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.
Morning Of December
Morning of December The sharp air, the world is silent, Silver frost lays vale and hill. The sky hangs pale and wide, Hues of dawn brave little space on the horizon's side. The trees are draped with icy lace, Witness to the grace that is nature. Their breath hangs low; the earth breathes; A quiet hymn through frozen trails. The snowflakes fall, with a whispering song- Soft and fleeting, they don't stay long. Crunching steps, rhythm- Heartbeats louder in the cheer. Though the sun shyly begins to glow, It gives a golden kiss to the snow-filled fields. Far off that warmth would be a promise, A passing glimpse at where dreams are. December Morning: Cold and Pure That's the only moment we last with it. For in that chill, warmth will hide- in the beauty of winter's pride.
By Bijan Mondal2 years ago in Poets
Passion
She has a grip on me That most can’t see The stranglehold of ecstasy Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here.
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
Christmas Carol by Paul L Dunbar. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Dunbar was a writer who attained international success over all obstacles. Dunbar was born in Kentucky in 1872 to former slaves and attended high school in Dayton, Ohio, where he was the sole black student. Despite graduating with high honors and aspiring to be a writer, circumstances compelled him to work as an elevator operator. However, one schoolmate, Orville Wright, of airplane invention renown, assisted in providing financial support for Dunbar to publish his first book of poems. Success ensued, and Dunbar lived off his work until his tragically early death from tuberculosis at the age of 33. Christina Rossetti's In the Bleak Midwinter (which would be my No. 11 above) is perhaps the most well-known poem sung as a carol, but Dunbar's includes a clear command to sing with all our might. It's a cheerful Christian celebration.
By Genius Sly2 years ago in Poets
