Tag Archives: romantic poetry

A New Drink: Romantic Blogging Free Verse Poetry

Out in the scrub land,
surrounded by sage,
dry dust,
and a jackrabbit or two,
runs an old sulfur spring.

The water that oozes
from the alkaline soil
is slightly warm,
thick,
somewhat bitter tasting.

It’s not what a traveler
would normally choose,
but given the choice
between that and death,
in a pinch,
it will do.

She knows the path
to the sulfur spring well.
She’s trodden it many times.
It’s not hard to get to.
It’s well worn.
She can see the trail
in her sleep.
There’s not
a lot
else to view.

She knows the spring’s taste is
slightly off,
but she’s so familiar
with that path,
so smooth and easy,
and with the warm,
bitter water,
she finds it hard
to change.

“I’ve been here so often,”
she explains.
“And the taste isn’t
THAT bad.”
“You get used to it.”
“And it doesn’t take
much
effort.”

High on a mountain top
runs a cool mountain spring.
Fed by glacier melt
and late-developing snow storms,
its droplets struggle
through layers of limestone
which trap and remove
impurities.

The water which rises
and touches thirsty travelers
is breath-taking in its freshness
and purity
and crisp coolness.

Breath-taking
like the view
travelers get
from hiking there.
So much to see.
So much to appreciate.
“That drink,
and that view” people say
“makes it worth the effort.”

He offers
to take her
to that spring.
“Leave your well-worn path!”
he says.
“Struggle with me,
and try something new.”

She thinks about it,
for a moment.
But she’s so used
to the path!
So comfortable there!

He watches her go,
little dust devils
nipping at her heels
as she walks,
and walks,
and walks.

Pioneer
afraid to leave
comfortable trails.

He turns,
heart glad
from the vistas
before him,
yet sad.

He misses
that she is missing
what she is missing:
The sunset here.
The gold-painted peaks.
The crisp pine scent.
The cool, pure
naturally-filtered water.

He kneels
again
by the mountain spring,
and fills his canteen.
Then he fills
one for her,
for when she changes
her mind.

Waiting For The Face Plant: Romantic Blogging Free Verse Poem

You know that moment
when you trip
and begin to fall
and know you’re going
to crash and burn,
but haven’t hit yet?

The moment between
“Oh, crap!”
and “OUCH!”?

Asking someone out
on a date
via email
or instant message
or text,
and then hearing
only silence
is like that:

The moment
just before
the face plant.

Here We Go Again — Another Misguided Love Poem Object: Revolutionary Iambic Poem Lament

I had heard
his rhyming words
before,
espousing how glor-
ious he thought his love.
How she was sent from above.
How she was his true lover.
How he could not imagine another.

And now,
somehow,
he takes up his pen
and again
speaks of his love, sweet.
How she is so neat.

And though this one
is maybe not as fun,
she is not the bummer
as was his love of last summer.

So what am I to believe?
He scarcely took time to grieve
his previous girl
whom (he proclaimed to the world)
was sent to him.
Did she become some whim?

The even deeper question
to this public indigestion
is: Where comes the need to publicly proclaim
about a latest passionate love and flame?

I don’t even want to look
at such posts on Facebook,
because I know I’ll read there
about some new love so true and rare.

Just like we all did last year
about someone who was thought equally dear.
Why does the poet yet again
(as he did back so earnestly then)
feel the need to shout
publicly out
someone he’s now crazy about?

(And it’s not just him.
Many others, seemingly on a whim,
positively state
they’ve found their true mate.)

(And we knowingly smile
and wait awhile
until the new romance starts to fade
like morning dew in a sun-drenched glade).

Why don’t such lovers, instead,
(knowing how emotions so oft are mislead)
watch, wait and see
if the new “we”
(this romantic she plus he)
can make that commitment
which is truly heaven-sent
for eternity?

We can, (and should) I suppose,
publicly disclose
when we are fond of one,
how we, together, have fun.

But to loudly and publicly proclaim
“She’s the ONE!” seems a bit inane.
If this is indeed a love so rare
why not be quiet and keep it hidden there?

At least until it grows and blossoms forth.
At least until love has truly run its course
and we’re ready to shout “S/he and me
will now be us for eternity?”

I, for one, have my doubts
that such proclaimed “true love” will last out,
(just based on experience;
knowing how other ones went.)

Of course, when we hear such a new boast,
we could, I guess, prepare a generic post (or toast):
“OH! You both make such a cute pair!
You and [insert the new love’s name here____].”

That is not at all to say
that the poet should be silent. No way!
We may, in messages between us
expound our full love beyond what ever was.

Such private notes of sweetest passion
put us in Browning’s and Tennyson’s fashion.
Some lovers may in the future find
hope in our quiet proclaimed love divine.

But to place such words out for all to see
Feels like love (and such thoughts) come cheaply.
That it doesn’t really matter who:
We just need someone to publicly woo.

Call me a jaded cynic.
Perhaps it’s true.
But I’ll not mimic
exposing my love to view.

At least ’til I know, and am sure
She’s the one who I’ve searched for.
Then, it would seem quite right
To write a sonnet for our wedding invite.

Morning Wake Up Call: Romantic IMprov Free Verse Poem

Your hair falls,
soft,
flowing gently,
capturing the morning’s
first gold.

Turning into you,
I face quiet beauty.
Silently,
trembling,
I move your flaxen strands
off your face,
behind your ear,
exposing your skin.

Leaning in,
my cheek hovers above
yours,
feeling your warmth,
like morning sunshine
pulls back the blanket
of the night.

My ear floats
above your lips
so I feel and hear
your deep, morning breath,
tranquil
and at peace.

My lips
part slightly
to breathe softly
into
your ear.

Quietly,
as sweetly and
with as low moan
as possible,
I whisper a gentle
“Good morning.”

You stir slightly.
My face drops soft
against yours:
Cheek against
skin,
my ear against your
mouth’s corner,
lips against
your ear.

I trust you hear
and feel
the sound of one soft,
tender,
breathless
kiss
reverberating
against your skin
and your hearing
through
to your mind
and then your
heart,
and then,
racing,
awakening
your soul,
with a gentle,
non-verbal
morning massage message
of love.

Golden haired sleeping beauty is the Muse for a morning wake-up call