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.

  • Arlene Placer
    Published about a month ago
    Disappear

    Disappear

    It just happened.
  • Tom Baker
    Published about a month ago
    In the Doorway

    In the Doorway

    I see you standing there
  • Rowan Finley
    Published about a month ago
    Mixed Queens

    Mixed Queens

    There's nothing but Grace here,
  • Nova .
    Published about a month ago
    Natural Disaster

    Natural Disaster

    Can you believe,
  • Katrina Thornley
    Published about a month ago
    False Thoughts

    False Thoughts

    The roads are paved
  • David Hallowell
    Published about a month ago
    Carry Flowers

    Carry Flowers

    Shall I gather flowers constantly and lay them at your feet... so as to protect you from any stone that my cause you to stumble... How much more so that I carry you on wings of love, far above the sorrows of this world...
  • Marty Thibodaux
    Published about a month ago
    For Tomorrow

    For Tomorrow

    This tomorrow which I face,
  • Jay Beastley
    Published about a month ago
    Final Connections
  • Bruno Lopes
    Published about a month ago
    Fallen Angel
  • Jack Campbell
    Published 2 months ago
    Summer in the Day

    Summer in the Day

    Sweat, breathe, sweat, breathe
  • Penny White
    Published 2 months ago
    The Dark-Eyed Cat's Cry

    The Dark-Eyed Cat's Cry

    Part IIn the Alleydark-eyed cat’s crydrifts through my windowfrom the alley belowcarried up upon a cold winter breezethat holds the promise of snow;goosebumps skitter across my fleshmore from the soundof the dark-eyed cat’s crythan from the cold.because I empathizewith the dark-eyed cat -the cold I can hide from,but the cry gets under my skinbrings the hair on my arms,the back of my neck,to rapt attention.no, the cold I can stave offby blanket or fire’s warmthbut from the dark-eyed cat’s crythere is no escape,as it echoes within the alley,between my walls,in the depth of my own throat.until, with a final wail and echoshe moves on.Part IIIn the Moonlightshe stretches in her sleep,pure golden silk furablaze by the moon’s hollow light;unworried, unhurriedwithin the sanctity and safetyof the moon’s mercurial gazeshe sleeps and dreams;even in that state of undisturbed serenitythe dark-eyed cat’s crycomes to me, drifts to meon silver-tinted moondust,stirs me from my own slumber,heavy heart filled with empathyfor whatever haunted dreamsfollow her into the tranquility offered by her otherwise peaceful repose.I cannot resist,I cannot hold backas my hand insistsupon touching the peaceful formin an effort to stillthe demons hiding within her shadows;softly stroking golden strandswith the faint hope ofcomforting the dark-eyed cat’s cry.Part IIIIn My Armscurled within the refuge of my armsthe purring of the dark-eyed catechoes the rhythm of my heartbeating against her softness;I am enchanted by her playfulness,her willingnessto respond to my overturesof affection and to reciprocatethem in kinduntil the dark-eyed cattires of our play - as she would tireof playing a mouse -and she escapes my armsproving I cannot hold herfor any longer than she desires.the dark-eyed cat’s crylingers and reverberatesagainst everywhere she’s beenand all she has touched ...Pen is a published author with 30+ titles to her credit. To learn more visit Nero's Fiddle.
  • Jason Giecek
    Published 2 months ago
    We Were Magic

    We Were Magic

    We stood in the doorway,