don't be weary We’ll find each other Some other day
By Matthew J. Fromm2 months ago in Poets
Plenty. Top Story - September 2026.
It's a delicacy to come home to a government-made meal Of debt collectors and voicemails from the friendly lady Who keeps offering, offering, offering to cut my arm off In exchange for a penny, pebbles, and a rusted Coke can. Tastes so fucking good to sink my teeth into the propaganda. 'Designed with you in mind,' is truer than I used to think. Pop a pill to keep the spam away because the message is more Important than the messenger and the discomfort combined. They want me here, plastered to the pleather couch, trapped. And I want to be here, swiping through uncanny faces, Looking for something real enough to light a spark of life Inside the hallways of my brain (what's left of it at least). It doesn't scratch the itch. That's not surprising though, is it, since they planted their Invisible seeds in my pores and have watered my skin for Years waiting for the moment that I grow a little too itchy And claw myself apart, bleed out in their front yards. Or maybe I could buy something to turn the itch into a pain, Then pick a little something up to dull the agony and then All I'll have to deal with is regular old heartache and insomnia. Plenty of pretty little pills for those things though; plenty, plenty. Is pain easier to deal with than this unscratchable itch? Maybe it is, maybe it isn't, but sitting here in the glow of blue TV screens and blue phones and blue fucking fridge screens Isn't doing what they swore and promised it would.
By Silver Daux2 months ago in Poets
