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Romantic Social Poems | Social Poems About Romantic

These Romantic Social poems are examples of Social poems about Romantic. These are the best examples of Romantic Social poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Verse |

Secretly Obsessed

Obsessed with the thought of you
wondering if it's only me or
if you sometimes remember the sweet things you've said
and if you meant them how I took them
or if I'm just obsessed with what's in your head

Obsessed with your very sentences
Every response I take personal
I know it's selfishness
Have you not noticed my eyes?
They hold secrets that only you can unlock
if you'd just take time to fill the thick juices of my pride
It's just boiling with lust, passion, trust and distrust
and other things I obsess over so much

I find myself writing to free myself from this prison I've created
where only you and I reside
I become confused about what I'm really feeling inside and I 
try to rid the thoughts that are highly debated as false and I
begin to cry and
think of casting love spells so that the universe can deliver this affair
I know it's unfair
but I don't care

I'm obsessed with what hasn't happened between us
I'm obsessed with your heart and that the fact that 
I don't think you've even noticed my selfish innuendos 
and secret undertones that blatantly express my lust
Or maybe you have and you calmly remain in resistance of distrust 
If you could only read my mind by simply touching my fingertips,
I'm sure I'd catch you out the corner of my eye biting your bottom lip
I'm obsessed with the passion and thoughts I think you have
Obsessing over an experience that I may never have....






Details | Rhyme |

The Right Thing to Do

Written 7 March 2014
-------------------------------------

Bruce and Jennie, both were 10,
Had been playmates all their lives.
One day, Bruce proclaimed,
“Jennie… most good men have wives.”

He professed his love for her.
Jennie said she loved him too.
They decided that getting married
Was ‘the right thing’  to do.

So, Bruce went to speak to her father,
Who was doing yard work at the time.
“May I speak to you, Mr. Johnson?”
“Sure, Bruce. What’s on your mind?”

“Sir, I love your Jennie;
And Jennie, she loves me;
But we need your permission
To be married… to be “We.”

Impressed by Bruce’s courage,
He knew this confrontation must be tough.
He smiled and asked, “Bruce, are you sure
You love my daughter enough?”

Bruce’s face became stern, he said,
“Mr. Johnson, let me tell you…
I love Jennie so much…and she loves me.
We’re both sure it’s the right thing to do.”

He was moved by Bruce’s ardor,
But permission was not his to give.
So, quick as flash, he responded,
“But Bruce…where will you live?” 

“Sir, I measured her room;
Then I measured mine.
Hers is 40 percent bigger.
We’ll live there.  We’ll be fine.

If we have extra stuff,
We’ll keep that in my room.
We’ll keep our places neat and tidy.
You won’t even need a broom.

And both our parents can save money 
On babysitters too.
Even if you do things on the same night,
You’ll only need one sitter, not two.”

Mr. Johnson was impressed with his logic,
But this marriage idea was no longer funny.
He smiled and said, “That’s good thinking, Bruce;
But what are you gonna do for money?

“Why, Mr. Johnson, I get twelve-fifty a week allowance;
And let me remind you, Jennie also gets ten.
Throw in our birthdays and Christmas cash….
Why, we might even have money to lend.”

Desperate now, he thought, 
“Next, I guess they’ll want a car.”
Then he asked, “But Bruce, what if you have kids?”
"Aawww," blushed Bruce... “We’ve been lucky so far.”
 


Details | Light Poetry |

ONCE AGAIN THANK YOU

I was just trying to remember the past
 trying to remember the good people
 and the bad people,
 that i came across on my way,

i want you to know
that you are among the good people
 that left a good trace in my life,

once again i just want to say thank you
for passing through my life,
is so short but is wonderful
i want you here forever.


Details | Romanticism |

Passionate Desire

Sex……
Joyful, deep, Healing,…..
Two bodies joining
In sound and movement-
Flowing, discovering,  knowing…..
Connected
In an erotic  fantasy of
Exhilaration and heat-
Drunk by the fumes
of sexual odor
surrounding  their erotic world.
Passion, excitement, fulfillment,
Ecstasy, rejoicing, relief,
Rejuvenation , rapture, harmony,
Lust, bliss, happiness, recognition,
Union, love…..
This is the erotic life.
Sex……
Power, control, strength, weakness-
Unyielding, and out of control-
And then control……..
Two bodies, skin drowned
In the scent of sweat and passion.
Moving in perfect rhythm of the universe-
Reaching the peak of their
Volcanic erotic passionate expolsion…..
And then collapsing ,
melting, embracing……
Soaked, labored breathing,
rapid heartbeats
Intimately connected-
Sexual erotica—
Moments of timeless pleasure. 

SEX…….. 
Want it!!

© Amada Gonzalez


Details | Rhyme |

A Very Inviting Temptation

A Very Inviting Temptation! I remember of a particular situation. I was offered a very "inviting" temptation. The situation I was in... I didn't belong! And lost any sense of "right and wrong." At first... I felt no guilt or shame. And brought embarrassment to my family's name. I tried to explain this to my wife and kids. I heard; "Dad... please... no more fibs!" The Godly principles were "tossed to the side," As the sin inside caused arrogance and pride. Soon, all in my life that truly mattered... Was gone! My life was empty and shattered! I was sorry for all of the problems I caused! This time... I took a moment to pause. I cried to God to rescue me from my sin. I confessed! Would God help me once again? I read in the Bible of Jesus’ grace and love! This time the help I needed had to come from above! I asked him for a fresh and brand new start. He removed the stain from a broken heart. He restored to me the joy I once had. I'm so blessed! Jesus has made me glad! Jesus is the reason I'm here today! I LOVE HIM more than words can say! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Sonnet |

What's Cooking Good Looking

with muse in hand
a romantic longing is the plan
dinner at eight
I hope he won't be late

sherry filled to the rim
soft music for us to spin
candles on the mantel
slight ring of dinner bell

waft of curry stuffed chops
and potatoes creamy and hot
buttermilk biscuits on the side
and dessert for which he decides

this is how mom said to get to a mans heart
with a romantic dinner from the very start



Tribute To Romance
{MIO}


Also Entry For
Laura Mckenzie's
A Romantic Longing Contest

GL All


Details | Rhyme |

The halo effect

If there is one thing I remember
It is what life told
Just open your eyes
All that glisters may not be gold
So who is to blame and whose fault I hold
The halo effect, the one in disguise
Manifesting deception in front of thy eyes
Treat one different because of their look
Why read? Judge the cover of the book?
But you do read others because they don’t have the look
If you understand, how long has it took?
The halo effect, we magnify a trait
Condone the flaws, we magnify a trait
Attractiveness, is this what you mean?
All this talk, my perception a feign?
What I see, aint what it seem?
Huh, thanks for this, as well as that.
The halo effect, my mind was hacked. 


Details | I do not know? |

The Petty Posh-WahZee - Liberation and Ostentation



The Petty Posh-Wahzee - Liberation & Ostentation


The Not-So Distant Past:

The fallen fighters for freedom, are unable to turn in their graves,
their battered, fragmented bones, mixed with a handful of torn rags,
are all that remain, a mute reminder of their selfless valiant sacrifice.

They endured brutal Apartheid harassment, detentions without trial,
torture in the cells, and mental anguish when loved ones disappeared,
they left their homeland, to continue the struggle against racial bigotry,
while countless others fought the scourge of white-minority rule at home.

Nelson Mandela and many, many others, spent their lives imprisoned,
on islands of stone, and on islands of the cruellest torture, yet they stood,
never bowing, never scraping, they stood, firm for ideals for which they were prepared to die,

and many, many comrades did die, at the hands of the callous oppressor,
and many, many comrades perished in distant lands, torn from their homes,
while the struggle continued, for decades, soaked in blood, in tears, in pain.


The Present:

19 years have passed, since freedom was secured at the highest of prices,
delivering unto us, this present, a gift of emancipation from servitude,

a freedom to walk this land, head held high, no longer second-class citizens,
in the land of our ancestors, whose voices we hear and need to heed today.

I do not care much for fashion, Lewis-Fit-On and Sleeves unSt.-Moron,
yet the ostentation that I witness baffles even my unsophisticated palate,

our ancestors' plaintive whispers are being dismissed, left unheeded, as
we browse the aisles for more and more, always for more and yet more.

Asphyxiated by the excess of the Petty Posh-Wahzee, we find ourselves,
perched precariously on the edge, of a dissolution of all that is humane,

babies go hungry, wives are battered, our elders left in hospitals for hours,
I cringe as I scribble these words, perhaps too sanctimonious and preachy,

yet I know, deep in the marrow of my brittle bones, I know, I know, I know,
this tree of freedom planted by the nameless daughters and sons of Africa,

needs to be shielded, nurtured, protected from our very own baser impulses,
so that the precious tree of freedom, may bear the fruit that may feed us all,

for if not, then we are doomed, to tip over, and into the yawning abyss, we shall fall.








Details | Verse |

I like your love

I like your love
It's pure, it's innocent
and I don't think I've seen this before

You replenish my reserves before it's necessary 
you lift my wings up and 
make me superior to my adversary 
Creatively providing the exact amount of 
what I need to go another day
I like your love
and for as long as you'll have me I'll stay

You make me comfortable in my space
What she share cannot be replaced
with any other type of love
be it artificial or tainted or lustfully blatant 
Those illusions don't exist because
we found this love and we claimed it

I cherish those nights when I scratch your head
When you sit between my thighs and I twist your dreads
We become an us that is so pure
that the spring waters question the purity of it's source
I like your love - it's a divine force


Details | I do not know? |

For Bruce Springsteen

for bruce springsteen...


it was a rain-swept monsoon day

way back then, so many moons away

when i felt the music strumming in my veins

setting me free like a runaway horse without any reins

you sang of simple truths, 

your verse spoke to people just like me

in my lonely, wasted, and desolately quiet night

as you screamed out tragic human wrongs, and of everyone's plight

'bobby jean' spoke to me

of that girl down the street

glimpses of whom, we as innocents would furtively meet

and 'the river' that flowed through my ever-barren heart

led me down further roads of thunder

when slowly i finally learnt that the hardest part was fighting on

and never to surrender

to the hard-luck dreams that were born to run

while i danced in the dark 

with memories vivid and stark

even as i whined like that dog who for forever lost his howling bark

and then a 'human touch' came along

and 'better days' seemed real, not just words in a song

and still you sang and swayed and spoke straight into my unseeing eyes

as gardens of secrets were opened, and as your fist punched the skies

in an anger that i too felt and in whose cauldron i too burned

as we saw murder get incorporated, while on its wobbly axis, our fragile world apathetically turned

and then suddenly i was told that i was all grown up

working on a highway of scattered ideals

and absolving myself by sprinkling some coins in a waiting cup

well, after all these years of walking along so many a thorny road

with an armour of your verse covering me, even as i hear them taunt me and even as they continue to goad

but now i can feel myself fading away, into the bleakness of this coming night

just like the ghost of that old tom joad...


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