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.
Memory Lane
Traversing the roads that wind and spin through my mind. Memories on both sides. One memory leads to the next. Turning corners at intersections of thoughts and reminders. Sometimes taking corners too fast and getting thrown off track then having to turn back around and find where I left off. How did I get here from there? I retrace my steps. Traversing farther into my own past. Visiting happy places and avoiding the places I’d rather not remember. I can never stay on one path. Memory Lane has too many detours ahead. I go from here to there and journey backward in time. Never knowing when I will be back again. I wonder if I should be mapping this out. Sometimes I’m not sure where I started this little tour, but I am here now. The trees and the wind and the smell of a memory. Reminding me of so many things. Sparking memories of days gone past and a longing to share them with others. So, my memories I decide I will share. I will write them all down for others to read. I will try my best to entertain. Until the day comes when my travels down Memory Lane are all that is left of me.
By Kay Vert Dugi7 years ago in Poets
Fear the Darkness
It's where the killers wait to pounce,Bloodshot eyes with pinpoint stares,Flesh and blood and bone,It's where the monsters hide,Twisted maws and dripping fangs,Claws and talons and teeth,It's where nightmares come to life,The scary things from childhood,Screams and tears and pain,
By Stel Tsolakides7 years ago in Poets
To Find a Key or to Simply Be
Do I just love me more than they do? Do I love them more than they do? No matter what's true true this question is manifesting in everything I do. I would have them have themselves held as high as they could ever try. I don't always have to ask why. I know thrusting ones soul into the sky is not a task lacking in complexity. Simple some say it could be, the certainty in such simplicity is missed on me. Minutiae is interwoven and sometimes frozen in the minds that wouldn't have themselves held in highest regards. Bowing a courtesy conceived in childhood as a command. Being young the most intricate experience of anyone. Each souls set of obstacles, intrusions, confusions and insufficient institutions a pollution to navigate, and parents people too, no guarantee they've successfully solved said obscurity, and thus every word that be handed to you as a key has to be checked for efficiency, it may unlock one door but can it do more? How far did they get with that key? What if you have more doors than he? Was it a she who made his key? Complications can pile up while the door stays shut. A lot leave themselves behind one door and their done. That room turns into all they can conceive as real, although their soul'd say otherwise, discernment dawns disguise to let them love their lies. Freewill favors all, it meets any in the middle whether you want or don't want to solve the riddle. Symbiotic without opinion, you can pass this by in any dominion. Choice is the choice to choose, what you don't know you can win you can never lose. The point is the pointless serve just as much purpose, worth is to you what worth is. It honestly is all quite easy, I just make it difficult to please me. So whatever your keys be, they're completely fine, ignore the door or search for more. To those who can't help but quest, the quest is as complex as the complexities that lead the quest to be. That is a paradox of endless irony. Don't assume all are consumed with the same desire to build themselves higher & higher. I know it's a tricky task to those ones I ask, but to those of you who can't help but pursue I feel for you, I know what it is you'll have to do, it's a long road from new. So to any kid who's kept on keeping here's to one day that we may meet speaking. We can gripe about what we long to grip and share wise keys we found on this trip. Til then my friend, pray we may know it all before the end.
By Mr. KUTZKY7 years ago in Poets
An Ode to a Story Untold
An Ode to a Story Untold In a time, immemorial, and a place outside the sphere of time itself, lie the forgotten origins of lost beginnings still etched into the void. A place not by definition, for that is a mere mortal term. A time that is before time was conceptualized. Nothingness, but not as we know it, quivers and writhes formlessly.
By Docyele Llenretep7 years ago in Poets
