Modern Romanticism

The aspect of romance, divided between the heartening and the thoughtful.

Poem – “The Doomed Harlot” – Romance – 9/21/2019

September 21, 2019

Where have graces taken thee,
When you shielded before fate and misery?

You play with the night,
Like a bouquet of roses,
Sniffed by children, and eaten by cats.

Believe me, in my woe,
You are the doomed harlot,
The failed woman of many curses.
Among that god between your legs,
There are eyes that cry a sorrow.

You glisten by day,
To glisten by night.
Both of body and complexion,
Does this aura arise.
And you make music through your sigh.

The sigh of pleasure,
The sickening sin of Lust
You bled for God and his herd of Shepherds,
Felt Hell crawl on your naked skin,
And mistook it for Heaven.

These fields of ruin,
Are of my design,
Destined to bathe,
Among the odorous wine,
Of virgin blood and castrated swine.

Stretch your form, will you?
To the ends of the cruel Earth,
You’ll see a singing shape,
The scrotum and the shaft,
Was like a tower of gold,
Now but only rotten,
Was once a key to the Earth,
Grim faces torn everywhere,
Evil politicians and their false smiles.

You doomed harlot,
What maketh yourself of ourselves,
When we praise thee, and never the Lords,
Who drop tears, as you drop both blood and sweat?


Poem – “The Petaled Beauty” – Romance – 9/21/2019

September 21, 2019

There are to those, whose face shines among,
Upon ivory canvases.

Though, yours that faces itself,
Upon the stark white shape,
Is there for my smears,
My kisses.
My foiled becoming,
Is for you to breathe,
As your lips remain idle.
It is due to me,
I have painted a scene,
A sight of a face, so texture-less in textures.

No life, I see, among this idleness,
Alike death, frozen, though still shows a tear,
Despite the upholding of my love.
I drew with the screams and sighs,

Of all my life’s failure,
To see, to see movement, and to see
The you who never was,
And never will be, to this broken day.

I am but a shade,
A meaningless man,
Who possesses loneliness,

Like a poisoned blade.
There is death about me,
Though, it only drains from me

From my hands,
Spills the hopelessness of an empty life.
Though, from your face,
Spills the harrowing colors,
That eclipse me into the unknown.

The Tena Poems – Truest Love – “One Hold, and One Kiss” – Romance – 9/19/2019

September 19, 2019

We are makers,
Of truest intent.
Never as disbelievers,
To the whole state of our truth,
We are sharp deceivers,
When unleashing the bitterest tears,
But, as lovers, we are stark beauty
Upon waves of highest elevation.

I am in disbelief for your majesty,
And so, I go to embrace you,

While a crown of barbs girdles your head,
Each laced with the most fragrant venom.
Bless me, kind woman!
I am in love with you.

One hold, and one kiss,
Is all to receive in reception of you
We’ll play the tired game of mystery,
The sort that would entrance.

Death has both angel wings and fangs,
It has both, the conceit of the rose,
And the boldness of fungi,
While love has merely the boldness,
Of a life made simple.

I kiss your sweet lips,
I taste the warm breath coming from within you,
The most beautiful thing of you
Is the memory of a moment.

It is this moment, and it will forever be
This moment.

We dine, as we will forever dine,
On all our fragrances,
On all our beauty.

One hold, and one kiss,
Is all we need for a greeting.

The Tena Poems – Truest Love – “The Final Vow” – Romance – 9/18/2019

September 18, 2019

I give thy finger a circle of gold,
Before the altar that releases,
Our ongoing fulfillment,
Of love.
Blessed are thee, when you shiver,
Under a haze of rising stars,
Under a night sky with fevers increasing
In their temperament,
And ongoing fervency.

How you find yourself locked,
In the sky’s open wings,
Crying beneath merciful love.

I find thy beauty entrancing,
Melting away sorrow.

This final vow will be a glimpse to you,
Into a memorable future.

That great circle of gold, that has surrounded a finger’s flesh,
Makes me smile a smile of warmth,
Of temperatures heated,
Like summer at its height.

I am with you, woman to my heart,
That has glistened itself by the sting of pain,
In former lives.
Because you are, as well, with me,
There is no more,
No more pain to share its twilight,
On this ruby stone for an organ,
Falter, as we will, to consume it all.

All of beauty’s auras,
That which you convey,
Will find meaning in that circle of gold,
Of that final vow,
Foiled by nothing,
Only touched,
By the great warmth,
From love’s breath.

Erotica Poetry – “Demure Beauty” – Collection – Poem #2 – 9/16/2019

September 16, 2019

I find letters scrawled,
Upon your worthless back.
You have never been a gift for my liking,
A woman, broken,
Made for the coins upon a road.
You are longing for temptation.

Demure, you have become,
By the traces of blood on your eyes,
Beneath your eyes,
A storm comes hanging.
The tiredness from my fingers,
Knows to withdraw.

A lost bird,
Soon becomes tranquil,
For it has died.

It became the sorry thing,
To meet the meadow’s engrossment of flame,
Upon the night of deep bliss.

You were that sorry bird,
Of only one wing,
With eyes of coldness,
Though, you are demure,
With breasts shaped as glistening puddles,
And a thorn between your legs,
One that edges, upon height,
As those legs tremble in their heat.
They are as two pillars of flame,
And both are rotten.

Love leaves when Heaven departs,
And God saw Himself fit, to be lost,
Among the fragrances of womanhood,
As I did.

As I gave into the kiss you blew,
For my steaming recollection,
For my fiery furnace,
There was beauty all around,
So tortured,
Though, it was demure.

Erotica Poetry – “From Female Glimpses” – Collection – Poem #1 – 9/16/2019

September 16, 2019

Under tresses, dark as night,
Have you failed in your endeavor,
To lay your hand over a swollen branch?
Mark this shape for its texture,
It has a way to come crawling,
It has a way to come inside,
To come within, and reach.

I lay falsehood upon falsehood,
And drown in your rose,
Your complexion, of merry vermilion.
A face so angelic,
That it steers about to face the moon,
The love that angles itself into curves.

I describe your form for what it is:
Two hips like two handles,
From a kettle of tea.
Two breasts like two pears,
Ripe for my taste.
Two legs like the show of marble pillars,
Though, now mere plaster
Because, you’ve lain
Falsehood upon falsehood,
Drunk upon desire.

I deal in this anguish,
I yearn, beside you.

Come and love,
And merely come.
Make music through your sighs,
As repetitious as they repeat,
All the farewells,
Forced upon high
With the walls that extend,
Towards the faceless moon.

Curves of a moon!
Curves of hips.

May I kiss you,
Beneath blankets of warm fur?

Poem – “The Remarks from your Wicked Mouth” – Romance – 9/16/2019

September 16, 2019

Dashed with red lines,
Above your feeble lips,
Redness has clashed against the almighty
Of porcelain chin and nectar saliva.
It is the sort that drains,
From a serpent tongue.

You obeyed a man,
With whom you sought after denial,
To whom you’ve danced a longing night,
Many of them, with which you saw betterment,
If for but a while.
Am I cherished in your company?

There are dew droplets that run a tempest,
From your gleaming orbs as eyes.
A breast hangs freely from a collarbone,
A kiss hangs so sweetly from two embedded nostrils.
I am weary in my want,
Though, so dreary in this contempt.

Face me, dear child,
You, the woman to my form and emotion,
The face you are beholding,
Decked in exasperating smile,
And ruby lips melting wide open,
I fear for my coming touch.
To crack open,
Your smallest shell.

There is wine for a memory,
And kisses, aplenty.

There are roses for an aroma,
And great harmonies played vast.

In all we make,
By the cruelest of neglect,
There are shadows forming heavy on minds,
On my own,
The buried torment,
Comes as earnest.

The Tena Poems – Truest Love – “The Attitude of a Woman” – Romance – 9/14/2019

September 14, 2019

Plentiful scares,
From thy keenly attitude,
Set me into eruption,
Because, in contrast to a face,
One that resembles a magnificent angel,
A bird, with one color for its entirety,
There is, to your person,
The attitude, one akin to a pirate?
One akin to a lumberjack?
I mark it in place, when I laugh.

It boils, and broils,
It falters the moon and sears the sun,
It shouts wicked remarks,
Unto those most deserving
Of their scares.
I find it most beautiful, upon you.

You will wave hands, and throw fingers,
With waves of dark hair,
Your mouth opens to utter the words of cuss,
From porcelain chin, and reddest lips.

Your anger is but a charm,
One that yet calms.
I am never near it, when it calls,
Due to its force, when it walls.
My own,
Is but a fraction,
To your fierceness,
It is all very engaging.

And a kiss,
Will collide us.

The Tena Poems – Truest Love – “Opened Velvet Mouth” – Romance – 9/13/2019

September 13, 2019

The world once breathed,
An amorous note.
A void now breathes,
A place where branches spiral downwards,
To one velvet opened mouth.

Lay your feet across my palms,
And swear to me, in truth,
To face the world with that same openness.

You see, I once had nothing
For myself.
You are my truest accomplishment,
On my deserted little island,
Of no sun.

And now, with the greatest gleam,
From a shower,
From your sparkling eyes,
There is enough to wet these plains,
To grow verdure and life.

We are so much the clouds, without the storms,
The whispers in the dank darkness,
The lucidity of a dream gone unnoticed,
Of a man and his creation of delusion,
Of a politician and his denial of all that is.

Beauty makes us drunk.
Love has made us won.

I’ll not apologize when the curtain drops,
To cling to tears to stain my hands,
Or cling to blood to shroud my nails,
I have been defamed before you.

You are the woman of a dream,
Made to bloom, made to gleam.
I am a man of no purpose,
Until for you,
To cast a sigh in that direction,
Of your velvet opened mouth.

The Tena Poems – Truest Love – “The Heartfelt Intention” – Romance – 9/13/2019

September 13, 2019

I am something abominable,
Am I not?
The fool who had wavered himself,
From holiest truth.
Though, not more will I run
From thee.
From you, from treasured beauty.

I run a faucet for you to bathe,
And to cleanse all that has polluted
The corners of your weathered mind.

Beloved, come to dine,
Upon all of me,
There is naught, but the hopeless remnants,
Of a one who still yearns for kisses,
Deep, and romantic, and plentiful.

Make me memorable,
In the banquet of fruit,
Of berry and other morsel,
In many cups and many bowls,
As a lute hangs from a poet’s arms.

I want to hold, and to have,
Though, as doubt swings upon a chain,
Appearing as its own form,
With a word called “sinister” to its eyes,
No face masks it,
Just blankness, and fault.

I wish to make merry with you, my love,
Under an altar, where God’s own doves,
Come to turns frowns,
Into heavenly smiles.

It will be true,
Will it not?