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.

ESFJ "The Pleasing Helper"
With gentle hand and heart that knows no guile, The ESFJ, a friend of worthy kind, Doth weave a tapestry of warmth, a smile,
By Diorino Galvano3 years ago in Poets
Journey of Life
In the tapestry of existence, we weave, A mosaic of moments, both joy and grieve. Life's journey, a symphony, rich and diverse,
By denzil3 years ago in Poets
Neat
* Disposable emotions under misty clouds of gray Strawberry shaped corrosion as I appear, dark as the lake Smelling like distant smoke
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden3 years ago in Poets
Us
In a world so vast, yet hearts seem small, Bound by greed, we watch others fall. Nature weeps, burdened by our sin, Man's selfish ways, where to begin?
By Jermaine Bouyer3 years ago in Poets
wise man
Judas wished upon the stars as the deceiver who wept for his lords mercy, To take the pain of Mary and wash it upon her son
By D.D3 years ago in Poets
ESFJ "The Guardian Counselor"
With gentle hand and heart that knows no guile, The ESFJ of Six with Five entwined, A loyal soul, a friend for many a mile,
By Diorino Galvano3 years ago in Poets
Daughter of Crimson
This poem was inspired by the short story "Wings Chips", by Mavis Gallant I am the painter's daughter. Who oversees her words for their colors,
By D.D3 years ago in Poets
Eclipse 1
Even light is overcome by darkness / Corrupted nature, the most natural thing / Looping dances, celestial forms / In their time, in their turn
By M. A. Mehan 3 years ago in Poets
ECLIPSE OF HOPE, OF DREAMS. Runner-Up in In Eclipse Challenge.
e very time she looks up at the dark night sky of blacks and blues and specks of white—spots of glittering stars gleaming in the blackness—her heart always chills at the sight of the moon, dwelling high above her; whether it is
By angela hepworth3 years ago in Poets
Personal Mnemonic
A white, loose, preppy graphic t-shirt my mom ordered from overseas was my personal mnemonic. In tiny chunks, I’d read and analyze
By Talia Devora3 years ago in Poets
Teetering
i got an ear full of fresh MOTH spunk it's fucked my balance i think i’m going to fall and graze my knee i got a fresh mouth full
By Bren3 years ago in Poets
The Lair of the Wyrm
Imagine having power to wrest change in this great field generator… this consensus reality… …and then deciding that rather than work for the Good such a creature would waste that power on endless attempts to prevent others from being true.
By C. Rommial Butler3 years ago in Poets