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.

He Comes
See most don’t understand. They can’t see what I see Or hear what I hear. Sometimes it just hurts. Their words cut deep,
By Madolyn Sanchez7 years ago in Poets
Lost Sense
In our endless battle with our minds reasons surrounding our fingers To take control of our souls Inner fears filled our eye balls,
By Nima The Thief7 years ago in Poets
Blue Moon
My eyes are looking up To the full moon in the sky The clock starts to rush As I slowly close my eyes My life passes so fast
By Mystik Serpent7 years ago in Poets
A Dream of Jack
Last night I dreamt of Jack the Ripper. I was walking into the bedroom, presumably of a trailer park whore somewhere in Butte, Montana, having moved there for obscure reasons.
By Tom Baker7 years ago in Poets
No Titles for Duality
I was a fisherman on that boat, and didn’t recognize my teacher. Years of high blood-apathy levels and ignorance made him
By Aaron Vigil7 years ago in Poets
Timeless Thoughts
Just imagine if man had never instituted the burden of time. way back when Sundials and hourglasses dictated slave labor. We would have no schedules, no rush hours, no deadlines, one would work till they tired and come back when they were fully rested. No suppertime lunchtime, snack times or breakfast... one could break slow, whats the rush, enjoy those sausages and eggs. No birthdays marked, so who gets old when you don't know what year it is or what day? No school bells interrupting your lessons if the teacher on a roll you just sit back and enjoy. Vacation time would become just vacation... come home when you are ready for your own bed. Perhaps Heaven is simply a place where we go when we are at long last out of time. God is eternal, he doesn't own a Rolex. Just some thoughts because I enjoyed your bio on your song.
By Matthew F. Blowers III7 years ago in Poets
The Path
The deadened grass crackled underneath my bare feet Stepping on stones piercing the soles of my feet For once I strayed from the well worn path
By Madolyn Sanchez7 years ago in Poets
Reflection
The reflection in the mirror starred at me with her huge shiny eyes. I was frozen, starring back, waiting for a single movement. It wasn't me who had to decide to move, the person in the mirror would go first and I'd follow as she showed me. Her bright shiny eyes, full of questions yet assured, were looking deep into mine, searching the deepest dark seas of my soul.
By Mystik Serpent7 years ago in Poets
Green
It is the growth from spring And the early morning mist When she kisses me goodnight It is the feel of her lips It is the goodnight embrace
By Susie Brooks7 years ago in Poets
Unrequited
Just for the sake of protection, I will not use his name. He had dark auburn hair, medium built. The type of guy I would enjoy wrapping my legs around. In as few words as possible, hot as hell. Funny, sweet, and flirty. I didn't know at the time, but he was engaged. When I found out, I was sorely disappointed that he was spoken for. I couldn't blame the lady. I would have snatched him up as fast as possible too. I guess you could say that I fall in love quickly. I mistook all of the signals as that he liked me although he was just being himself.
By Jennifer Cypert7 years ago in Poets
Needles
I was with a large man, a vegetarian activist-- scribbling madly in a notebook, he referred to human infants as "Useless eaters."
By Tom Baker7 years ago in Poets
The Body of Ginsberg
I, or rather WE get off the train, And it is a station of white walls, white floor, and sunshine Slanting in but painting orange all around
By Tom Baker7 years ago in Poets