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.

A Father, in retrospect
My father's memory conjures a sense of 'deja vu' Though not a feeling of having already experienced the present situation But more like, had I actually been there, and had I actually lived the experience?
By Novel Allen3 years ago in Poets
Distraction
Details, details, yes...details I've never, nope not me! Sacrifice and for what?! To finish?? Rapid thoughts spew ADD, HA that's what "they" say
By Jessica Crane 3 years ago in Poets
Deluded to Delusions
Diversions galore, double-dealings I explore. Interruptions abound as I have so many places to go. Stewing over again and again, creates ruminations in my head.
By NJ3 years ago in Poets
Lost Threads
Disturbances are always tolerated If they come with ideas about ideation! Susurrating thought, drink To the finest hole of escape under threat of
By Shanice Steadman-Olliver3 years ago in Poets
Path of an Archaeologist
In the depths of ancient lore, where shadows whisper, I tread the path of an archaeologist, an eager seeker. With trembling hands, I uncover an artifact's veiled grace,
By Nathaniel Whitney3 years ago in Poets
A Normal Life
Blinking and blurry, I see that I’m alone I grasp for the blanket to bury me deeper into my heat Alone and entirely torn asunder by the silence
By Jazzy 3 years ago in Poets
PILLS AND POTIONS
In a world of pills and potions, We seek cures for our emotions. Aching hearts and troubled minds, Seeking solace that's hard to find.
By MB3 years ago in Poets
For My Mother
She is a woman of substance She is a woman of care She is still my mentor throughout the years. She is my guiding light in the darkest of midnight
By AuthorsDread3 years ago in Poets
The Damned Carnival
In this godforsaken circus of misery, we dance, we writhe, From the cursed cradle's act to the grave's final sigh. Life's a grotesque freak show, each soul a miserable clown,
By Black Ink3 years ago in Poets
In the Beginning . Content Warning.
Earth is without form. Darkness rests upon the face of the deep. There is no starlight around me. My gaping maw open to devour, but there is nothing to consume.
By Kim Loostrom3 years ago in Poets
Distracted by Hunger
Dragon's flying over my head as I wander this land of hopelessness and dread. There has to be another sign of life. There has to be. It can't just be me and those terrible flying beasts of hellish fire. All scales and no charm.
By Paul Stewart3 years ago in Poets
In the mirror.
Mirrors have always been a reflection of ''what we are'' but they tell nothing about ''who we are'' to me personally which is the whole point of our existence. who are we from inside . I wish the mirror could tell how much sadness resided inside us , the happiness we have, the doubts that often makes our chest pain, the kindness that keeps us alive , this all can't be seen. So now that it has been months to the event that took my being away for a while , I feel ready to talk about it now , that I have gotten over it . In those months the mirror was my biggest rival cause whenever I used to look in it only the face felt familiar the hair and lips the nose too but the eyes! I would keep searching for the spark , the smile , the soul everything in me but the mirror just couldn't be the way. I stopped looking in the mirror , my pride was lying in the dirt and so I couldn't look up, for sometimes all of me lost . As a person you can afford losing everything but not oneself.
By shireen naaz3 years ago in Poets