Poetry nut

Lately I have been giving myself time limits...on how much poetry I can read on my study breaks. I found this incredible blog and have been reading poetry from it like I'm parched and this blog is my libation relief. I don't know what it is about poetry that I love so much..and I find that it's pretty rare to find someone who truly grasps and appreciates the complexities, the raw emotion, and the ironicy of poetry. I don't really care that sometimes I feel like a sentimental weirdo, staying up too late reading poetry that inspire me to write my own. I am not a huge fan of sharing my poetry, but for some reason today I feel surprisingly inspired..so I'll go ahead and show one of my favorite poems from the blog I stumbled across and the poem I wrote a few days ago.

Blog poem:



This Is How I Must Be Loved







This is how I must be loved.
Bring me mangoes out of season.
Order an orange from China
Or one ancient painted egg.

You cannot be too exotic.

Find me a perfect magenta orchid.
It is the extravagant gesture
I long for.

Make me wear a veil and shawl.
Call me a Spanish whore.
Have me kneel at your feet.
Take me, hard, on the floor.

It is the opulence of love
I crave.

I want a full moon every night,
The wild bath of silver.
Touch me in another language.
Dare invent it,
A geography of the naked.

Surround me with candles.
Bathe me in oil.
Carry me to bed.
Tell me you’re my slave.
Brush my hair.
Beg to kiss my neck.

Whisper my name ten thousand times
Like a mantra, like chimes.
Build me a garden, an arbor.
Love me like I was the woman
Of all your tomorrows.

And no more pulling punches.
No more dress rehearsals.
Love me like I was the final
Princess in the last tower
At the end of the map.

Kate Braverman


My poem

Suns' Lover

Unfold me among the trees
Open in privacy
See how the tree trunks bleed into my coffee skin
See how the roots of my body
Cling to the roots of the fir
As if it were the only foundation my core could trust
See how the curls of my hair rise with the wind up into the
Reaching limbs of my maple’s yellowing leaves
Soon they will detach themselves in rebellion
And fall into an independence of mossy soil
You brought me here as a gift to yourself
A response in lust
In hopeful discovery of what lay beneath my threads
But as soon as you touched the first pore
The goodness of me filtered to the earth
So you couldn’t poison the depth I was meant to trait
As every pious vein seeped, the tree bloomed
Blossoming with peonies, the smell enrapturing the passer-by’s senses
And there I hid on the blanket of branches
Where I could become intimate in the roundness of the orange sun