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.

Basement Dwellers
We had spent the day trudging through an abandoned ghost town, in the Rocky Mountains. but there were no ghosts to be found.
By Andrew Arnett7 years ago in Poets
Insatiable
I crave a different kind of hunger,it’s uncontrollable. It’s messing with me, it’s messing with my mind.It’s essential to my being.
By Cassiie Etienne7 years ago in Poets
Orange City Night-Life
Orange city night glow Makes me nervous Trees are better to reflect The sky night light; The moon off the wet roads Shining off the base of the palm of leaves,
By Callum Foulds7 years ago in Poets
Breathe In, Breathe Out
Something wakes me But what is it? I struggle to open my eyes fully, but it's difficult to see in the dark, even a little bit.
By Teya Hooper7 years ago in Poets
Bawdy of Life
I spread unconsciously spoken a victim to pave the current open the modest voice of the broken my red glass intensely potent
By H.b. Woods7 years ago in Poets
Where the Buffalo Roam
We arrived at Woody Creek Tavern in the late afternoon. Sophie and I sat at the bar. there was a large oil portrait of Hunter S. Thompson hanging on the wall.
By Andrew Arnett7 years ago in Poets
Disillusion
How far can you see, as you look across the sea? Do your eyes meet the setting sun with love? Cast your gaze to the stars and the clouds in the sky, and surrender to the vastness above.
By Franci Nuit7 years ago in Poets
DrEaM bReAk
My DrEaMs are Far too large for my head....They're trying to EsCaPe. So I bandaged up both my ears with CHEWING GUM? and TAPE?
By Jus Wordzz7 years ago in Poets
Beneath the Snake Grass
The children frolic through the flowers and the green grass of summer, chasing the fuzzy butterflies. So happy they are, free of the house and chores, they jump and play. Cheeks vibrantly flushed with the euphoria of a beautiful day, drawing, unbeknownst, to their plays end.
By Lori Hazelton7 years ago in Poets
10 Stanzas
Sweet serenity worth smoking souls No one really remembers How could we anyway? Rock is dead Creaking chairs squeak against old floors
By Shyanne Carlson7 years ago in Poets
The Parasite
The demon that feeds us fears and lies Has set obstacles in front of our eyes Knowing that we can’t face them alone Knowing that our body can become its home
By Cynthia Wrzesinski7 years ago in Poets
Freedom
It is an imaginary manipulator It is a twisted ride all impressive I suppose until you see the golden light Opaque given anxiety
By H.b. Woods7 years ago in Poets