Poetry Competition Ends 8th October 2024 3:21pm
Page:
Reworking Plath: a tribute
Poetry Contest Description
Choose a poem written by Sylvia Plath and rework the poem in your own words using the format of the poem.
Include the poem you are basing your work on in the authors notes. I will choose the winner after 2 weeks
As an example, this poem is based on Two lovers and a beachcomber by the real sea:
The static of the hull
Bold and primal, the rumination
Simmering amidst a peerless mask;
scarlet dissections are hoarded up; in the style of mire
poaching an absent tone.
Sensations that wind the tirade of fermentation
strangles my pride’s crimson sheath
acquainting its sting like a wasp
to evanescence
Into the static of the hull.
We are fraught with what once was; with whom we are
rewriting all evaluations
between the hiccup of wild and tether:
Sheer veils mixed with sheer notions
The inclined wanderer dallies along the residuals
of Neanderthal schism
Browsing textured sectors with an iron fist
pounding through the crust of captive wails.
No soft landings on the pulpit of measured will
among us, our thoughts but musings of jilt and jade
leeching wisdom from the crest of its peak;
Fragments of madness is what we are.
blood will run dry; in the silted bed
hushing the ascent of reset;
A pearled lamb thrives in the absent womb
We are what we are
This change seemed suitable, though sullenness attended as its friend
As an example, this poem is based on Two lovers and a beachcomber by the real sea:
The static of the hull
Bold and primal, the rumination
Simmering amidst a peerless mask;
scarlet dissections are hoarded up; in the style of mire
poaching an absent tone.
Sensations that wind the tirade of fermentation
strangles my pride’s crimson sheath
acquainting its sting like a wasp
to evanescence
Into the static of the hull.
We are fraught with what once was; with whom we are
rewriting all evaluations
between the hiccup of wild and tether:
Sheer veils mixed with sheer notions
The inclined wanderer dallies along the residuals
of Neanderthal schism
Browsing textured sectors with an iron fist
pounding through the crust of captive wails.
No soft landings on the pulpit of measured will
among us, our thoughts but musings of jilt and jade
leeching wisdom from the crest of its peak;
Fragments of madness is what we are.
blood will run dry; in the silted bed
hushing the ascent of reset;
A pearled lamb thrives in the absent womb
We are what we are
This change seemed suitable, though sullenness attended as its friend
Just another Mad Song
When in my sleep, there's nothing there alive,
the silence is beautifully profound
when I again awake your world survives,
My sleep's a space where your world gets contrived
I don't know how, in my sleeps, dreams aren't allowed,
when in my sleep, there's nothing there alive,
My sleeps are long and quite quick to arrive,
then your world is buried deep underground
when I awake again your world survives
When I'm awake your world vibrantly thrives
lightnings flash thunders a tremendous sound
when, in my sleep there's nothing there alive,
I think I made your world up so I'd thrive
(that's just another thought in which I'm drowned)
when I awake, again, your world survives.
I'm getting tired now, losing my drive,
I shall sleep soon, but God knows where I'm bound
Where in my sleep there's nothing left alive
If I awake again, your world survives...
the silence is beautifully profound
when I again awake your world survives,
My sleep's a space where your world gets contrived
I don't know how, in my sleeps, dreams aren't allowed,
when in my sleep, there's nothing there alive,
My sleeps are long and quite quick to arrive,
then your world is buried deep underground
when I awake again your world survives
When I'm awake your world vibrantly thrives
lightnings flash thunders a tremendous sound
when, in my sleep there's nothing there alive,
I think I made your world up so I'd thrive
(that's just another thought in which I'm drowned)
when I awake, again, your world survives.
I'm getting tired now, losing my drive,
I shall sleep soon, but God knows where I'm bound
Where in my sleep there's nothing left alive
If I awake again, your world survives...
Written by Rew
Go To Page
Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath (1932 –1963)
I have done it again.
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
A paperweight,
Peel off the napkin
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
Soon, soon the flesh
And I a smiling woman.
This is Number Three.
What a million filaments.
Them unwrap me hand and foot—
These are my hands
My knees.
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
That knocks me out.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
I am your opus,
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate
your great concern.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
Written by PAR
(PAULO ACACIO RAMOS)
Go To Page
"Abyssal Treading"
This is the land where flames crawl slow
Where shadows breed, and demons sow
The air is thick, a weight, a pain
No light escapes this black domain
Each scream is trapped within the smoke
A fractured voice, a silent choke
The ground is ash, the sky is blind
The soul is lost, the heart confined
No stars to guide, no moon to see
Just endless dark, eternally
The heat, a breath that burns the core
And yet the cold consumes you more
You walk, though nowhere leads ahead
The living path, a realm of dead
In endless loop, you spin, you fall
For here, there is no end at all
Reworked from The Moon and the Yew Tree
This is the land where flames crawl slow
Where shadows breed, and demons sow
The air is thick, a weight, a pain
No light escapes this black domain
Each scream is trapped within the smoke
A fractured voice, a silent choke
The ground is ash, the sky is blind
The soul is lost, the heart confined
No stars to guide, no moon to see
Just endless dark, eternally
The heat, a breath that burns the core
And yet the cold consumes you more
You walk, though nowhere leads ahead
The living path, a realm of dead
In endless loop, you spin, you fall
For here, there is no end at all
Reworked from The Moon and the Yew Tree
