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.
random #3
Recess was always fun to me. My friends and I literally used to make up games to play and they became household names around the school. Have you ever played capture the donkey? Exactly neither have I. I’m not really talking about anything for real. Me and my friends never played any of those ridiculous games. I played normal stuff like kickball and football. And most of all I loved playing soccer and basketball. Nobody could beat me and everyone tried to be on my time. I guess I’m really like that. I really like to eat chicken noodle soup.
By Robbie Bale3 years ago in Poets
Grace...
In a world of chaos, where darkness strays, There shines a light, in the form of grace. A gentle force, that holds us tight, Guiding us through both day and night. Grace, oh grace, a gift so divine, A melody that sings, a soothing rhyme. It whispers in our hearts, with tender touch, Filling our souls with love and much. In moments of sorrow, when tears overflow, Grace embraces us, helping us grow. It lifts us up from the depths of despair, Reminding us that love is always there. Like a soft breeze on a summer's day, Grace sweeps away our worries and dismay. It brings solace to the weary soul, Restoring hope and making us whole. Grace dances in the autumn leaves, Painting colors that make our hearts believe. In the beauty of change, in the cycle of life, In the midst of struggle, it eases our strife. With every sunrise, grace paints the sky, A masterpiece of colors that catch the eye. It reminds us to cherish each new day, To embrace the blessings that come our way. Through acts of kindness and compassion's embrace, Grace weaves connections, it strengthens our base. It bridges divides, it mends broken hearts, Uniting us all in its loving arts. In forgiveness lies grace's truest form, Releasing resentment, letting go of harm. It heals wounds deep within our souls, Setting us free to become more whole. Grace is found in a mother's tender care, In a friend's comforting words, always there. It's in the stranger's smile on a crowded street, A small gesture that makes our lives complete. So let us embrace grace with open arms, Allow it to heal and protect us from harm. For in its presence, we find peace and light, Guiding us through both day and night. May grace be our compass in this journey of life, A beacon of love, amidst struggle and strife. With gratitude in our hearts, let us always strive, To live with grace, and enjoy every bit of life.
By E Bush Patrick3 years ago in Poets
random #2
My teacher is kind of mean. Actually she really is. Let me not take it easy on her. I don’t know why she acts like this every morning. Like bro, can you just chill out for a few seconds before you start tweaking. Anyways, I asked to go to the bathroom because we had just come back from breakfast. I was trying to get to class before the bell. Regardless, she was genuinely tripping over nothing. Threatening to send me to the office if I kept asking to use the restroom. Well she’s really gonna be mad in a minute.
By Robbie Bale3 years ago in Poets
random #1
I was in the store the other day and I saw this older lady in the tissue aisle. She was having trouble reaching a bag of charmin ultra strong. I was feeling extra chivalrous that day. My paycheck had finally hit. I was able to pay my bills on time and life was going well. So I went over to her and asked if she needed any help with that. She said no very loudly through the store and kicked me in my shins. I never thought that was going to happen. I guess she was having a bad day.
By Robbie Bale3 years ago in Poets
Atonement
* Her name dripped from his lips, as if it were of his last breath. Shaking as each letter slipped, off his tongue, reaching for her ears, to rest.All he was, she owned it,held like a tissue in her hands.Everything he’d ever felt,circled round, at her command. A brush of hand was all that lingered, a memory of a kiss, that once, they shared. With his hands, her hair, he lightly fingered, the urge to hold her, more than he could bear.
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden3 years ago in Poets
