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.

The Moth
A black moth swam in the warmness The glow of a bright orange streetlight It doesn't get too close, it is far too smart Yet not smart enough to flutter away
By Kendall Earl7 years ago in Poets
To Bring Back what You Love the Most
To bring back what you love the most. To reach your Hands into the dirt and take it from its resting place, all The dust you would brush off of its skin.
By Kate Smith7 years ago in Poets
Stickfolk
Clawing, scraping, dead on me, Breathing, taking, what you see, Empty walls and cloying white, Cancelling out all my sight.
By Fira t'ixʷlm nc'icn7 years ago in Poets
The Last Sigil
On my knees and certain, I pray to you and bow; Absolve this dying world of these bipedal parasites now. You were locked away for eons by Holy men an eternity ago,
By Rachael Rumancek7 years ago in Poets
Divine
Too bad our passions cannot be transferred thru the means of telekinesis... cannot be shared by mere thought. Only thru the divine interception of intentions via soulmates can a thought be felt simultaneously. Unfortunately, we fear the flight of dismissing all that is temporary to search for what is real.
By Nat Richmond7 years ago in Poets
Oh to Be a Butterfly
Gliding far as the wind will carry me Flying as high as clouds in the bright blue sky Gleefully pain free like children running carefree
By Jessica Dumas7 years ago in Poets
People from the Past
There is a reason why people from your past don't make it into your future. We are balls of constant spinning energy. We move so fast we can't see ourselves being pulled in a different direction.
By Amanda Zylstra7 years ago in Poets
Commitment
They are the mystery and beauty of life itself the beauty and doom of the surviving race the images of spiritual purity which I believe is them
By Zeke Elliott7 years ago in Poets
Echoing Deeps
Echoing deeps, blue around me, The songs of the cave surround. Water at my feet, dripping in the dark, Reflecting the glowing sparks.
By Fira t'ixʷlm nc'icn7 years ago in Poets
Their Heads Were Glowing
I had seven hundred big blocks in my bones, and my home planet in my head, when I stopped for rest along Central Park West.
By Drew Bond7 years ago in Poets
House of Bad Luck
I once lived in the house of bad luck. It was haunted by spirits of dead friends who died in the 90’s from cancer. My living room was directly above the room he passed away in.
By Amanda Zylstra7 years ago in Poets
The Imaginary Other
The subconscious part of ourself is reflected in our perception of others. This is the true nature of how we experience those we perceive as others.
By Obi A7 years ago in Poets