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.
Final Strains
One last song sounded in the distance on that day where the earth ceased spinning in its routine, each activity grounding to a standstill, awry,
Jillian SpiridonPublished 6 days ago in Poets
Natural
Sighs and screams Pleasure and pain Everything in between The give of my flesh with every blow The flex of my soul, bending to His will
Josee JamesPublished 6 days ago in PoetsThe Rain puddle
What life this puddle reflects, is it mine or am I just along for the ride? Have all my steps been my own or have I allowed myself led, have I given over my life to the control of others without my consent, simply by my silence.
Kenneth RowePublished 7 days ago in Poets
One Night
The night I slept with the moon the world was dark and heavy. She crept upon me and lingered with her lips hovering above mine.
AβMoor_CreativePublished 7 days ago in Poets
π°π π»ππΓππππ (ππ₯π’ ππ¬π©π¦π±π¦π π¦ππ«)
πΏπππ ππΓ© ππππππππππ [How filthy!] Β‘π΅ππ ππ ππππππππππππ! [How you dare!] Β‘ππΓ© ππππππΓ³π! [What an objection!]
Lisa NajeraPublished 7 days ago in Poets
The Calm Before The Storm
It's not in the Moment that it happens; Yet, always just the moment right before; It's not the rain or crash of thunder; Yet, the calm before the storm;
al goingambushPublished 7 days ago in Poets
i'm scared of what i see
Their words are on my lips, i can't control myself. (help me) i feel Their hands on me with Their fingers are in my blood,
Brenda Mitchelle EllisPublished 7 days ago in PoetsEre Shanty
Doth up yonder yield A mighty blow on the shore The mighty winds unwind As the sail climbs And lovers toss in it we are
Matthew PrimousPublished 7 days ago in PoetsQuiet Cup of Coffee
My normal morning routine is to wake up earlier than my wife, dogs, and sometimes visiting grandson to enjoy a quiet cup of coffee while I do some free-writing to help get head working and words down on paper. The following poem was written during one of those early morning free writing sessions.
Meko KaprelianPublished 7 days ago in PoetsKnockoff
I confess this is really not my poem I stole it from my friend Its a knockoff I confess that these are really not my point
The Von HimselfPublished 8 days ago in Poets
Listen
She comes to me in dreams With eyes that hold the ocean And a voice that whispers on the wind so faintly... I cannot hear.
Gabrielle McCainPublished 8 days ago in Poets
More than one
was certain of the surety naturally knew real purity automatically mojo of an entity the mother of daemon angels loves them all equally
Susan LoehePublished 8 days ago in Poets
