Best Surreal Poems | Poetry
Below are the all-time best Surreal poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of surreal poems written by PoetrySoup members
Search for Surreal poems, articles about Surreal poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Surreal poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.
New Surreal Poems
Don't stop! The most popular and best Surreal poems are below this new poems list.
It's So Surreal
by Ellison, Jack
by del fierro, jay
WHEN TIME IS SURREAL
by cooper, jack
by Miltz, Daniel
A Surreal Dream
by Pinet, Emile
A Surreal Dream and Message
by Dabbs, Marqese
This is my surreal
by Raynes, Lewis
Everything Turns Surreal
by Pinet, Emile
Surreal and Daft
by Babbit, DM
Surreal and Daft
by Dietrich, Andrea
View all new Surreal Poems
The Best Surreal Poems
Two have a secret , of touchy and feel
Hearing about it, and how it was surreal
Two people who spent grown up time
With rivers to swim, and mountains to climb
Telling the Raven, she's afraid it won't last
Saying don't worrry, dont live in the past
Strangers became friends, in a grown way
Will it now continue , or just be for that day
Telling the Raven , no lover could compare
And no one needs know, of the sultry affair
Time continues as always, only time will tell
As it did then igniting ,every last nerve cell
Said it was hours , well into that night
To wake and continue, again was just right
Stories told the Raven, had me even blush
And their secret is safe, the Raven says hush
Safe it will remain , but I just had to write
What i as the Raven had seen, while in flight
Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2017
Late October moon is waking, through this cemetery shaking,
shaking as the cold wind breaking, walking ‘neath an old oak tree.
Stones like sentries undertaking, guarding graves as hearts are aching,
aching for the still ones staking, such an eerie sight to see –
dark and dreary, I’m so leery, such an eerie sight to see –
is this but a reverie?
In the graveyard shadows shimmer, dark of night is growing dimmer,
dimmer still without a glimmer, shadows ‘round the old oak tree.
Shadows dancing ever nearer, nearer still and getting clearer,
clearer like distorted mirror, twisting ghastly sight to see –
growing vastly, looming lastly, such a ghastly sight to see –
certainly a reverie?
Piercing sounds are penetrating, ear drums deafening pulsating,
ringing louder, devastating, echoes off the old oak tree.
Echoes bouncing screeching grating, ever louder agitating,
instigating, fears creating, from this ghoulish sight to see –
Am I mulish, maybe foolish, such a ghoulish sight to see –
surely just a reverie?
In the dark my head is spinning, round and round these sights imprinting,
fusing on my brain beginning, questioning my sanity.
All these sights and sounds are weighing, weighing as the ghouls are playing
playing as they do their preying, preying on my vanity –
I am praying, ghouls are swaying, preying on my vanity –
have I lost my sanity?
Eerie night just seems persisting, lasting as my mind is twisting,
waiting for daylight’s assisting, lighting up the old oak tree.
Eerie sights and sounds now fading, dark of night for daylight trading,
light of day is now invading, leaving me to clearly see –
seeing nearly, life so dearly, oh so clearly now I see –
must have been a reverie…..
or have I lost my sanity?
July 26, 2018
Contest: Any July 2018 Poem
Sponsor: Dear Heart aka Broken Wings
Copyright © John Gondolf | Year Posted 2018
Pirate women permeate my spaces.
They are fierce and fabulous.
You dare not lie to them.
They will cut you to shreds, with their swords.
Cut you to ribbons.
I do not crouch in fear.
I created them.
They are ruthless, savage,
out for blood.
Thirsty for it.
I walk their planks proudly.
Eager for the drowning
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018
I BUTTON THE SHUTTERS HIGH AND LOW,
AS HIGH STRONG WINDS BEGIN TO BLOW.
A NIGHT OF TERROR BEFORE MY EYES,
AS DARK GRAY CLOUDS HAVE FILLED THE SKIES
I MAKE READY THE FIREPLACE TO PROVIDE SOME HEAT.
TO WARM THE HOUSE AND MY FEET.
I TAKE TO MY CHAIR WITH AN UNCORKED BRANDY.
MY RAINCOAT AND BOOTS STAND BY HANDY.
LIGHTNING STRIKES AS THE CLOCK STRIKES TEN.
A NIGHT OF HORROR HAS YET TO END.
I READ MY NOVEL TO PASS THE NIGHT.
THIS STORM SHOULD SUBSIDE BY MORNING LIGHT.
POURING RAIN KNOCKS AT THE DOOR.
A DRAFT CREEPS IN AROUND THE FLOOR.
FULL FIERCE WINDS NOW PREVAIL
AND BRING WITH THEM BALLS OF HAIL.
SWIRLING WINDS RIP THE SHUTTER FREE.
A DEADLY STORM IN PURSUIT OF ME.
THUNDEROUS ROARS COME AND GO.
A FULL MOON LIT WITH A STRANGE DARK GLOW.
HOWLING WINDS RATTLE THE GLASS.
ICE COLD RAINS WATER THE GRASS.
AT 4 AM I POUR A BRANDY.
I GRAB MY FLASHLIGHT I KEEP HANDY.
I CHECK THE HOUSE FOR SUDDEN LEAKS.
THIS WICKED STORM HAS REACHED IT'S PEAK.
OUTSIDE THE WINDOW A NICE SURPRISE.
ON THE HORIZON A NEW SUNRISE.
LIGHTS ARE OUT, THROUGHOUT THE TOWN.
CLEARING SKIES SEEM INBOUND.
THIS WICKED STORM LOOKS TO PASS.
BUT NOT BEFORE LEAVING A TREE ON MY GRASS.
ONE MORE BRANDY I SHALL POUR.
BEFORE I OPEN MY FRONT DOOR.
NOW THAT THE STORM HAS GONE AWAY.
I'LL ASSESS THE DAMAGE THROUGHOUT THE DAY.
Copyright © Michael E. Harris | Year Posted 2016
Trying to hide in conspicuous places
a night on the town in their false, plastic faces.
Sweetly they sweep through magnificent halls,
top-dollar galas and masquerade balls --
where always the wine is more bitter than sweet,
each girl wishing for love in her ruby-clad feet.
Perhaps scarecrows are thoughtful, and lions are brave,
and the tin-men know passion, such a boisterous parade
of hopeful young suitors, each waiting his chance
to find a young lady and win her last dance.
All tied up as prisoners with satin-silk chains
they listlessly dance as the hope from them drains.
A piano-man plinks only on the black keys:
pentatonic winds on a pentatonic breeze,
still not enough blowing to carry balloons
or to start raining houses from cyclic typhoons.
The evening draws on -- long beyond the moon’s rising,
a faint glinting of green from the city’s disguising
the envious looks in the eyes of the witches
and harsh threatening gales of the wind as it switches.
And no one is happy, none are finding their prize --
no one knows what they want, nor removes their disguise.
So the dancing is pointless, bravado is hollow
no wizardly magic can fix what will follow.
Shallow connections that lead nowhere, and quickly
the ballroom grows quiet, the witches grow prickly
the lions go fleeing, the scarecrows are clueless,
the tin-men don’t care, and that makes them the cruelest
For out in the public, among all the noise
some girls have gone missing -- and so have some boys
and in the dark shadows, all knew what occurred
but they whisper and gossip, and spread what they heard:
that it must have been mutual, it must be alright
they’re both grown adults, let’s not be so uptight.
And thus they all hide, in conspicuous places
enabling the culprits with false, plastic faces.
Copyright © The Grahamburglar | Year Posted 2016
It started with a cup.
The cup turned into a bottle.
The bottle made an addiction.
Addiction morphed into violence.
Violence grew into destruction.
Destruction Destroyed reason.
The reason delivered abuse.
Copyright © Kennediey gray | Year Posted 2017
a man invisible
but for his wit
landed on my world
lightly it seemed
until he left
Copyright © PATRICIA CRESSWELL | Year Posted 2017
my Sun is Orange
my morning Sun is orange
The yellow is stained
with the Blood of my People
for that is what we
are reminded of
when it rises from the East
to greet the world
i see my world
we once lived with a hope
that the atrocities of Hate
would go away
but it did not
my hope has been misplaced
and i can not remember
where i have set it down
it might have been that day
i lost my arm
or that day
when my Father was jailed
or that day
when my Sister was killed
she was only 3
no, i think i lost my hope
my Mother no longer cried
her eyes have been dry
for many a year now
by some grace
she still has enough love in her
to hug me
once in a while
through that pained smile
that still adorns her face
just so she won’t completely break
there is a noise i hear
it is a loud silence
that stays with me
through my callousness
for the gunfire
and the bombs
and the screams
i can not hear them
they have long ago
assaulted and killed
the dreams of my Family
and it is now working on
where is the sanity
in this methodology
to be found
every day is “Ground Zero”
where i live
every where i look
i see Ground Zeros
and we have lost count
of those who
are no more
because of what you call War
but you and i
never had a dispute
that i know of
If so, please tell me what i did wrong
to cause you harm
that you should exact such wretchedness
and others like me
i know not of the Politics
of it all.
i have never met a Politician
are they so different
than we the people ?
if it’s Oil
i give it to you
if it’s right
take it freely
i will not raise nor put my hand
of my Father’s children
there was a time
when all i thought of
finding Joy in my life
i have since given up that quest
for i see far too much
of that other stuff
which deserves not a name
my Sun is no longer Yellow
but i do pray my Brother
that yours is
my Sun is Orange
This is dedicated to all the Villages, Peoples across our Globe who must endure the Politics and Sickness of War.
© 1 July 2013 : william s. peters, sr.
Copyright © William Peters | Year Posted 2018
For This Is The Story, An Old Poet Sought Not To Miss
I've ate Eden's last apple, coveted Jason's* golden fleece
chained myself in caverns of darkness, begging no release
refused mighty crowns of power, fed myself painful feasts
crushed my beating heart, as if it were a ravenous beast.
I've tamed the lions of Serengeti, sailed around the Horn*
trekked unarmed, darkest jungles, where fiercest beasts are born
slain dragons with Sequoias, tossed Rock of Gibraltar*
walked in realms of Hades, spat upon its first altar.
I've outran Hermes*, sank my teeth deep into granite walls
sat beside Odin*, gave Thor's* first crown in Valhalla's* halls
wrestled mighty Minotaur*, its armored hide I ripped
stole the Nectar of the Gods*, laughed at them as I sipped.
I've shot Eurytus' bow*, killed Titans* with Heracles sword*
defeated dark Elf* armies, massacred Atilla's* first horde
swung Hammer of Hephaestus*, slept in Forest of Burzee*
trained Arminius army, taught them to show no mercy.
I've quenched Vesuvius fires, held lightning in my hand
flew bright skies over Asgard*, defended its precious homelands
swam with Undines*, feasted with beautiful Amphitrite*
fished with my friend Ao Qin*, dragon king of the Southern Sea.
I've seen this world of fantasy, inked its splendor in words
sailed in its oceans of love and flown with magical birds
dreamed in its word-paradise and found true love's deepest kiss
for this is the story, an old poet sought not to miss.
Robert J. Lindley
original version written , March 9th, 1977
edited/updated today- August 9th , forty-one years later
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2018
The last time I had seen this particular cousin of mine, I was still in college and he had a head full of hair. In between, there had been three funerals, two weddings and four births in our Trojan royalty of a family. I had been a university graduate for a year, and the prospect for a job, a decent one at that, had started to grow dimmer by the day. He asked, “Will you tutor my daughter?” “Yes!” I said. And we set out immediately. He, on his bike and I, on my motorcycle following him. We took a right turn at the famous landmark of the statue of demoness Putana, sitting on the grass with her bosom out and legs spread forward. He introduced me to his wife and daughter. Telling them to stand side by side, he told me, “She's only eleven, but look at her! Already equal in length and width to her mother, who is no delicate petal herself. Do you think you can teach her GK?”
The universe wasn't made with dissent. Plus, the chicken samosas were really delicious. I tried on a grin while the overachieving pre-teen bustled around the room showing me her accolades for painting, singing, studying. As I left he pointed at a tree, “Do you know what tree is that?”
“Bael?” I answered thoughtfully.
“Apple. That's an apple tree.”
“Oh! Does it bear fruits?”
“Not in this climate!” He laughed out loud.
Date: 30 / 11 / 2016
Contest: James Tate
Sponsor: Space Cadet
Copyright © Tamal Kundu | Year Posted 2016
May I dance with you now as ghosts ride by with the breeze,
and that old witch on her broom flies on by past the moon.
While big, black cats with green eyes stare at us from the trees,
we'll glide past jack-o-lanterns as we sway and we swoon.
This dark night sky is on fire with red moon's eerie glow;
silhouettes of the treetops and house roofs hug the sky
as the spirits surround us, in the darkness we know
we will dance, cheek to cheek, on this grand night, you and I.
Dance with me, come in closer as bats swirl all around;
all night creatures are watching as I hold you so tight.
While owls screech, my fangs pierce! I, Dracula, love the sound
of enjoying my blood feast this great Halloween night!
Yes! It is me, don't you see? Dance is done! I have won!
Sandra M. Haight
Contest: Halloween Scare
Sponsor: Russell Sivey
Rules: 13 lines, 13 syllables per line
169 syllables total checked with howmanysyllables.com
Contest: May I Dance With You
Sponsor: Galeo DS
Form: Anapestic Tetrameter
Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016
It was a homeless old man near a shoe store who fell asleep
He was so tired that nap turned to a sleep that was deep
A little boy walked passed with his mother and noticed that the old man had one shoe
He felt sad, “mother it’s something I just got to do!”
That little boy face was full of tears
His little heart grew big because he cared
He grabbed both of his mother’s hand and tightly grasped them leading her into prayer
After the short and quick prayer, “Mom I was just told to share.”
He had ten dollars from his allowances that he saved for weeks
His mother didn’t know what to say, she couldn’t even speak
Immediately he rushed in the shoe store and asked the clerk how much was that one black wing tip shoe
The clerk had a big smile and said it was thirty-two
Every customer and fellow employee gave money to make the little boy prayer come true
Instead of thirty-two dollars he now had sixty four
He quickly grabbed the shoe box and ran out the door
The little boy shook the old man out of his sleep and gave him the box
When the old man woke up his eyes was full of tears and he was shocked
Big crocodile tears rolled down his face
He grabbed the little boy and gave him the tightest embrace
The old man yelled, “This is the best gift yet!”
Some say the old man got up and danced until the sun set
Mark 12:30-31 (NIV) Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’[a] 31 The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[b] There is no commandment greater than these.”
Copyright © Jeffrey Lee | Year Posted 2016
Like a royal parade,
they waddled across
the well traveled thoroughfare
teeming with autos crawling to a stop;
otherwise road rage reduced to admiration.
The regal drake held his head high—his eyes
piercing straight ahead—oblivious to the traffic.
The obeisance of his trailing brace
reflected a solemn reverence to their chief.
A mother hen shot an evil eye to a baby Donald
who quickly got back in step before exiting onto
the dew laden emerald grass—Glistering.
With the aura of a spa for creatures
bearing wings or fins or tails, as well as feet,
the pond awaited them—one by one
quacking with pleasure as they entered.
As we mounted our bikes
to continue our ride, auto horns
began to honk and obscene words
abated the serene ambiance.
Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2017
Flames of desire mesmerize
Instantly provocative to tantalize
Recklessly smoldering embers stirred
Enticing arousal... seduction occurs
Stoking the fire again and again
No strings attached is only plan
Both have reasons to turn away
Smoke exhausts all reasons one day
Forbidden sex arouses all senses
Ghost voyeurs char pretenses
Once guilt and shame are activated
Hardcore explosions... incinerated
No strings attached cannot persevere
Fire leaves ashes of all we hold dear
Copyright © Susan Gentry | Year Posted 2016
Son remember this gentle kiss can hide filthyness of feature events
As I converse to his innocence
Our time spent precious in a world reckless hectic dieses infected
Praying he receive the message knowing his faith is tested
Make sure your hearts protected this world leaves you breathless if you let it
Never forget it pops said it when you realize in due time we have street cries
Don't be suprised truth they undermine hide slide lies make sure your on point Jackson five
They penilize those crossing lines decide to open wide
Supply masses their plans of genocide that's why mysterious people die
Classified chemical envasion replacing brain stimulation Intensifies sensation stem cell occupations
Secret military stations nations at war destroying creation
This is what you facing lust chaseing digital information generation
Be aware of were trust you placing food you tasting
F.D.A gets away everyday putting unhealth on shelf increasing wealth
Make sure to obtain knowledge of self
Welcome to the new world hope this conversation helps peace
Copyright © Street Cries | Year Posted 2017
are there no things
being aware of existence
look like this!
Copyright © daver austin | Year Posted 2016
My head is a monster my monster's a head
it's clawing and tearing my right mind to shreds
My heart is a devil, it fights just for hell
my lovesick affection is not doing well
My lungs are my prison, they keep me held in
they won't let me breath nor escape panic's din
My feet are my anchor, which should keep me from frowning
but anchors are not very helpful when drowning
Copyright © Anna Nomaly | Year Posted 2016
They call this condition, September blind.
Secret eyes peek from silky autumn-brown.
On lifting wisps of wind, her scent does find --
A head adorned with thorny, lovelorn crown.
In the warming wet; in our blissful smiles;
On banana-bikes; on mossy-rock shores --
Our union dropped by circumstantial trials
That divide one love into distant doors.
In space-time loops I will search forever --
And, once again, until that plain I find.
From nebulous clouds to Heaven's lever.
I sense her ... so near -- but, I cannot bind!
In-between two 'verses she lives and dies.
How does one cross those parallel skies?
September 1, 2016
English Sonnet 3 - Poetry Contest
Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016
Gone is the time to fear any omen
bubbling like a city of fine women
fate never assumes
as bad luck so fumes
the hour has come as life says amen.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2017
over well- worn tar
palpable loss pushes
a sable brush
dunked in dread
a furious deluge
blackens every inch
of familiar landscape
the still static blue horizon
making a meal
of unborn dreams
slaked only by
haul hope north
on strange soil
still dark hours
Copyright © April Johnson | Year Posted 2016
Have you ever heard tales of the weirdest things
Autumn leaves that fall in the midst of Spring
creepy two-headed toads
cats who sit on a commode
Devilish people pretending to have angel wings
Dogs that bark but sound more like mewing cats
In bright sunlight flying, a flock of Vampire bats
How many can you name
It's just a guessing game
Some things in life are so bizarre and that's that
written by Lin Lane
I wrote about saying goodbye
Some rejoiced, yet others did cry
It got poem of the day
Did it deserve it – no way!
I’ll be quiet when I say bye bye
written by Jan Allison
A rat getting burned for a slice of cheese
one legged dancer doing a striptease
the absurd, the aloof
snakes crawling on a roof
penthouse living with someone else's keys
written by Tim Smith
I'm not allowed to pet the cat
when I do he has a spat
leaving a mess
He puts it all on the mat
written by Russell Sivey
Copyright © Lin Lane | Year Posted 2017
With the rays of the sun I'll make her crown
With the fabric of space I'll make her gown
With the rings of Saturn I'll make her throne
With the universe for her stage may her reign
Long live the queen.
Written by Keith Edward Baucum
Copyright © Keith Baucum | Year Posted 2017
Hans and Liam caught in the depths of winter Hans is succumbing cold to the center He is sharpening his death spades Do you see the frost giant slowly coming for me He will cut me asunder with his blades They're snow drifts a grove with icicles in the trees I see an army of icy dwarfs all sparkling eyed Silver blue and fire they breathe I must disrobe before I burn inside It is the moonlit snow a cold fog beneath The snow queen has sent her stinging bees Her wintery eyes are set on me they do glow gold There is hope brother there is fire beyond the freeze and it is only flakes in the wind and not death’s cold
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2016
Powdery white, puffy cotton candy mountain clouds.
Blue watery blue skies a mile high.
Birds dancing by.
Sun sparkling, glistening beaming bright;
Luminous and radiant light.
Having experiential feeling,
1st Heaven like!
Copyright © Ronald A. Williams | Year Posted 2017
Beware the dawn of bitter light
Breaking bows of arcing flight
Casting sails full of schemes
Drifting, fading, lucid screams
Beware the myriad of twirling hues
Miles away from waking ruse
A brazen thief of peaceful bliss
Plunder, pillage, a devil’s kiss
Beware the day of hollow woes
Waning moonlight ivory doze
Longing for a wink of sleep
Touching, holding, you I keep
The fear of day, it haunts me so
For morrow comes and dreams must go
Copyright © Andreanna Escamilla | Year Posted 2017