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.

Path 9: Removal
Listen for constriction the ventricle walls closing at each rhythmic moment clasping glass grinding nails sliding razor blades
By Noah Rodriguez5 years ago in Poets
To Live a Life
There was a time I often wondered what it meant to live a life in black. Alas, as for the likes of men, the clocks do no turning back.
By Rhett Ransom5 years ago in Poets
discovery
I came upon a notebook once. It was dark shiny and appeared to weigh tons. As I approached… Its mystery encroached. I shuddered to think, as my heart began to sink and beat even faster. This discovery could be my master. In the darkness something ruffled in the evening breeze - possibly a flutter of drying leaves. A lone glimmer of light was from a lamppost, poetically situated to signpost - the darkness and its accomplice
By Nwabundo Okoh5 years ago in Poets
Path 11: External
A mirror eliminates the inconvenience of the eyes’ positions rotated to look outside boney holes. There I am skin covering muscle, bone, and adipose tissue
By Noah Rodriguez5 years ago in Poets
Deathsquad Diaries
Deathsquad Diaries Tearing down the lonely highway to Poptún, he really felt the jungle now, it was silently screaming. So many had been disappeared on this highway, it was called the highway of death but he had no other choice. His hair was as black as volcanic obsidian and it was whipping violently against his jacket and his companion’s face. The clouds and mist were ominous, the moon looked bloody, the howler monkeys kept up with their mischief releasing poisonous spores from some of the trees lining the highway. He felt like they were going to be a footnote in one of those horror documentaries about genocide in some random banana republic shit hole country on PBS. He felt her clutching his flimsy jacket from behind as he gained speed. He was worried she would feel the flimsy little black book tucked in his left pocket, it belonged to her sister. The motorcycle was an old school one that was easy to hot wire. It was 2am and he could feel her body was revolting and tensing, she allowed herself to feel nausea and pain and terror just for a minute before she started feeling faint again.
By T5 years ago in Poets
Little Black Book
Oh so it starts like this, with a little black book. Well, lets get on with the book then. There was a little girl, it was her fist day at school. She was shy, so her mom said "bye" but her mom didnt respond, and a girl walked up to her. she stopped. The girl froze. She actually said, "hi, how are you?"
By Delilah Cro5 years ago in Poets
So Dark
It’s so dark in here She struggles to hold back her tears for fear of drowning Of filling up this empty corroded blackness with the blood of her wet eyes
By Lara Addams5 years ago in Poets
The Wrath of this Queen
Thou art but a thorn in my side, Blistering, sweltering, puss fucking fly, You reek of negativity, Corrupting my energy,
By Lara Addams5 years ago in Poets
And the vapidity that was left
There is no emptiness I can see. In the nightly calm of the suburbs, like a train taking off, lit and released, with the one intent behind the journey.
By Michael Mannen5 years ago in Poets
A letter for the King
You were in my dream last night I remember the glint in your eye, not in my dream. Yours, your real eyes. It’s as though a spark of lightning would dart behind them when you would have that peak moment.
By Lara Addams5 years ago in Poets
The Silent Killer
There is a killer on the loose who threatens to kill you mentally, He has no compassion, no love, and no sympathy. The killer knows no limits on the age of his victims,
By Valerie Green5 years ago in Poets
Grandpa Ben's Mysterious Notebook
My very mysterious Grandpa Ben brought magic to our lives one day. He travelled a long way to see us, carrying only a small black notebook.
By Susan L. Marshall5 years ago in Poets