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.

clouds cry
clouds cry but why? maybe because they're afraid to fly or of being up so high? no one ever seems to stop them when they float by
By isthatphill6 years ago in Poets
Holy Water
My tsunami, my sauce, holy water, parallel to what's asked from God, I may flex, but only praising the blessings from Allah,
By Diamond Dreams Movement6 years ago in Poets
Material Flow
Material flow is those that spend their dough on matter with no spiritual value, like lavish clothes, jewelry, mainly your ego that walks in the room sideways to enter,
By Diamond Dreams Movement6 years ago in Poets
I feel bad for sharks now
I want To breathe Not because I have to I want to breathe on purpose. Look at me run! Look at me go! Nobody is looking
By lady gaga6 years ago in Poets
Noise
Noise They say: “it’s okay” They say: “piece of cake” They say: “You’re all set To go do your best”. The knot in my chest
By berry bee6 years ago in Poets
Morpheus’ Land
Morpheus’ Land When is the dream Too surreal, too “out there”? When is it chasing delusions Not prayers just so rare?
By berry bee6 years ago in Poets
the price of lies.
what if every time we spoke a lie our body began to change from soft states to beady eyes from quiet to deranged and our mouths constricted and twisted
By Alnev6 years ago in Poets
The Beautiful Side of the Cactus
There are few of several people who are just like the cactus. As we know the cactus is rare, precious and sore. There are also unique people who are special, valuable, and painful. How could a hurtful cactus be precious? When it is rare, it worth the value despite it hurts and might sting you.
By Sara Kanbar6 years ago in Poets
Let Them Drop The Ball
Unhappy woman always hating, happy woman always motivating, woah, woah, woah, broke kids find ways to make it out of their situation, Rich kids always beg for everything, only really gaining more limitations,
By Diamond Dreams Movement6 years ago in Poets
Not Dead Yet
2 old 2 be a legend. Way 2 young to be a corpse. If I had 2 pick just 1 — I’d stay alive o’ course. * * * Vanity, she combs my hair.
By j.s.lamb6 years ago in Poets
Move Back the Stone
Oh, what a stench you were! Oh, what a miracle to occur! Your death had us all in tears, As we reflected on your short lived years.
By Rowan Finley 6 years ago in Poets
Riding Solo
The outside is always telling me that I need to find peace But, they don't understand that...it's the war that keeps me going
By The Girl in Grey6 years ago in Poets