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.

Paper Cuts
we've all got bruises, she said hiding just under the skin a wounded tone on her breath where blood settles and pools *
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden3 months ago in Poets
An Ode to Long Lost Summers
I remember the heat Of endless July Hair frizzing Freckles etched permanently Into my sun-kissed skin Laying on soft splinters of green Searching the topaz sky For familiar faces in the clouds. They smile at me Those infinitesimal cotton comforts Holding my dreams And space For a girl Still growing wings
By Ellie Hoovs3 months ago in Poets
I Can Be Your Meditation
I can be your water, your peace, your long-term relief I can be your inner deep lake where you can just rest and take I can be your blue sky without clouds, just the sun
By Antea Lumina Kala Matylda 3 months ago in Poets
The Gate Is Closed
I had to walk on glass Startled when hearing your voice The heat in your eyes terrified me The burning sensation I felt The life of hell
By TheAlivePoetess3 months ago in Poets
Control Control Control
She controls what enters her mind, Betraying No clear signs That she desires what is good. It happens every time I notice it, but what about the others around?
By Sun Bee3 months ago in Poets
Quantum Immortality
Quantum Immortality is a theoretical concept that suggests we never experience death. Instead, every time our lives end, we jump to another universe. Another timeline where we’re still alive.
By Bradley Ramsey3 months ago in Poets
Synesthesia
What does purple sound like? Not the word, the color Is the saturation of violets audible? Why do irises dance in the off season?
By Harper Lewis 3 months ago in Poets
Cluttered
Running in circles and I am feeling cornered Overstimulated brain, it is helter-skeltered Feelings I don't understand, I am in a boiler
By Harydo Neon3 months ago in Poets
O Captain, Our Captain
He wore the C like armor, quiet Joe Sakic, A wrist shot through the winter, clean and cold and true. In Denver’s thin air, legends learn to breathe magic.
By Clyde E. Dawkins3 months ago in Poets
Road of No Return
I travelled through dust, smog, and heat, To reach that place, nearly a thousand miles away, To see my family home and the people inside.
By Sun Bee3 months ago in Poets
Sara’s Mimic
The door was left unlocked. Let the mimic inside. It could see her sitting By the fireplace and calm. No expression on her
By Ernest Taulbee3 months ago in Poets
The Crow Knows
The crow on the parking lot light runs a small business nobody hired him for. Six mornings now, same silver Honda, same woman, same tired blinking start.
By Aarsh Malik3 months ago in Poets