Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Marco Jimenez Jan 2011
the soulful food i give
so i can simply live
is for a heart not settled
and beaten and belittled

a plate of sadness
of anger and of love
such passion
so much passion

passion of the romantics
the oh so hopeless romantics
the ones that live for love
and breathe despair without it

but need despair nonetheless
and walk a miserable happiness
a happily miserable life
felt to be ****** to the blessed

thus are the insane aspirations and antics
of the oh so hopeless romantics
rk  Sep 2019
orange romantics
rk Sep 2019
the scent of incense
hangs heavy in the air
the constant murmer of voices
comes crashing like waves
but your eyes meet mine
and the faces disappear
the voices die,
all that remains
is an unspoken invitation
from my lips
willing yours to kiss them
and yours happily
meet their request
leaving our love tasting
like oranges
tenderly plucked
from moonlight lips.
Graff1980 May 2016
All hail the return of the romantics
New age sages that fight consumerism
Poets that ride the roads like Kerouac
Going home then farther back
To old poets who fathered that
Rich traditions of humanity
With deep thoughts and sweet abstractions
Before dull poets and their dumb factions
Demanded we stick to form
Then demanded formlessness
Casually pursued simplicity
For the lack of eloquence
Thought they had to write to lesser men
Not figuring that we are them
And by writing truth we
Keep them growing
By showing the full strength and beauty
Of this brutal language
We all evolve
Till we are romantics one and all
mark john junor Sep 2014
her happier eyes
brilliant even in the sun
but she has a rough feel to her soul
she walks along the hot sidewalk with a dozen bags in arm
looks like it would tire an army of horses
but she says shes fine
"don't bug me with that 'good guy ****'
know your good, just not right now...
cause id rather be mad"

three thirty in the pool of a streetlight
we both swim in reasons
we both have battleships on fire
and its really only the hot humid air that keeps the blow by blow going

by dawn we are curled up in a park
miles from home
making love cause there aint much left to say
shes still mad
but shes ready to cry
i tell her i'm wrong
but we both know that don't matter
we both are just confused by the her that aint here
we are just confused by what should be

her happier eyes brilliant like twin starlight trains
keep speeding over me
and i keep kissing her hand
cause it s the nice guy thing to do
two hopeless romantics lost in the south florida rainforest
Glass Jul 2018
the incipient
has salvaged the insides of a
censorious pastiche, where moiety details the nightstand
of expectation and sudden camaraderie
simplifying the closure of starvation that “promethean”
is visual ‘orange zest’
a
honeysuckle caramelization where there are two
romantics buried with guilt, and a master chess player that
recalls to be a citrus therapy and every "Sunday paper" is filled
with oceanic opulence discussing religious iconography
and I visualize a yellow moon cactus
obscene changes in a grey prolific office;
an expostulate (rescind) but avoidance is in an empty
peach pit; an exploitation becoming a strange
admiration

- G
ephemeral Jan 2015
I believe that the universe
placed your atoms and molecules
near mine so that we could meet.
so that you could teach me how to love,
and what love even was in the first place.
and then once you did that, the universe
took you away again.
and I'm okay with that now.
I haven't written a poem in so long; that makes me sad. Anyways, the song for this is "one" by ed sheeran. for no particular reason.
Ramona Argo  Aug 2014
Romantics
Ramona Argo Aug 2014
I know we may never be one of the dream people
who make their faces and words, world symbols.

writer, actor, 
filmmaker, photographer:
These are things we say we are. You and me.
We need no one to define us. 
our minds keep and align us 
cozy in our deception like wigged-out mothers. 
But we need others to believe that we are what we are
in order to make us reality.

An artist without proof is an empty box.

And we go unfed, 
though we ache like ***-hungry puppies.
Unable
to do a **** thing, but weep,
yearning to **** on a whopping heap of the good-life.
But we go
unfed.

Early twenties, and we're burnouts already, you and me, 
about the meaning of life and the government and *******.

We met in college
my adorable Humanities degree
cupped in hand with his.
We found solace 
in our disappointment because when we kiss
our sadnesses take root into each other.
So our rough, restless, god-angry loving
never stops
metaphorically, that is.

His desire puts me in a box, and he comes in with, 
and we talk.
My desire sets his box full of flames
so he can climb out, and get free again.
But he knows life puts us all in a box 
and you have to do things people want
in order to win the green paper you got just to keep
that box. One day
I hope to live in the same box as him.

Until then 
I'll be in a foreign land, passing out the alphabet and bandages
and ignoring the world of green paper, 
as I live in a box without a lid.
And, as the hot rain drops, my brain makes a fist
and I picture him.

We are now becoming quite a beautiful film, you and me
as he keeps his longing fastened up to mine 
like a pair of overalls.

All the books I needed to write since I was seven years old will,
kills to say, 
never happen, quite possibly.
But still
I am attempting this thing, this poem 
for you and me,
because
of the feeling inside to throw buckets of paint at the door.

The feeling I get at 2am 
to cut holes into my fingertips
in order to string out an art piece from them.

The feeling that long, sunny Sundays give
to drink tea and wine and go canoeing while
a novel ***** out of me like a bleeding baby.

The feeling I always forget to jot down
after being ***** or mugged or misjudged or beaten to bruises 
when everything is as painstakingly raw and red as poems 
are wired to be.

The feeling that comes when it's just us, 
he does things to my body that makes it crack into smiles
fantastic enough, it can't help but shatter like a mirror
all across the floor. You and me.

We exchange our hearts like gifts, and they are 
empty boxes.
And it's all

I've ever wanted.
Nessa dieR Mar 2015
I think I fall under the category of
The Hopeless Romantic
And the thing about about me,
The  tricky  thing of
hopeless romantics
Is that,
when I say hello to someone,
(And that hello is magical )
When I fall in love
I never  Imagine that
That  Hello can turn into a good bye
And when I have a first kiss with someone
I never  ever  imagine that someday
That could turn into a last kiss.
Selena Brianna Dec 2014
As the water rushes toward the surface
it gently meets your fingertips and sends sensations all throughout your body
It feels new and exciting
Soon you find yourself completely immersed
It seemed infinitely beautiful at first glance
but now that you are under the surface it is quite the opposite of that

|s.s|
Aaron LaLux Apr 2018
Unapologetic Romantics

She broke my heart down,
or better yet she broke my heart open,
now I’m running around town,
searching for someone to place my hope in,

thinking every woman I meet might be my redemption,
regardless of the heartless nature of their intentions,
see I’m searching for healing because I’m way past prevention,
and I heard there’s a cure and so I’m seeking out the medicine,

but I haven’t found it yet,
and I’m surrounded by debt,
the emotional kind not the financial kind,
because I’ve got money but still feel desperate,

and yeah I cried today,
and no that’s not something I’m ashamed to admit,
see if you feel like letting your tears go,
then let them go because we all deserve to cleanse,

release,
breathe,
and most importantly,
please believe,

that you are beautiful,
because you are,
and yeah I see your wrists,
and yeah I see those scars,

and yeah I know you hurt a lot sometimes,
but that’s just the consequence of having an open heart,
it’s going to break occasionally because you love unconditionally,
but I’ll tell you right now that love you give is the most beautiful art,

and I love that you love so recklessly,
I have how we are both Unapologetic Romantics,
hopelessly addicted to that feeling of feeling another being,
and experiencing all of them with unconditional acceptance,

I accept you,
even if you’re not my redemption,
I love you,
regardless of your intentions,

and now love,
that I have your attention,
there’s one last thing,
I’d love to mention,

all of this pain and anguish and tension,
is nothing compared to the love of liberation,
so if you’re depressed let your self feel fully that depression,
and when you’re finally ready meet  me on the Road of Ascension,

because I told you before,
the Brightest Lights cast the Darkest Shadows,
so love your hate love your darkness love your pain,
love the scars that you’ve gained from these heartless battles,

you are a Love Warrior,
and I find your darkness magnificent,
so share with me your everything,
and I promise you I will be present,

because right now,
you are the only one in this entire world that matters,
you are the only one I can see and I see you entirely,
so come here let’s share dreams break patterns and make things better,

because this is our life and we’re all gonna die,
and there’s no need to rush a sure thing,
so put down the pills set down the knife,
and let’s get back to living,

and yeah you’ve been beat down and broken,
and yeah we’ve all been hurt,
but so what let’s dance sing and break free,
because in order to heal you must be heart first,

and maybe that’s why I say she broke my heart down,
or better yet she broke my heart open,
now I’m running around town,
searching for someone to place my hope in,

thinking every woman I meet might be my redemption,
regardless of the heartless nature of their intentions,
see I’m searching for healing because I’m way past prevention,
and I heard there’s a cure and so I’m seeking out the medicine…

∆ LaLux ∆
Dan Dec 2015
Don't get me wrong or let the wrong picture be painted
There is plenty in this mad day and night world to be romantic about
But the total collection of my generation gets too romantic to me
This generation isn't even how I pictured it
What happened to the rucksack revolution
The Gary Snyder dharma bums criss crossing the United States with thumbs outstretched, hoping freights and carrying their whole lives on their backs
That is something I get romantic about
Was it really that hard?
Or was it simply easier to stay at home to watch daytime television or evening television or whenever the hell you watch television
I admit I watch television too
And it's certainly no means to an end
But there is gotta be more to this crazy life than that
I don't feel romantic like my generation does
My generation rarely feels romantic about jazz
Jazz is some of the most unapologetic music I can stomach
You will never hear a jazz song that doesn't breathe into your soul
I am getting tired of your romantics
I am tired of feeling like I have to live my life by pouring deep love emotions from the well of my heart into another human heart
Half the time I want to love the whole world
The other half I want the world to leave me to sit and sulk in peace
If you want, ask the two that I've dated
One may not remember but ask anyway
Ask them if I was ever romantic
Ask them what it looked like
Ask them how it felt
Understand that I am the great black sheep of romantic expression
Understand that there is hope even when there isn't romance
Understand that there is hope in every beat of our silly human hearts and every flicker of an eyelid and finally understand that even if someone says they don't feel romantic about one thing or the next, understand that doesn't mean that they don't feel love
Love and romance are all just silly words we give to what goes on deep down inside where we can never see but can always feel

— The End —