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.

Gritty
You ever felt a bullet in the head? You ever seen a dead baby in the arms of a little kid, and had it rubbed in your face for months? what a joke... You ever been told there is no right or wrong? Made to believe it yet known it's not on, right, and completely wrong? Good laugh... Felt yourself get sliced up against your wishes? Well I'm glad I haven't! Been told we were finding you peace? Well I'm glad I wasn't! To quote a poet, in a song I heard, 'Every body hurts sometimes.' To quote an organisation in a book I read '...' Sorry that's forbidden! To quote a yellow legend 'It wasn't me!' Maybe the last one shouldn't have gone down, but the first one never did...
By Phillip Haycock8 years ago in Poets
Top of the World
Standing on the edge people look like ants scattering everywhere the view below is astounding the canal with small boats
By Dana Sheridan8 years ago in Poets
Songbird
I hear an angel calling "Songbird, where are you?" And I look around Knowing in my soul She calls For me An Angel of the Moon
By Samantha Reed8 years ago in Poets
Awaken the Angel
All by myself, I changed the way I looked at my Daddy once more. All by myself, I mended the scars that were invisible. All by myself, I ran into that dark tunnel.
By Stéphanie Escorial8 years ago in Poets
Silence and the Devil
I've never been as happy the way the sun sets, and the moon wraps itself in a laso of stars. My home never home, the way my bags are
By Alexia Villanueva8 years ago in Poets
Song of Myself
I’ll have anything that keeps me whole. I can no longer rely on self — self-love, self-loathing… sacred self. Always loving, always leaving, always returning to this familiar square one. It’s just as well — the offspring of my urges — the burial shroud.
By Alex Huey8 years ago in Poets
Other Worldly
We wish to speak to the dead. Mom? Dad? Are you there? You passed on the red lantern to light my way through life without you two. I wear my dad’s shirt and my mother’s robe, your smells intertwine and rush into my nose. I’ve never felt more at peace, more at home. The broom behind me are my responsibilities as the oldest of my generation. No one is there to guide me. My life’s in my own hands, and for the first time, I am free. I have become obsessed with the idea of freedom. My door is cracked open to free the demons trapped in my room. I punched a hole in the wall to free the Titans that live in them. Mom? Dad? I’m ready to set you free.
By Jacqueline Schroth8 years ago in Poets
Angry
Angry. Like a fire storming through a forest Roaring, stronger and stronger Like a team of brave men You desperately throw water
By Jen Kozak8 years ago in Poets
Paradox Green
I don’t suppose trees are green Trees are purple Yellow Blue even But not green Green trees would be too normal Not normal
By Morgan Mcgarey8 years ago in Poets
In a Foreign City
Beneath your feet the pavement feels wild in a foreign city. You stumble along the snaking lanes, twisting this way and that, hoping that it will lead you
By Charli Finch8 years ago in Poets
Starlit Sky
One in the morning on a Sunday night breeds sensations that can never exist at any other point in a single cycle of the sun and moon. Silence, predominantly, is deafening. Shoes padding along graveled roads, pebbles peppering the ground like they were mimicking the stars in the sky. The soft whispers of frogs croaking, crickets chirping, and cicadas whizzing are a music unheard by the bed-dwellers tucked safely in their sheets inside a darkened house nearby.
By Kerrigan Herret8 years ago in Poets
Regret of the Eternal
Though I meant no harm, many have perished. The orders I gave to bring unity only brought despair. Grasping the child's hands as they lay suffering before me, O' what sorrow hath I wrought unto all, what malice came forth from my ambition. I meant no destruction, death, or despair, yet I brought to this Eden the fires which rage in me. Now my tears fall to the crimson stained ground, now I walk forever entangled by the darkness within me. Eternally alone, till my fate hath come to take me away, back to the pits of ash and flame from which I was born.
By Nick May8 years ago in Poets