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.

Sail Station
Who did sail for her, Along a middle sea? Ruin caused to tyranny. by forced espionage. Compass, show us to water, by sister stars formation.
By Cayleigh Hughes8 years ago in Poets
Tales and Other Drugs
“Up for a fairy tale?” he asked. I looked at him. For three seconds, that is, and then looked away. Experienced a bizarre déjà vu. I remember the time I was still a kid and the most adorable woman I know would ask me that question. My mother. Back then, not only was I in the mood for fairy tales, I would literally beg her to read me more every time. Like no sleep for me. Who would have thought, things would change as I grew older? Adulthood they say. I say crap, I say a pile of dinosaur shit. Things took a wrong turn.
By Eftixia Mesiskli8 years ago in Poets
War
Religious wars and futile aspirations, A billion people going on a hasten! Of death and life the future generations, Create a world of moral obligation.
By Eureka! 💡8 years ago in Poets
The Sickness
A life of viral hallucinations, Giving me religious ecstasy! And through the years of physical sensations, Become a man pure and scary.
By Eureka! 💡8 years ago in Poets
Time
Perhaps you really aren't evil But instead just slow to show That the beauty you have given Is one that most will never know.
By Jerilyn8 years ago in Poets
I Used to Dream...
I Used To Dream. I used to dream of white picket fences... A wide open space where a castle was built. A princess to be my queen in a world of beauty...
By Steven Baldry8 years ago in Poets
The Quiet Young Elf Lady
Deep in the woods Under a tree, sits a young elf lady. Her long black hair blows in the wind, dappled in light and shade.
By Alissa Cassel8 years ago in Poets
The Atlantic Stole My Glasses
We make it there just in time The air is full She yells for me to hurry Everything is wet She stops smiling to yell The face contorts
By Nicole Blake8 years ago in Poets
Furnace
Worried for our concerns as they continue to crave a Listener, How have we, somehow, become slaves to a Prisoner? Again and again with your entitlement,
By Michael avant8 years ago in Poets
Bad Habits, Die Young
Hold out your hand because I'm in the palm of it. You're a bad habit And I'll die young because of it. Alone between the walls
By K.R Coughlan 8 years ago in Poets
Blank Canvas Syndrome
I'm sorry if I seem unkind It's just my own worry I talk and talk to push that boat out from Bewilderment Harbour It doesn't matter what I say
By K.R Coughlan 8 years ago in Poets
The Color Wild
She sat, feeling the soft sand between her toes and a cold glass bottle of wine in her palm. Portraits formed by tiny, brilliant dots painted themselves on the black sky.
By Sarah Taliaferro8 years ago in Poets