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.

Sleepy
And so brother moon sang his lullaby, a distant and cold portrait giving life and shine to wet grounds bathed in mother sky's tears.
By Samuel Olukayode6 years ago in Poets
Twisted Text
On these pages, a story writ’ Not lines of love, near opposite. With wicked words, bursting seams. and pictures ripped from horror scenes.
By Away With Words6 years ago in Poets
A Web Unweaved
A lonely ledge, neath window’s glass, spider spun web from silken cache A solitude, brown framing black, shiny hue and matte shellac
By Away With Words6 years ago in Poets
Finding Me
Little girl, little girl wanna play hide and seek? Seems like I was playing that game for a minute by my damn self. I hid the person I loved to fit the mold of others for years. I was the mom. I was the church sister. I was the friend. I was the good worker. I was everything but me. Years ago when I relocated from California to New York to live with my dad, I slowly lost who I was. Ya see in high school I was fearless. If you said I couldn't, I did it just to say.."Now what punk". Lmbo. I struggled through set backs, trauma, rejection, and so much more. My life was being taken from me faster than I care to admit.
By Toi Potts6 years ago in Poets
The Grass Temple
The Grass Temple There is a door in me; through my wide yellowing pelt of hoary sedge-hair you may spy it, but not if you come seeking. To those who seek, that door is shut and sealed against a motive formed before you knew me well, before you had seen by bramble barbs and the wild, clawed things that weave their desire paths through my own wyllt and slough and call me Home.
By Penny Blake6 years ago in Poets
Deadzone
In the land of the lost and broken Stands a man, a token Born brave, the chosen Among the slaves that still remain Trapped in a false paradise to this day.
By Obi Abassi6 years ago in Poets
Eleventh Hour
A grey little rabbit deep in a hole Burrowing in the dark Prepared for hibernation But Spring has just begun. He covers his ears but the birds sing
By Rose Pelos6 years ago in Poets
Mandela
Keep breathing Wake up tomorrow in your blur. Stay staring at the ceiling, Charge, rewind, power down, plug back in. Keep blinking
By Rose Pelos6 years ago in Poets
The Human Touch Just Isn't Bliss Anymore
It was 4 in the morning when i got a message from him reading that he wasn't coming home for the night. I often wondered why there were gaps in the way he touched me. As if he was saving it for somebody else, i knew deep down that he was. He knew it too but convinced himself otherwise every time he tried to touch me. I am a woman of God, I am the Goddess of earth. On a surface level it doesn't take much life experience to understand and feel beyond the human touch and when it isn't for me.
By Kaelyn Sanchez6 years ago in Poets
Dreaming at the End
Hovering above the starsBreathing through a tubeRiding on asteroids like a train carAs the celestial dust billows up and around me
By Valerie Taylor6 years ago in Poets
What Am I?
What am I? You fill me up at first, but then leave me empty in the end. You only open me up when you want something, and ignore me when you don’t.
By Terri-lyne Gedanitz6 years ago in Poets
Persist to Resist the Kiss
Concubines complain can’t have the fifteen minutes of fame, before you start comparing, trying to shame the name. The world is so big,
By Rene'e L. Ellis6 years ago in Poets