Contemporary Poetry > Likes and Comments

Soft, sincere poems about love, emotion, and connection.

«AN ODE TO THE BORING

Praise the drowsy missionary sex on a Monday night,

the droning CNN soundtrack as we wash and dry the dishes.

I feed the dog and you grind the coffee; I fold your wool socks and you open the mail. We wait for the dough to rise.

Praise the quiet car rides, the gray sweatpants, my pinky hooked in yours.

You kiss me and, this time, it does not feel like a plummeting.

This time it feels like turning towards the sun, like opening a door, like a song with forgotten words that our bodies have been humming
for centuries.»
By Amy Kay (from here https://www.instagram.com/p/C2dAlzZJukh/)

Not contemporary, but still sharing this:
«Yet thro’ the purple glow of eve
Shines dimly the white moon.
The slackened bow, the quiver, the long lance,
Rest on the pillar of the Tent.
Knitting light palm-leaves for her brother’s brow
The dark-eyed damsel sits;
The Old Man tranquilly
Up his curled pipe inhales
The tranquillizing herb.
So listen they the reed of Thalaba,
While his skilled fingers modulate
The low, sweet, soothing, melancholy tones,
Or if he strung the pearls of Poetry
Singing with agitated face
And eloquent arms, and sobs that reach the heart,
A tale of love and woe;
Then, if the brightening Moon that lit his face
In darkness favoured her’s,
Oh! even with such a look, as, fables say,
The mother Ostrich fixes on her egg,
Till that intense affection
Kindle its light of life,
Even in such deep and breathless tenderness
Oneiza’s soul is centered on the youth,
So motionless with such an ardent gaze,
Save when from her full eyes
Quickly she wipes away the gushing tears
That dim his image there.

She called him brother: was it sister-love
That made the silver rings
Round her smooth ankles and her twany arms,
Shine daily brightened? for a brother’s eye
Were her long fingers tinged,
As when she trimmed the lamp,
And thro’ the veins and delicate skin
The light shone rosy? that the darkened lids
Gave yet a softer lustre to her eye?
That with such pride she tricked
Her glossy tresses, and on holy day
Wreathed the red flower-crown round their jetty waves?
How happily the years
Of Thalaba went by!»
From Robert Southey's epic "Thalaba, the Destroyer".

(For context, it is about the title character havin been raised after orphaned by father by a man with whose daughter he fell in love, despite being raised as if siblings, so don't get bothered by the «brother» and «sister» epithets.)