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.
"Whisked into the Whispers: A Melody of Transient Masks"
In realms where dreams entwine with waking hours, A tale of longing spins its fragile thread, Where whisker's touch reveals enchanted powers,
Khudair Ahmed ShaikhPublished 11 months ago in Poets"Eternal Echoes: Violet Evergarden's Melancholy Reverie"
In a realm where words can touch hearts divine, A tale of longing and melancholy weaves, Where Violet Evergarden's soul shall shine,
Khudair Ahmed ShaikhPublished 11 months ago in Poets"Craving Hearts: A Poetic Quest for Love's Embrace"
In the depths of my heart, an ache so profound, A craving for love, a longing unbound. Like a thirsty wanderer in a desert vast,
Necrophagous Night Terror
Doesnβt it sting? These ruthless archaeognathas crawling through incessantly obstructing nightmares. I swear the raucousness accumulates, creeping tirelessly into our nights.
M. EdwardsPublished 11 months ago in PoetsThe Musical Plagiarist
This is the fourth instalment in my "Plagiaristic Poetry" series, in which I attempt to construct a sonnet where the first part of each line is the name of the first song on an album plucked fairly randomly from my collection.
Mike Singleton - MikeydredPublished 11 months ago in PoetsDead Man Walking
Dead man walking, down the halls he goes A solemn march towards his final throes His time has come, his fate is sealed The end of life, now revealed
π½ππππ πΏππππPublished 11 months ago in PoetsWhat do you mean you don't know?
Do you want to know? I want to know. Seldom do people actually know what they say they do. Thoroughly lie, they might just do.
David BroganPublished 11 months ago in PoetsBallad of the Lovers
In twilight's tender cradle, where stars begin their dance, Two hearts, entwined, find in each other, a timeless romance.
Ethereal Sonnet
A river's whisper threads through the verdant glade, Beside it, willows weep, their tale delicately played. Underneath, the fish glide, choreographing ballet,
Phantasmagoria
Have I turned into a ghost talking? Caved by the riddle of time? A wanna-be epitome of light in this rather mischievous reality?
Sofie WeberPublished 11 months ago in Poets- Top Story - June 2023
growing pains
i haven't made much lately my words come slowly my canvases are blank whoever said pain creates art i think they were wrong
Standing Tall in his Stubbornness
He tore up his demons in his never ending nightmares, Swallowing his pride with every winning fight, Thrashing the beasts bloody with pain and suffering,
Colleen MillsteedPublished 11 months ago in Poets