"romances" poems
Feel empty in your post apocalyptic City of Angels,
Where not even your pets are real!
An electric android, a sheep or a frog,
The whir-flutter of micro-electrical wings of a butterfly.
Good, and so you ought.
Now grab the handles of your empathy box,
And in a shared virtual hallucination –
Feel: empathy, depression, pain, delusion and despair,
The outré myriad gifts of consciousness.
Billions of discombobulated and disconnected wrecks:
Adam's sons; Eve's daughters,
And among them simulations too,
Fakes! androids!
A phony circuit of implanted semi-conscious memories,
A hive of neural malaise!
Welcome to our world;
know how dead inside I am.
You, yes, you:
Need a pet to make you more complete?
Maybe you can afford
A Fake Fakir Flake like me who looks like Jude Law,
Sounds like Richard Burton,
And silently romances you like Rudolph Valentino.
Come and stick what’s left of your mind,
In here,
In hair,
Hear her:
har, har, har…
A box of lies...
A voice, Mercer's,
With texture from an age you neither lived in nor dared in:
Al Jerry's, a TV actor,
Droning on in pre-selected tones.
The real thing, the men, the women, the children - their animals -
Made in the wild, wild desert,
In the green pulsing savannah,
On the open crusted sea;
Now too, washed, choked, and drained,
Too many spliced and diced mutations,
Iterating your image:
The thing that was my heart,
My Child, now its imitation.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 7:42 AM UTC
The hardest part of growing up is the disappointment. The rules of fairness get thrown out the window and it's up to you to pursue your interests. Each person becomes their own main priority. Self preservation. Your heart loses it value to others, your feelings no longer spared. Doing what is right mistaken with what feels right. My problem as of lately has been not doing what has felt right, but what's best for me, finding who's best for me.
Now, don't mistake me. He was a dream. My eyes glittered when I smiled. The first tender touch that scared me, but I was too proud to flinch. Laughter was endless, love ran lucratively. I guess you could say he was the beginning of my disappointment. No kiss could be as sweet.
The next was the captain of saving. He loved the skin I was in and taught me to do the same. He gave me affection, recognition, and a dilemma of delicacy. So sweet yet so twisted, wicked some may say. The sweet taste of sin. My disappointment grew with the seduction of satan.
Now I transition. The ending of a roller coaster. The disappointment began with the first drunken "I love you" I started to believe it myself. In actuality, I think I was just trying to fill the void that sweet kiss originally gave me. Nothing else could replace it. Not even his return. These short romances burn out quickly, only lasting months at a time, but experiencing the most significant of moments. Together, my loves have caused my heart to wither more and more. But it's those small moments that make it all worth it. The moments that I knew somewhere in the midst of the mess they learned to love me, even if it wasn't forever. It happened, and in these moments disappointment grew because I knew they'd eventually end.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 7:47 PM UTC
Our world has many distractions,
Many of which I've known.
But here am I in the midst of it all,
writing a poem to whom I don't know.
Most of all I love you,
More than you could know.
And someone out there, near or far,
To you my love does flow.
I cannot help but think of holding hands,
Crazy dancing and smiling glances,
Movie nights and games with friends,
Writing notes of silly romances.
I'll sing you songs,
Some sincere, others silly but true,
Cause I'm just that kind of person,
You'd best be crazy with me too!
I'll try and love your sports,
and support your teams with cheering,
I'll bring you snacks, and cuddle up,
Though on the inside I may be leering!!
I'll make you cookies and huge cakes,
whipped beautifully with cream,
Even with this I'll be so happy,
I may believe myself to dream.
Oh darling, the future feels so far,
Maybe I should embrace today,
but what good is that to me,
When half this heart is out at bay?
They think me strange, and very different,
Just waiting for my prince,
Forever thinking to my tomorrow,
Based on parent's experience.
I'm sorry mother, father,
It does hardly seem fair,
But for you I will continue on this journey,
A life lived with special care.
And they are out there, living today's life,
And while they're grounded there I twirl,
Waiting for you to find in me:
A precious, beautiful pearl
Aug 15, 2013
Aug 15, 2013 at 7:59 AM UTC
lets stay here a little longer
lets laugh and sing some more
because i want this moment to last
want this you and i
to go on all night
lets dance a little longer
lets romance a little longer
you look so wonderful in that dress
feel so wonderful holding your hand
its these simple joys
that romances the heart to believing
that sways the nightbreeze song to favor beautiful thoughts
want to walk alone with you and talk soft
lets dance a little longer
lets romance a little longer
want to laugh with you
see that light in your eyes
just let me hold you a moment longer
lets not let the night slip away
i see dawn comin
but just want one more moment
with your smile
with your hand in mine
lets dance a little longer
lets romance a little longer
lets kiss a little more
Sep 21, 2014
Sep 21, 2014 at 6:57 AM UTC
A lost castle
In Galway called Lynch's,
Long lost
Its princesses and princes;
The blood took its chances
On foreign Romances,
Now Lynches
Spread over the globe.
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 12:54 PM UTC
From the ripple in a glass of water
to the sonic boom of this internal
Pompeii, the erosion
of her etymology is the only
sense of movement in her
dilated, cave-pupil eyes, those
two ghost towns spanning
and encircling all the way back,
stretched like an elastic blindfold
past the moment the first brick was laid,
perhaps her first vivid memory,
or anecdote, or first word uttered
in a Cuban slum.
There are mountains of tumbleweed
over the once thriving metropolis
that expanded towards America;
who threw herself into
the architecture of seven pillars,
borne from her land and
minerals. Gone are the
huts that housed her
knowledge of basic motor skills.
The women who once imagined
Mami and Mima as her birth
name now scrub off
the graffiti of her excrement;
they saw a swarm of pink moons
the day she told the same story
to every visitor that came
their way, each day then becoming
a missing surveillance tape, a sinkhole
dismantling the awareness
in her bones and stubborn will,
until she became
these dust-engulfed plains with
a daughter and granddaughter
archeological in their efforts
to chase down the remains
of a girl still breathing in
those eyes from time to time.
Every other ten-millionth blink of
the eye rides the silhouette of a post-infant girl
on the high tides of her quick visit,
looking in horror
as the nation of her life's nightmares,
heartaches, broken promises, romances,
spiritual breakthroughs, life-changing seconds
drowns with morbid unity en cien fuegos,
desperately attempting to assemble
the remnants of her psyche
past her cognitive bloodclots
with the awareness of one
who speaks no languages.
Gone is the moment
she first learned
to feed her several children
before the slip of sunset.
One of seven pillars remain intact,
the others long dismantled of their
stick and straw infrastructures.
One pillar remained,
housed her own colony
for nine months,
and now both descendants
travel the mind of their
greatest influence
with perplexed dedication,
caustic humor the decoy
for swarms of exhaustion
and asphyxiation
from the truthful atmosphere,
reveling in the seconds
of humanity lurking
in an abandoned etymology.
Jun 29, 2010
Jun 29, 2010 at 11:19 AM UTC
I don't too much buy into those social media romances.
Reminding us every Monday and Wednesday
Guess whose it is
Well
I don't too much buy into those social media romances
Because pictures always last longer
And all those emojis become cliche
Hinting at all this love that may or may not exist
See
I don't too much buy into those social media romances
Although I always have moments I wish I could bare to the world
But they're better off left with me
Scrolling through these photos
See I don't too much buy into those social media romances
Because I know things are not always as they seem.
Aug 22, 2014
Aug 22, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
I hate my personality.
I don't have a personality
That cultivates relationships.
No,
My personality leads to anguish -
Insecurity.
If I could,
For once,
Harvest a bit of
Silence in my brain -
I'd love that.
I hate to feel anxiety;
Fear of abandonment;
Insecurity;
Obscurity;
I hate to feel what I feel.
What's worse,
I can't find elegant words
To describe it.
Leaving me mute,
People assume things about me,
Making my efforts moot.
Friends think I'm overbearing;
Demanding.
Romances think I don't trust them;
That I'm too controlling,
Insecure;
Dependent;
Too moody;
Too possessive.
My personality makes people leave me.
I'm too touchy -
Too hard to love or understand.
People see me,
And expect me to freak out,
Or to demand attention.
Well this is my account -
Because when you are on
The borderline,
It's easy to see
That the grass is greener
On either side -
But for others,
You seem polarized.
I'm not happy with how my brain works.
I don't want to be the way I am.
I don't want to make sure people are
Thinking about me...
And then feel guilty or angry when they don't,
Or can't.
I hate my personality.
I hate who I am.
It causes me to never feel comfort,
And my unrest has left me
An insomniac for too long.
Now,
I just want to rest.
But,
It's hard to sleep when you're alone
And afraid of the dark.
Jun 14, 2020
Jun 14, 2020 at 3:09 PM UTC
I still remember your eyes
I still remember you always holding me
Keeping me safe from harm with all your charm
I remember feeling you looking at me, and I
Know you're still there, you're so wonderful!
I couldn't help but fall in love with you
And get crushes everywhere else, too.
It's just so unfair to have found such
Lovely romances, and suffer heartbreaks!
I can't help where my heart
Goes, but that's why I'm torn apart...
Please remember I'm always here and so is
My love too, it's not easy to be what society
Wants of you, especially love! Love is wild and
It's so undesired to be told I'm a cheater
When I have an excuse, I'm only human too!
Just remember I wasn't born with a defective
Heart, and it isn't easy to be torn apart.
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
In the Wednesday sun
crossing Farragut Square
beside a beautiful woman
of half-developed feelings,
there is a temptation
to forget thirty-eight years
of women just like her.
All my romances
are desperate tries
to close the old voids
that my family seeded in me.
Love me,
accept me,
stay,
please stay,
just stay,
I will take anything,
be any shape,
anything you like.
I loved women
one to the next
a wreath of sincerity.
I was always astonished
when it fell apart.
In the Wednesday sun
I am depressed.
I say goodbye
to my blonde friend,
and I curl up inside
like paper burning.
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 1:57 PM UTC
Life is crazy when you like someone and they don’t feel the same.
You spend all this time and energy proving to them that you’re not the same,
As the other people they messed with in the past.
It’s so sad; to expect something so great, end up with nothing. Feeling so empty, guilty
That you took a chance with someone who’s not worthy
Of being with you.
You, the one who started this all, from that first moment when that tear started to fall.
You claimed you were sorry and you can do better next time, but you ran out of chances.
Time is up, and she gave up, on you and those summer romances.
When you find someone who is ready, who has their life together, and who is steady
Then, you will truly be happy
Until then, think back to all the people you been with, are you in any fault.
You claim it was their wrong doing, and they were the ones ********
Buying items that were never bought, to you in your procession, the progression
Of your relationship started to fall. Did you give up, or did you end up forgiving them
Of all their wrong doings.
See not all of us are saints, we all strive for happiness even when were shooting
Blanks, no I mean into an empty barrel of love.
You know, the one that cupid missed to go along with all your love and happiness.
Sometimes being by your self is so bliss, calm, so serene like it doesn’t exist.
But, every once and awhile you feel that your miss-ing out on something
Or someone
Life is crazy, but we must not get lazy, nor give up.
Your knight and shining armor; your dream girl is just
Outside knocking on the door.
Open it, a be ready for what’s in store
Goodluck
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 8:40 PM UTC
she sat on a driftwood throne
at her feet lay the ruins of a stone man
her hair a wild world of winds draws you into her hurricane eyes
her lip a forest of meanings tender and soft
a single loose tear like a wild horse run free
she sat on a driftwood throne in all her glory
sun and salt water cadence to the living breathing dream
song of existence untainted
and now another song intrudes
one of loves lionhearted and bold
seafarer's son come of age
come seeking courtship of her soft hand
to be bound in the silken desire's both hot and sweet
and the dark ones such shy girl dare not speak
he brushes away the sand from her soft thigh
and within his mind romances such sweet
tender spot with a reign of kisses
but just then she arose graceful like the soft beatings of dove's wing
and emerging from the veil of his minds fanciful dreams
she laid before him her sandpaper eyes
so intense that summer sounds
like children at play and such soothing tones
could not hide her behind
he withdraws still no more than a child in her eyes
she desires a stronger, a true love
one that is not a fleeting fancy dream
one of a man who can speak his heart
the sand had invaded her driftwood throne
so into the dusk she sauntered slowly
with graceful flow
trailing his eyes behind her like glories of wishes
like worshiping doves
for such beauties perfection
he will return some day a man
once he has learned
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
Scene 1:
(Periwinkle room, Jigglypuff poster, soft alternative music)
I stomp in,
Niagara Falls streaming
Throw his copy of Pablo Neruda poetry into the trash
And start reading Virginia Woolf
Poetic revolution.
That’ll show him
Scene 2:
(Cafe atmosphere, fading laughter, upbeat music)
Whoa. That guy. Not that one.
The one on the left
Kinda nice, kinda cute
And he laughed at my joke
Jane Austen romances
and Zooey Glass daydreams
fill my waking moments
Scene 3:
(Restaurant, muffled conversations, classical music)
What is he staring at? Who is he staring at?
Oh no awkward conversation gap
Say something,
quick, anything
“The weather is nice tonight, yeah?”
Not that.
But he laughs
Night saved
Scene 4:
(Outside the restaurant, night breezes, car noises)
“That was nice,”
He casually mentions
Yeah. Nice.
Not great. Amazing. Life-altering.
Nice.
The same adjective used to describe the weather
Devoid of meaning.
Scene 5:
(Car, radio on silent, crickets chirping)
“I wanted to give you something”
Hands me,
Oh dear god no,
A copy of Neruda
That ****** Neruda.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 3:18 PM UTC
How do I love thee? In a way that's bad,
by which I mean so bad it's almost good.
I need you, and you know it drives me mad.
I want you more than any other could.
And we could write romances, you and me.
I want to hear your Hitchcock movie schtick.
I want your everything. I hope it's free.
I want you in my window, and you're sick.
And yet you know my raving is a sign
I'd rather we were paramours than friends.
You're outlawed from the moment that you're mine
Until the day our bad romancing ends;
I'll love you in a leather-studded bra.
Rah gaga gaga roma ooh la la.
Mar 17, 2011
Mar 17, 2011 at 3:02 AM UTC
I have wearied of grand romances
Of deep sighs and swooning trances
Of doting gentlemen’s advances
And all manner of courtship play
I am tired of love confessions
And of dizzied, dazed professions
And of unrestrained obsessions
I grow sicker day by day
I once dreamed of adoration
Went quite mad for veneration
Laughing, flirting with temptation
The queen in Camelot
The lonely, lovely Guinevere
Dainty-masked with girlish fear
But when King Arthur wasn’t near
Dreaming of Sir Lancelot
These days I want no noble knight
Despite my seeming helpless plight
I wish to set myself aright
And tread upon the ground
Yet here I am, pedestal-high
Too close to the dazzling sky
As my life keeps passing by
And boys keep running round
I’ve let myself grow much too proud
Drew up arrogance from the crowd
Heard the cheering, bright and loud
The queen in Camelot
And though I had my faithful Sir
Still my heart was all astir
With flying fancies, all a blur
For Guinevere and Lancelot
These fantasies have grown too old
I’d rather let my bed grow cold
For I have wearied of being told
“You are mine to keep”
Men have tired me to the core
Left me sad and sick and sore
And have turned into such a chore
And I’d much rather sleep
What blasphemy for a maiden fair
To toss such doting to the air
To turn away without much care
Though queen in Camelot
But I have withered, I have tired
Felt as if my brain’s been mired
And find not Arthur much desired
Nor dashing Lancelot
Is it so bad to want respite
From endless longing, day and night?
This constant charm becomes too trite
With ever staler tone
I only wish to rest a while
Recover from incessant guile
Forget the weight of lovers’ trial
And simply be alone
May 29, 2013
May 29, 2013 at 10:48 PM UTC
Dog eared pages
betray my thoughts
or rather the lack there of
I think
then blink
But i'm thinking faster
or is it blinking?
It doesn't matter
Nothing is working
Inspiration dances
Romances
entrances
like a cornish pixie
teases
My muse has gone
his return I await
with bated breath
I wait like fate
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 11:01 PM UTC
Swoon to a tearful night, unknown to its grief
Dialogue of peace, and those of plight
Ringing of morphology, raindrops on the roof.
Such things heard from the peasants’ seat
In the many wet heads sopping
In the sonorous waves, upright in the city clime
Untending to their beds.
At the bottom of that something
All told are destined they will find
Be pliable to the ills they’ve dealt
To carry on, to work, admonishments
Said once to justify these red romances
That in every rain storm melt
As pity through the night, forever unclasped
From shackles of their blame
Since life and ideology somehow are the same.
‘Tis destiny for abating storms
As some will rose from their thickened thorns
These nights deliver their gentle morns
All the same as hemlock grows as poison
And is best to be avoided.
How—this, I fear only rain my know—
Can we still bathe in fraternal glow
When some still heal from Death himself
Each breath that enters is quickly prayed to leave
High on seated thrones
Those mean so quick to thieving, the poor
The lazy deserve no quarter
Those dusty pockets afford not one
So steal the heart upon his sleeve.
May we help man wrought our kin and kind
By common tongue, free, as we are ought?
Since another may make my world
He is mine to protect, not throw to bytes
So ludicrous and feeding back upon themselves
For destiny can be remade
If hatred weren’t so blind.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
Many lives many pasts
Many girls many romances
Many broken hearts
Many broken dreams
Many broken promises flowing down with the stream
Many fake people
Many fake smiles
Fly with me let's reach the sweet paradise
Do you think you know what life is about?
Please help me understand
Because a long time ago i chose to close my eyes and wait for my death
Life is an illusion though it seems real
All what really matters is our dreams and fantasies
Words Of Harfouchism
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
Oh, I remember the forgotten romances,
And tragedies of times forgotten,
Unsaid-
When my dear loved one lies next to me.
And why I imagine you,
Not her.
And wish my angels,
For a truthful dream.
And why,
Do I miss you still,
When my dear loved one lies next to me...
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
I told you "Happy Birthday,"
You smiled and said, "You remembered."
It took me back.
October 9th of 2009,
Was the day that I first met you.
I was at the Bridge with the girls,
Then up strode this guy that I wished I knew.
Dorky, yet enchanting,
You made me laugh and rant.
It was the best night I'd had in a long time,
And all the way home I danced.
I saw you at school after that,
And I felt myself falling for you.
Our friend's romances started happening,
Maybe we'd happen too.
I played you piano,
You smiled at me,
I caught my breath
And messed up they keys,
But you still thought it was good.
On June 5, of 2010,
You asked to become mine.
How could I say no,
When I wished it all the time?
You told me that I was beautiful,
Then you kissed my face,
In a world of beautiful scenery,
I was in the greatest place.
We danced slowly to Melancholy Hill,
And you watched Titanic with me,
You helped me make Chicken Marsala,
I thought we were meant to be.
You told me that you loved me,
And I felt my heart grow.
That's when I really began,
to let my love show.
On October 5th of 2010,
I gave you my virginity
I understood euphoria
When I saw your eyes on me.
Two years we spent together,
And they were the best in my life,
Even in our fake little wedding,
Where I became your wife.
You really were my medicine,
Making me feel alive,
And every time I looked in your eyes,
I saw a place where angels thrive.
I gave you myself in every way,
And I'll never want it back.
Even after bitter words,
And the moments we attacked.
I never knew a heart like mine,
Could ever love so much.
Imagine the person I would be,
If we never shared that touch.
The hardest day of my life
Was the day you walked away,
I thought that it wasn't for good,
But I couldn't make you stay.
The funny part of the story,
Is that I hadn't let you go.
The girl that you had loved and lost,
Let her true colors show.
And I'm still here waiting for you
Now, as I tell you "Happy Birthday,"
My special little tourniquet,
You smile and say, "You remembered."
But how could I forget?
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 4:55 PM UTC
I wrote a poem recently.
Not so much a poem,
more like a story;
a story of love,
kind of like a love story.
Sure,
it was the best love story
we've never read.
There were romances,
struggles,
some revelations
and resurrections...
even a few bruised egos.
Blah,
blah.
Yessir,
a bayside view of
false paradise
if I'd ever seen one;
some dogeared page
ripped out of a
journal written in ink
and found in the gutter.
No beginning or end.
Just a thought.
A memoir
of a fantasy that should've just
been
and never had to explain itself.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 11:24 PM UTC
Nothing compares
To shaking on top of an old
Broken down windmill
With you.
Nothing compares
To silent summers
Sweating in the sweltering heat
Of love.
Nothing compares
To bright blue brick walls
Bringing about a brightening of bleary bland feelings.
Nothing compares
To dark auburn dreams
Drifting down my darling's cheek.
Nothing compares
To radical rants
On ruined romances
raining rivulets of righteousness
Upon those rotten adolescents.
Nothing compares
To myriads of murals
Of most moved men
Materializing
Meandering
In the fields below.
Nothing compares
To falling flat to fear
Fretting and fanning
To finish off
This fantasy.
Oct 8, 2015
Oct 8, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
my past is part of who i am,
i cannot erase it.
it’s written in the books collected on the
bookshelves between my ribs,
stacked upon my spine.
the stories of who i am are carved into me,
scripted on my skin,
branded on my bone,
there is no part of me that is not built upon
this blood of black ink.
i am a collection of my own tragedies,
of my own comedies,
of my own romances.
a library of my own experiences.
not all the collection is good,
some books are quite damaged,
but not all the collection is bad,
my pages are still full of love.
you can pick out which books to read,
which stories you like
and which you’d rather leave,
but it’s still
there,
my past is still a part of me.
― personal library
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 6:12 AM UTC
That Love is....
A Fairy tale...
A Fantasy...
*That
Full
Of*
Romances
Jul 5, 2013
Jul 5, 2013 at 9:04 AM UTC