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.
REEEEEEEEE!
I'm on a low road right now. There are a literal million things to do and not one of them worth my time. I would rather sit in place and burn but the orbit takes me on its inevitable route 'round the center; and I a center in my own right, around which others orbit, and so on and so forth, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.
By C. Rommial Butlerabout 2 hours ago in Poets
War In A Paperweight
1/16/26 2:22pm The season is somehow closing and only halfway through and I wonder how much longer we’ve got to endure this war before it’s time to hang up our garments and down a pitcher of billion dollar oil and everyone I know is posting the same videos of women and children being killed by faceless agents but at least I’ve got some syntax to sip and swallow and a simile that slides down like an IV drip in a senior citizen who wanders around an artisanal historical museum with newly plated directional signs mounted just for him because it’s easier to make this one last than to do anything profound or worth writing in a historical script but don’t even worry about it because they’ll pass another law to recount every murder a victory and wouldn’t you like to look back on all these gourds half-squashed and half-witted? It’s all halves it seems and maybe that’s all there is for now but I like to think that sometime it’ll make a whole and maybe it looks a little different than we thought but it’ll have a nice weight to it and the neighbors will keep their windows open when the breeze picks up and we won’t be scared to travel or walk alone or drive next to an unmarked vehicle and maybe it looks like time lost but at least the future is full of seasons that bring more than flurries of hate and maybe it’ll even give everyone a face and a name and somewhere to place the rage that has been slowly coursing through our arms and legs for nearly a (admittedly non chronological) decade and maybe it’s going to be twisted and torn apart like vegetables from their roots but maybe that’s the price we have to pay for a little bit of peace. Half a handful of peace is worth a lot these days. Let’s put ours together.
By Olivia Dodgeabout 17 hours ago in Poets
Diaries to Nietzsche
"He who lives with a void can forge his own why, and from it shape any how." Yet while the world is consumed by distraction, a man sits crafting his soul with his mind. What they call madness becomes an explosion — and that explosion becomes the evolution of a century.
By LUCCIAN LAYTHa day ago in Poets
To Sail On The Seven Seas (With Cats)
This is a poem for my Muse to hopefully make her laugh, I love hearing her laugh. Was trying to graft The Owl and The Pussycat, The Iliad, and Jason and The Argonauts in an act of poetic madness so chose a vague Limerick form.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred a day ago in Poets
