Best Romanticizing Poems
O hearth of hypnotic language,
my moon in warm alphabets,
if to love you, I must drown,
and to move you, soul must listen,
let the heart trust the luminous
craft of compelling art,
where every stroke summons
liquid petals of ink to scribble
across cosmic walls
of constellations,
as this craving curates the essence
of timeless touch,
whilst jealousy becomes the flame,
burning ~ aching ~ wanting
to breathe poetic palpitations
in the fingertips of your addictive alchemy,
turning graphic graffiti
into a passionate storm
of alienated butterflies,
with abstractions of trembling textures
outlining the truth of temptation…
Yet I sleep with black dahlias
beneath my pillow, embroidered
with erased notes of metaphors,
dreaming of you and I,
catching polaroids of sunrise,
for every frozen blossom,
bathes in scarlet streaks
of awakening light,
as we remain more than just
a rhyme wrapped in dusks of darkness ~
we are the cascading colors
dancing as secrets I still bleed.
I am the crystal quartz,
chaotically calligraphing
charismatic thoughts
around the glass frames of your galaxies,
exhaling vivid visions,
inhaling what could be,
for I am a stargazer
romanticizing lilac thunder,
chasing cloudscapes of sparks,
lost in the afterglow of a dawn ~
draped in the gravity
of neon-silk verses…
you crawl the wicked shoreline
looking to begin
in sea-snail-soft surrender
curled on fours ~
courting the soprano’s sorcery
while skin of sky remains
chained to the esoteric externa
aching amidst love’s veins
caressing the curvaceous
corners ~ my clawed constant,
O perfect panacea
the pulse that throbs
in sync with
sage thunder ~
write to my soul
speak to the inner sibyl
tell my quiescent quill ~
I am right
you belong to the
deep prophetess poetry
of my heart tonight
reveal
the life-lane
receive
the addictive potion …
I know the tantalizing
terminology ~
the art of romanticizing rain
to tranquilize the fears
between petal-kohl clouds
turning vulnerability into
verses voluptuous
for I face the
heat of saffron stars
like a black dahlia
longing to be traced
without a word
to be learned as the
law of arced lines
I shall crown you king
in valleys of vibrance
where vines harmonize
my silhouette’s silence
igniting twilight limbs
pleading to obey
the river’s rhythm ~
fingers f l o w i n g
into warm interstellar field ~
trust, flagged and inked
like vertical vibratos …
Making Love Over the Rain
Have you ever made love on the beach in the sand?
Your mind is clear as white doves
fly above and the tides touch land
The melody is sweet
as your bodies stay in sync…
Making love over the rain
on this white sandy beach
Hear the rain coming down
as it hits the board walk;
No people in sight on this warm summer night
so the temptations are great…
making love over the rain
As your lips inter-lock so sweet
like the taste of great wine
Put a strawberry in the middle
Top it off, so divine
like you’re floating on cloud nine
The water dances off your bodies
to calm the fire down
The intensity is intriguing
as you’re breathing to the tempo
of the waves splashing
Up over your bodies
And this making love over the rain
has never been this exotic
Imaginations flowing
Daydreaming so intensely
Romanticizing the motions
of making love by this ocean
as we reach extreme inclinations
we can storm any weather
Cause’ we’re strong as the wind
as our bodies connect
like a parrot’s colorful feathers.
By: Aleasha A. Martin
We spoke of you today my dear
of times now long since passed
ah how quickly wound the years
the memories how vivid they last
I find myself romanticizing
the journey of our past
and wonder what the now would hold
had not your days slipped passed
It's funny how ones world can change
as if we'd ever been
the person that we see right now
from the view perceived back then
Some would say a true love story
never knows an end
yet change the cycle of a life
holding on then releasing again
So strange the way we second guess
the courses which we take
knowing still we can't undo
all the choices that we made
I sat a spell and talked to God
with offerings of tears
feeling robbed they turned to sobs
for those I miss no longer near
How I hate these emotional days
when your soul feels like still black water
feeling the bitter coursing through my veins
trying desperately to leave it at the alter
Enough of this poor me routine
questioning all the why's
I thank The Lord for the blessings received
and dress such grace in a smile
:-)
Welcome to spring!
Season of love and liveliness
Occasion of novel beginnings
And opportunities
In this realm of joy
Trees charmingly give birth
To new baby leaves
Flowers blossom
Spreading their sweet aroma
In the air
Rainbow shows up with a smile
Romanticizing the earth
Butterflies exquisitely
Waver everywhere
Birds sing along
Building their nest
Fireflies appear
As Tinker Bells
Rabbits run around
With jubilation
Chipmunks dance
With gratification
This is the time
When nature writes
Its own poetry
In a beautiful form
If you know how to die you know how to live.
Listen to Bryant
In the basement by the light bulb.
Live and Let Die
Let Me Die First.
(Release some air for the breathless)
Die with a whole heart, unbroken, unfixed
Die without orgasms
Die at 47--Depression
Die at ten and seven--Fell off the earth
Listen to O'Neill
I know this guy, I know his circles
I've inherited his gift/curse of
Seeing the insides of people through their pupils
Blue, Hazel, Brown, Black, they're all the same
They hate their lives but they don't show it
They sob sitting on the cold steel toilet
No periods, no commas, to hell with punctuation
There's no poetry, no fiction, no prose
Stop writing
Stop drinking your coffee and
Typing on your laptops
Stop your romanticizing
Nobody cares
The best have already been
You're only copycats and imitators and posers
Amateurs
The great ones dig deeper in the ground
Away from you
Read and don't write
Or
Do some math problems
"Everybody needs math nowadays"
Become a
Doctor or a
Stock broker
Or
Go turn to dust at your cubicle
Do some slothful American job
Communication Nation
Industrialization
Mechanization
Machines run the nation
People watch the machines
And wet themselves
And soil themselves
And ejaculate
Listen to Bob Dylan
Was this good enough for you
Poetry Soup, poetry.com, winningwriters.com?
Did it make the minimum amount of sense?
Was it modern enough for you?
You're just like the rest of the jungle
"Phonies"
"Conformists"
Praise be to Jean Marie Marchese,
And Tony Bush, and Deborah
Simpson and...Gods of the poetic universe
If only I were a Premier Member
Cinnamalls all in bloom
Their bright colors eliminate the gloom
Muffinflies buzzing around
Bumblesnake rattles a new sound
The razzle vines love to climb
They will reach the sky given time
The Bibiannas all purple, yellow, and red
Make sure all the birds are feed
The smell is tantalizing
Which leaves one fantasizing
With thoughts romanticizing
Of evenings scandelizing
The tigerphant lets off a sneeze
Due to the pollen in the breeze
The monkabear hangs from his knees
As he plays within the trees
The muskrays are in the sun
Dancing around and having fun
The wonkawils have no means
As they lay within the leaves
The water reaches the vines
Feeding flowers and creatures of all kinds
When the sun is right
The water sparkles so bright
This special garden grown just for you
A perfect place for two
With all the flowers in bloom
All covered in the morning dew
IN THE RAINBOW OF REINING JUSTICE
Red is the flowing blood of liberation;
Black is the blood that flows from arteries
of those systematically murdered and
denied justice by the systemic tools of
racism imposed upon hued lives walking,
running, driving, or merely standing still
in the land of the free and home of the brave.
Beneath its tarnished green hue, white
is the statue of liberty; and Ellis Island
welcoming stories tell tales of bigoted pride
that laid the foundation of founding fathers’
ease of documenting a declaration of racist
oppressive servitude of red-blooded blacks.
Thus became the red, white, and blue colors
of the racist inequality of an outlaw nation
with its counterfeit law and order legalities
that enabled it to nearly extinct one race and
enslave another—all in the name of liberty.
And while the written his-story of its startling
beginning has been a romanticizing saga of the
home of the free and equality for all, the truth
of such molded lies has been shattered upon the
red, white, and blue anvil of God’s promised justice.
Today, a rainbow cultured determined people—
energized with unique fueling of peace and love—now
seek to sterilize a recovering nation of its bigoted systemic
racist infestation; and remove from its socio-economic and
political systems, remaining cancerous tumors of varied hate.
Separation only looks so sweet,
And tantalizing, when I slice your meat.
Romanticizing crimson glistening,
You plead to god, but is he listening?
Crazed focus guides me down your curves,
I live for giving you what you deserve,
A rough spank, and a yank on the curls,
You're not one of those material girls-
your life matters, so I'll make this sweet.
I've got in store quite the torturous treat..
A light prick is all you'll feel at first,
I'll numb your pain, but the sound is worse..
The sharp grinding of a saw meeting bone,
I grow erect by the vibrating tone.
I wipe your tears, post-fornication,
your fingers will need lubrication...
I move your hand -rather, my hand now,
Across your breasts, then I caress down,
extend two fingers from your severed hand,
Then slide them both into your **** gland.
To think, you could've just at stayed home,
But no, you'd rather walk the streets alone.
Your pretty, pampered life became a bore,
You wanted thrill, and now? You're still my whore.
You saw me sitting there all by myself,
It was too easy, in my lap, you fell.
You weren't impervious to my sly charm,
We wined and dined, I never raised alarm.
My nervous smile left you quite disarmed,
You didn't think that I could do you harm.
I kissed your neck, and you tilted your head,
Just enough to weave my needles thread.
I caught a glimpse of vein in the moonlight,
Your reaction was a lustrous sight.
You flopped and kicked but it was far too late,
So now you're here, on this endless date.
Don't worry darling, I never make haste.
I won't let any of you go to waste.
When I think of her,
the metaphors behind my eyes
start to bleed.
Veins pulse in rhythms of her
inconsistent smile.
There is no heartbeat in
these words, I've flat-lined.
...Ghostly similes hover over what
I have failed to define.
Romanticizing phantom touch,
burning throughout the hallows;
like the memories that have
been the only warmth in this
deserted bed.
Metaphors..
are all that I have left,
I let them drip onto my skin
and wipe away the color.
This.
Is Finally.
Black and White.
The stories I've
read; and said:
I couldn't, wouldn't ever
deal with are tragedies
that have become my
living scripture
and I recite my scattered
psalms to a vivid picture
of a beauty that left me behind.
But I have loved,
and so I have lived.
There is no metaphor in that.
It is the black, and the white,
the story of my life;
My smiling tragedy.
...I can smile
because every drop,
every bloody metaphor,
every aching syllable
has been worth feeling the embrace
of what is now so cold.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
Well now, beneath the darkest realms
In nightmarish gists, I am the one
Who instills fear and in putrescence I dwell
In variety, isocheimal ulteriority is all I've done
Laureled with the metallic lustres of death
And shining with the fires of vengeance
Animosity is the origin of my libellous wreaths
Where you see hearts of the women I've broken dearest
Sultrily I coax the likes of you in my irresistible hazards
Scarcely liminal of you towards my tinge of ominous transience
In my vegete facade, my words flow like the romanticizing Haggard
And contemptuously strike you down in my own baleful omnipotence
What a naive fille you are, my dejected little princess!
To be easily deluded by a beguiler with a stunning visage
In your ruptures, I ecstatically drown myself in your distress
Beneath woos and charming signals of temperament are the vicious lures of a savage.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is a response to: http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/a_princess_cry_604227
one eye on the fall and the other one is missing
,do you see your mortality as a reflection that your still resisting
,ashamed of all your bitter pills and hopeless failures,
keep kicking yourself in vapor choking jailhouse capers
,drying out your eyes and drowning your thoughts
,blinding emotions monotone feelings you've bought
,the only tragedy is that you cant get past the lost pride,
your still digging your own grave and ignoring your own lie,
i wish i could pull out your spine and show you collapse,
romanticizing your death i feel you might finally shut your own trap
,finally hearing the wind again and awake in the dark
,i will admire this fear and immortalize the spark
while at work, droning through the 9 to 5,
or the 10-12 hour beat down for us unlucky saps
the jaws of the shark come crushing down
bringing waves of pain through remembrance
a place in the past that provides a better feeling
than the current predicament &
so many questions arise, like putting oneself on trial,
where the “who, where, how & why” end up fizzled with
the overall “what” that happened---
here is the warmth of the moments that will not leave,
that one wishes never to erase, all jumbled up in a cruel
conglomerate with those that could be gotten rid of---
or is it that we romanticize the past?
might it be true that the “best of times” which we dwell in,
wading round with, as if in a luxurious jacuzzi,
were in fact not as perfect as we pretend that they were &
since there are no witnesses present to corroborate this new line of
questioning, there is no new evidence to submit---
it is still all hearsay & yet the indictment should be made,
the self looks around at what it truly has become, regardless of
what it thinks happened in the past &
if it is honest with itself, the self wants to press charges---
yes, this criminal, who with sinister shifty eyes walks amongst the
many quarrelling selves within,
has no morals,
has no objective &
seeks only to create fantasy---a fantasy which can prove to be quite
damaging,
given the right extension of time, where the memories that one
believes they have, finally take over---
people clench onto piles of pictures full of groups of people that they will
never see again &
they spend all day on facebook, singles sites & social forums online,
chatting to those that they will never meet,
walking a tightrope between what is supposed to be memory &
what is supposed to be a foundation of present personalities,
coming up completely empty on both accounts,
wishing for a day when things were better &
imagining that they had been, for a place to compare the now,
in which they perpetually wallow---
so what is more frightening?
to believe that things were better in the past & to dwell on them until your mind explodes, because you know you can never go back in time to stay there,
or to believe that things really weren’t that great in the past as you had once thought,
therefore understanding that they never really have been?
This life is my life
Why is this my life
So I shout YOLO
Maybe I'll try van life
Cause escapism
And romanticizing
Are all that's really driving me
And maybe one day
I'll really do it
I'll quit my job and
I'll get right to it
Because they told me
That time is money
So right now I'm rich as I can be
If rain water could sing, as it fell from the gaping skies
Would we not have sought to dance outside
Naked and barefoot
Letting its words teleport our soul
Into dimensions we have never dared imagine!
If the sun could play an instrument, as it glared at us
Would we not have chosen to waltz
On every single day of our lives as long its rays would tickle us
Into elevated heights of joy transgressing space!
If the moon could paint, as it glowed, so gloriously in the dark sky
Would we not have posed in our most eccentric attire
Just to please it, so that, pleased with us
It would shine brighter and fill our bosoms with freshness!
Why, if Earth herself could mime
Would she have acted out sadness and dread
So as to make us realize the weight of our burden
As it pressed against her womb?
Pray, if time could speak, mind you
Would it have comforted us, as we worry incessantly
Or, would it have warned us, of the traps that lie ahead
Or would it simply have bid us to learn to live lightly and freely?
Pray, surrounding my ethos, are the sparkles of my whims
Compelled to toil in a fallen plane, they keep romanticizing
About the mystical and the mysterious, the uncontrollable
The unknown power which has made them as they are!