Poems About Anne Sexton Seeking Honest Critique
#AnneSexton
buddhakitty
Poem Published
9th Mar 2024 5:34pm
9th Mar 2024 5:34pm
unsane
searching for what
was never lost
but can not
be found
was never lost
but can not
be found
#AnneSexton
163 reads
11 Comments
Casted_Runes
Mr Karswell
Mr Karswell
Poem Published
10th Jan 2023 3:14pm
10th Jan 2023 3:14pm
Sexton
Always in black-and-white, she sits,
smoking a cigarette, one leg protruding
as if a sculptor caught motion, and fits
a chisel to a thigh. Both grave-digging
and bell-ringing make up the sexton’s life.
But wrongly called both succubus and wife.
She would have lit up Salem like a knife
revealed by moonlight in the house.
Misogynistic fantasies crowd on
the Massachusetts tomb; a mouse
dries out upon its palindrome, the sun
revolving ‘round the name RAT’S STAR.
Where need is never quite belief, come far
but...
smoking a cigarette, one leg protruding
as if a sculptor caught motion, and fits
a chisel to a thigh. Both grave-digging
and bell-ringing make up the sexton’s life.
But wrongly called both succubus and wife.
She would have lit up Salem like a knife
revealed by moonlight in the house.
Misogynistic fantasies crowd on
the Massachusetts tomb; a mouse
dries out upon its palindrome, the sun
revolving ‘round the name RAT’S STAR.
Where need is never quite belief, come far
but...
#depression
#MentalHealth
#WritingPoetry #AnneSexton
#WritingPoetry #AnneSexton
275 reads
2 Comments
kourtnissixxx
Poem Published
30th Nov 2016 2:00pm
30th Nov 2016 2:00pm
looking for my reason to speak (incomplete and unedited)
"All my poems are telling that the bleedings fun
until this carcass reaches heartless,
telling me the bleedings done"
They were all right about it
this
me
Him and him
and her
she who I didn't want to know
It's not enough for me
if you can't chisel a gaping need from my chest
and shred apart
all the catacombs that use my ribcage as sloppy architecture
Gluttony or irony I wonder?
Tear it all out
leave the post infection exposed for the next lonely love
that wants grip my desperate heart ...
until this carcass reaches heartless,
telling me the bleedings done"
They were all right about it
this
me
Him and him
and her
she who I didn't want to know
It's not enough for me
if you can't chisel a gaping need from my chest
and shred apart
all the catacombs that use my ribcage as sloppy architecture
Gluttony or irony I wonder?
Tear it all out
leave the post infection exposed for the next lonely love
that wants grip my desperate heart ...
#AnneSexton
1174 reads
7 Comments
JohnFeddeler
Poem Published
17th Apr 2016 2:26am
17th Apr 2016 2:26am
Mercy Street Contessa (co-write w. bootselectric)
As Jonathan laid on the comfortable opium bed in the dark Den
He gazed into the smoke rising from
the lungs of the fellow smokers
Tilting the bowl above the lamp
he inhaled the vapors
and as his exhaled smoke drifted into the air
w/ the aura of the painted chinese dragons
on the walls so barely visible above him
Jon was reminded of sweet Anita Lee
and the last time he saw her...
she never overloads the eyeshadow
or circles her lips more than once with a blushing gloss
she wouldn’t choose a dress that’s too short, too low-cut...
He gazed into the smoke rising from
the lungs of the fellow smokers
Tilting the bowl above the lamp
he inhaled the vapors
and as his exhaled smoke drifted into the air
w/ the aura of the painted chinese dragons
on the walls so barely visible above him
Jon was reminded of sweet Anita Lee
and the last time he saw her...
she never overloads the eyeshadow
or circles her lips more than once with a blushing gloss
she wouldn’t choose a dress that’s too short, too low-cut...
#AnneSexton
1282 reads
10 Comments
sooterella
Poem Published
26th Aug 2014 11:17am
26th Aug 2014 11:17am
going mad
Dear Anne Sexton,
reading you at 4am is like rosary beads on a feverish tummy
I'm writing on graph paper
because I can't find anything else
except pages and pages of beauty
in which to reside
so I write my own
and summon your ghost
i can feel the dying in me collide with the sky
the hard wood against my spine
that bruises in grave lilies
is it true that a man has 3 great loves in his life?
1.
his mother
with breasts like empty flasks
blinking sagely at the hiddenmost cupboards
of regret
regret is a...
reading you at 4am is like rosary beads on a feverish tummy
I'm writing on graph paper
because I can't find anything else
except pages and pages of beauty
in which to reside
so I write my own
and summon your ghost
i can feel the dying in me collide with the sky
the hard wood against my spine
that bruises in grave lilies
is it true that a man has 3 great loves in his life?
1.
his mother
with breasts like empty flasks
blinking sagely at the hiddenmost cupboards
of regret
regret is a...
#AnneSexton
1342 reads
6 Comments
LeColonel
Poem Published
23rd Dec 2013 12:37pm
23rd Dec 2013 12:37pm
Elegy for Anne
Although we are
deux femmes suprêmes
from random decades
I know that you
and I are alike
my sororal twin
(Even though,
as you know
I, like Hamlet
lack the courage
to be a coward)
Nonetheless
I too
have two moons
which eclipse me
with such a sweet, sweet
lunacy
Each bipole tugs
tugs with its
own grave gravitation
towards either
cirrus heights or
unsounded depths –
for you know too well
one cannot savor either
without its other
But I do have to ask
since...
deux femmes suprêmes
from random decades
I know that you
and I are alike
my sororal twin
(Even though,
as you know
I, like Hamlet
lack the courage
to be a coward)
Nonetheless
I too
have two moons
which eclipse me
with such a sweet, sweet
lunacy
Each bipole tugs
tugs with its
own grave gravitation
towards either
cirrus heights or
unsounded depths –
for you know too well
one cannot savor either
without its other
But I do have to ask
since...
#AnneSexton
964 reads
4 Comments
rnabokov
Poem Published
3rd Mar 2013 4:28am
3rd Mar 2013 4:28am
up against the wall of withdrawl - incident @ bray’s beach
The sand is hot.
On my radio, a love song –
Who gives a fuck about soft, vulnerable people,
yeah, yeah, yeah.
I don’t. I’m giving up smoking.
47 minutes without a cigarette. But who’s counting?
I am.
Low tide. The water looks cold. I’m not going in. Fuck that.
Lying flat on my back, on my towel, naked under a tree. I am alone and chasing a tan.
The flies are bad, could be something dead nearby. Invisible cigarettes litter the backyard of my imagination, clutter my clawing solitude.
It's getting harder to move.
48...
On my radio, a love song –
Who gives a fuck about soft, vulnerable people,
yeah, yeah, yeah.
I don’t. I’m giving up smoking.
47 minutes without a cigarette. But who’s counting?
I am.
Low tide. The water looks cold. I’m not going in. Fuck that.
Lying flat on my back, on my towel, naked under a tree. I am alone and chasing a tan.
The flies are bad, could be something dead nearby. Invisible cigarettes litter the backyard of my imagination, clutter my clawing solitude.
It's getting harder to move.
48...
#AnneSexton
831 reads
3 Comments
Indie
Miss Indie
Miss Indie
Poem Published
17th Oct 2012 9:31am
17th Oct 2012 9:31am
used bubble gum and discarded cigarette butts
"For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling." – Anne Sexton
You shatter my breath
with three little words
and fuck me from the inside
with hate
and still
I cannot get enough
of you
I huddle like a lonely cigarette
left in the street lit rain
wilted and useless
decaying in a discoloured mess
into the saliva drenched side walk
I’m the shadow of a woman
that could be
if she dared to look up and confront ...
You shatter my breath
with three little words
and fuck me from the inside
with hate
and still
I cannot get enough
of you
I huddle like a lonely cigarette
left in the street lit rain
wilted and useless
decaying in a discoloured mess
into the saliva drenched side walk
I’m the shadow of a woman
that could be
if she dared to look up and confront ...
#AnneSexton
923 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems About Anne Sexton Seeking Honest Critique
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#AnneSexton is curated by Ahavati (Tams).
