#Romantic poets

[rainreads]

[flowerytale]

John Keats, from La Belle Dame sans Merci

[belle-keys]

manwhore. bisexual. incest. eating disorder. poet. cheater. aristocrat. bipolar. celebrity. single dad of bastards. died in a war.

lord byron, you are my dream.

[achillesreborn]

if i see one more "poetry" book that's like

"i was water

but he

was a sponge"

i'm gonna lose my shit

[heartofmuse]

Every day I will celebrate the miracle you are in my life. Every day I will show you in deed and word, with the music that flows from my heart, and the poetry that sings in my palms. I will thank the stars, and say a little prayer for you every night,and hang it in the sky. And when I wake every day I will wrap you up in the dawn, and with a sweet good morning kiss I will hang a smile on your lips.  I will be there for the joys and the sorrows, for the mountain tops and the desert valleys, to embrace your heart and soothe the pains, to hold your hand endlessly. You will always have my arms, my voice, every heartbeat, and song. I will be your friend, and partner, the accomplice of your soul, and for as long as life grants me this miracle that you are, that we are, then I will ever hold gratitude and awe in my heart, a beautiful life that starts anew, every day with an, " I love you."

e.v.e.

[burningvelvet]

while driving down the road i often think to myself how lucky it is that the adrenaline junkie romantics didn’t have cars. they got into enough shit with boats and carriages and horses.

byron literally had a dramatic black carriage designed to be exactly like napoleon’s but larger, complete with a bedroom and library. it was so big it broke down continuously. he also never paid the bill for it and the makers were still trying to collect it from his estate years later after he died.

percy and byron had a boat building competition and byron insisted on his (again) being nearly twice as big and having a library and bedroom inside it. then he barely even used the thing. percy customized his boat to go way too fast with multiple sails, an extremely low freeboard, and an extremely heavy ballast (… all contributing factors to why it wrecked and killed him).

if they lived today they would have had sports cars and shelley would have died like james dean.

[gardenfairyreads]

Happy 201st death anniversary to Percy Shelley!!

RIP, he would love motorboats and vegan chicken tenders.

[aphrodites-serenade]

Look at me.. not for too long

Her eyes are the most beautiful gems on this earth

She's loved by the moon and sun, with the way they glow and shine in any light

They dart all over the place, not able to stay on one thing for too time

Look at this... Oh no, look at this

She's a spark of joy, but the light becomes dimmer the farther her figure walks away from me

A dreadful thought overcomes me,

I'm fading into the background, into one of the many normalities in her life

My body moves faster than my mind, and once again, I'm near

I have to hold onto her, make sure she doesn't forget me

She swings around abruptly, her locks falling into place as she searches for the reason of this sudden action in my eyes

There's heat rising to my cheeks, I must surely seem pathetic and ridiculous

I wanted her to look at me, and yet…

I look at my feet before she notices any signs of the fear that has overtaken my body

Her eyes are still on me, looking at these imperfections, all of them

I'm a child again, apologizing to my parents for being so needy

It's her touch that now makes me search in her eyes

Her fingers draw circles into my skin, dotted with blemishes

They trace my cracked lips and overgrown brows

The longer she touches me, the more I barrage myself for not hiding my dark eye bags, for letting my face get round, for not taming my hair

The thought that she would stop loving me because of all this makes me want to sob

Don't look at me any longer, please

Comfort envelopes me as her lips press against mine

It's her softness that makes me forget what I was even saying

I've never felt so beautiful as when I am with her

[ardent-reflections]

"I exist in two places. Here, and where you are."

Margaret Atwood

[rainreads]

-Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Lord Byron.

[almaaspoetry]

• The Art Of Letting Go •

Letting go is a subtle art, one that requires the patience of an artist and the resilience of a mountain. It's never easy to release the hold on someone who captured your heart with a smile, a touch, a whispered word. The connection, once vibrant and life-affirming, now feels like a weight, dragging you into the depths of sorrow.

It's in the quiet moments, when the world is still and your mind is loud, that the pain sharpens. You replay memories like an old film, each scene filled with what once was and what might have been. Their laughter echoes in your mind, their scent lingers in the air, the mental picture of their smile haunts you and every place you revisit seems like a torture. The heart, fragile ,breaks under the strain, splintering into pieces that feel impossible to mend.

But letting go is also an act of courage. It means choosing to see beyond the hurt, to recognize that your worth isn't diminished by their absence. It's finding the strength to wake up each day and breathe, even when it feels like the air has been stolen from your lungs. It's accepting that love, in its truest form, sometimes means setting someone free, even if it means facing the darkness alone.

The process is not predictable. Some days, the wounds will feel fresh, the pain as raw as the moment they walked away. Other days, you'll catch a glimpse of a new dawn, a hint of hope that maybe, just maybe, the future holds promise. Each step forward is a proof to your strength, a quiet victory over the ache that tries to keep you bound.

In the end, the art of letting go is about rediscovering yourself. It's about finding joy in your own company, celebrating your own achievements, and nurturing the dreams that were set aside. And as time weaves its healing thread through your heart, you'll find that the pieces, though changed, come together once more, creating a mosaic of beauty.

[grantac]

The short film, I Walk With Ghosts, based on a poem written by me. It’s been around the world and is finally out and available to everyone!

[katherine-ophelia]

To be a dreamer is to be a lit candle in a dark house.

[heartofmuse]

There is a part of me that recognized you as soon as it felt you. Eons of time, countless transformations, distances only breached by light, and yet we managed to find each other always. Like we carry not only the stardust that we were but the gravity that bound us together.

e.v.e.

[burningvelvet]

R.I.P lord byron, if you were alive today your DMs would've been fucking insane

Sources/Notes: Shelley & his Circle vol. 7 (my photos), Flirting with fame: Byron's anonymous female fans by Corin Throsby, Fangirl(s): Lord Byron edition by Cailey Hall, Lord Byron and Scandalous Celebrity by Clara Tuite, long lock of hair is probably the one mentioned in Byron's Romantic Adventures in Spain by Richard Cardwell, Clairmont Correspondence by Marion Stocking.