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.

Her
I am alive when i touch you. Through fiber optics and heart stained paragraphs. In the middle of nothing with my chocolate milk and my empty eyed fingertips searching for something to better myself.
By Sabrina Lilith Black5 years ago in Poets
Why Do I Have to Wait?
The timing might not be right. That breakthrough you are waiting for; The healing you so desire; Or that elevation you yearn for;
By Nkeonye Judith IZUKA5 years ago in Poets
Antithetical/hello?
I am good. So good-at making things known. I can communicate an idea with unparalleled fidelity to the most uncongenial of audiences. I will make you a list. And it will detail with expert specificity, all you need from me. I will write you a report. You will know everything. I can do this. For you.
By Sabrina Lilith Black5 years ago in Poets
4 and 6 as Love in 10
SPACE MARKS Date 2/7/2021 Time 11:19 AM Location Reseda, CA ETERNAL WORD 4 and 6 as Love in 10 I am ! 6 - 6 - 6
By Marcus Romano5 years ago in Poets
familiar hurt.
familiar demon at my door, you torment me, yet ask for more and I know what you came here for. you crave the pain that I adore.
By Kathleen Toomey5 years ago in Poets
As A Matter Of Fact!
What’s the matter? Are you feeling a bit under the weather? Or maybe we should ask, What is matter? A question a scientist would ponder!
By elisabeth dubois5 years ago in Poets
Viability
Ease the mind of all things bad, exercising demons to avoid being mad. Allowing the dawn of the day to push happiness away, can make days hard where nothing seems to change.
By Felicia 5 years ago in Poets
Hurry Home
Out of breath, still running. Don't you dare look back, go! The faster and farther your legs take you, the closer you are to coming home.
By Kathleen Toomey5 years ago in Poets
Skins
The snake sheds it’s skin, starting fresh yet older, the same yet different. So too can we throw off the cloak we have woven,
By Katie 5 years ago in Poets
The Fence Around The Front Garden.
The Fence Around The Front Garden. The fence around the front garden. The wrought iron fence, twisted and bent into a pattern so beautiful and so menacing. Brutal. Hostile.
By Rosie Stanton 5 years ago in Poets
the goal
I always want to be telling stories. Of other times and other places. I want to be taking you to landscapes of my mind where I've never been before. I want this to be new for me and for you. An adventure that we can go on hand in hand.
By Rosie Stanton 5 years ago in Poets
My favourite colour
I'm thinking about textures. Thinking about the word 'textures'. It seems to be a very textured word. Metaphorically of course. Metaphysically perhaps. I don't know what metaphysically means but it feels relevant.
By Rosie Stanton 5 years ago in Poets