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.
I C A R U S. Top Story - July 2026.
I don't think Icarus laughed as he fell, But wept so violently at the injustice Of being brought down for excitement That the ants on the ground mistook it For the kind of arrogant laughter they Expected to bubble from his mouth. I think he realized it was a lose-lose Halfway up when the clouds dissolved And the beautiful, empty atmosphere Spread its dark, wide wings of blue. The stars were too vivid and the moon, Far too small to find any comfort. Icarus must've known when he turned Toward the wide world of flashing blue And saw nothing but jeering expressions That the flames devouring his wings Were going to be the death of him. He must've known he was falling. I think Icarus knew that the world had Nothing but an obvious hatred for the Lofty eagerness of his spirit and smile The way it liked to dance with the stars Tempted the sun to make love to him And irritated the entire world below. Icarus must have wept when he peered Out of the sky itself like a god, like a star , And seen nothing but a cold ocean of deceit Pooling in the jealousy eyes of one hundred Lovers laughing as he fell, wringing themselves Dry on the pleasure of watching his doom. What is so funny about a man who only Wanted to soar through the sky and touch The beautiful edges of the thing that warms Soil and sand and souls and casts gold Across tree leaves and tea leaves floating In a teacup like Icarus across currents of air? I would have wept if I looked out over a sea Of souls bound to mine with braided strings Made of grass and words of eternal compassion Only them burning in their eyes, ignited by sadism. So there is no way that Icarus laughed as he fell. Icarus wept and the world pretended it was laughter.
By Silver Daux4 months ago in Poets
Edge Shelf Incident
Content fell on floor; it might’ve had some lure. It sat on the edge of the shelf, and I was called by the Siren friend. Content fell on floor. I opened the fridge with Herculean force. I stood in the magnet blip as the spaghetti whipped its hair back and forth. Content fell on the floor. I hope you don’t pour rage on top of the cure. But for the love of shelves, don’t balance food on the Lotus edge. Because content fell on floor. I had just lifted weights, but that is not why your system failed. The fridge doesn’t know its strength. When I overhear you asking for the spaghetti trail, I hide behind my door. Content fell on the floor.
By Caitlin Charlton4 months ago in Poets
Rotted See Ya's
Where does it end, I wonder Inside of you or inside of me? Caged or broken or lying on The wilted linoleum floor? Did you empty your dreams Down the drain like your little Picture books instructed? I wonder if you cried when The night sky hid behind a veil, Tucked its face away from Your inquisitive eyes. You thrashed in your sleep And screamed until the renters Finally made a fuss. There are flies buzzing about In the dead expanse of your eyes. Doesn't it remind you Of our little goodbyes? Rotten in the mouth already And buzzing with insects, The goodbye was too old. Be sure then to eat it quickly Before the rot has a chance To sink into the flesh Of whatever fruit this is.
By Silver Daux4 months ago in Poets
Becalmed
Introduction I'm in another of those periods where I am unable to write. It is slightly weird because there are lots of things going through my head but I just don't know how to put the things together. I was thinking of maybe doing a piece on words, or a story with the theme of being becalmed, and the Brian Eno piece came on the player so that may have influenced me, then there are the two current Vocal challenges "Smooth" and "Identity".
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 4 months ago in Poets
