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.

Perception
Perception, Perception is the winch causing the black man to automatically get padded down before any question is asked, or even shot by a cop, or harassed for smoking weed not disturbing the next man on the block,
By Diamond Dreams Movement6 years ago in Poets
The Black Forest
The sun rises, and through my window, starts to shine But nothing takes to color Light does not reach these eyes of mine.
By Richard Willis6 years ago in Poets
The System
They say life's struggles hold us back, when really it's the system of which we live, jails making money off the crimes people do versus the people traveling in the jungles,
By Diamond Dreams Movement6 years ago in Poets
C.H.
Here goes a story for anyone listening Authority bores me like a placebo prescription Fear if my diction is real or fiction
By B. M. H.6 years ago in Poets
Trapped
I am locked. In a cycle of No Escape. Perpetually, I turn my head towards the Stars for guidance in the dark nights.
By Mihaela Vasileva6 years ago in Poets
Bare-Naked
I lie upon my bed, Bare-naked With only the sheets to cover my pain. I lie upon my struggles and sorrows Bare-naked So they can consume me.
By Victoria Simone6 years ago in Poets
Scrawl
The fire in my chest These migraines in my head I asked them to leave, but to my plea , they turned deaf So I sleep , hoping that I would wake up tommorow, not dead
By Harydo Neon6 years ago in Poets
A Caffeinated Dream
I'm running, running, running. Am I running from something or towards something? Where am I? Stop. Catch your breath.
By Kris Anne6 years ago in Poets
Back Door Caffe’
No sun coming through my window, and I’m sipping my tea. I can hear happiness on down the street, and the white truck is parked so neat. Still as it’s time to play the music in the Cafe. I see my rainbow bridge, calling me. And, it simply won’t let her be. A ticket to ride I can see, so I’m fine to see out the shady tree at a quarter to three (2:45) coming for me.
By Paul Noel Cimino6 years ago in Poets
Strolling on stolen feet
strolling on stolen feet, we learn and use and use what we learn and thus we are the same; variations, inversions and revisions but still the same.
By Liam Boue6 years ago in Poets
Sunrise
from dawn they fall and till dusk they meet, The light on ou inner beleifs, of ourselves, of others, our daily quells and spontaneous feats.
By Liam Boue6 years ago in Poets
Suicidal..
Do you ever feel suicidal? Like the past can’t be left behind you. Like the world just keeps caving in, And no matter what you do, you can’t win.
By Kathy Nelmes6 years ago in Poets