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.

We Live What Needs to be Lived
Was life even intended to be lived? All the rollercoaster rides we face each day. Were people meant to handle all this? Violence, sadness, but then the flowers of May.
By Crissy DXCII8 years ago in Poets
Me and the Beast
I was an animal a wild creature with nothing but the Beast inside me. I was a rusting anchor tucked in the bosom of the reefs
By Ella8 years ago in Poets
That's Love
He’s never thought of Hannibal as being capable of love. ‘Cause like most of us he probably had love put off on a kind of pedestal, as an idea, a more perfect thing, as he made the awful realization ‘Oh crap, maybe this thing I’m feeling is like love’. It’s so dirty and awful and… you know… I don’t know. I’m basically making this up on the spot, but that would be my answer for why he might not have arrived at or realized that thought. Because look at Hannibal and you could be like… nice suits, great kitchen, great conversations, nice hair, you know, but you wouldn’t go anything like… ‘Wow, what a loving guy’.— Hugh Dancy about why Will didn’t realize that Hannibal was in love with him sooner than Season 3.
By Alexia Villanueva8 years ago in Poets
She Ate Him
She ate him. He was vast, truly sodden with juice. Fresh, clustered vibrancy. He adorned the Fruit bowl. He kept his root
By Rachel Oyawale8 years ago in Poets
F Oo L i S H N E sS
As the dead dissolves into dust, roses form rising out of the ground. while foolishness walk about plucking each rose she can find. vanity pleads with her, all of this is pointless.
By B O R E D iN C H A Os8 years ago in Poets
Qualia
There's always some element of writing That just doesn't translate How do I adequately describe An ethereal and drawn-out vocalisation
By A. R. Ambrosi8 years ago in Poets
OCD
Tick. I straightened my row of pencils for the umpteenth time. Tick. I picked up my old leather bag and stroked the fraying hem of the handle up and down
By Sophie Smith8 years ago in Poets
Prepare to Be
Life is Medusa Too beautiful to be Curves that turn you to stone Words like snake oil Don't look right at her Lest you're shot down
By Soft Duckie8 years ago in Poets
The City Knows
jumping on the bandwagon, with the promises that have been given. worry condenses and tries to pulse through. the bustling street, blurred images and colors
By Abigail Van Huis8 years ago in Poets
Loss
This is a tale that may have been told in different ways and in many tongues. Of a child, varying in age pending on the teller of tales.
By Joy Ergang8 years ago in Poets
Fire Witch
Her hair is flame Her eyes volcanic ash Rays of glorious sunshine fill her aura Cleansing Burning away what does not belong
By A. R. Ambrosi8 years ago in Poets
The Window
Open windows become terrifying when they release the concealed and invite freedom. As I stared out, into the abyss of the night sky; darkness held its gaze, boring into my soul. It wasn’t a judgemental gaze so much as purposefully inquisitive. Why was I so afraid of its confrontation? A question I realised resonated with a sensitive layer of my heart.
By Stacey Bee8 years ago in Poets