Long Poems About Anne Sexton
#AnneSexton
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
20th Oct 2019 3:58am
20th Oct 2019 3:58am
Just Once (Living River Of Hell)
The trouble with being a woman, Skeezix,
is being a little girl in the first place'
'If this is Hell, then Hell could not be much,
neither as special or as ugly as I was told.'
-Anne Sexton
I am diagnosed dragging on a Camel,
staring at the river, full of all the selves
of detachmemt from my actual one.
They used to be me as one self when I was
fused into the wall of my mother,
before I came here to this bridge.
I am deranging like the splitting haloes
of car headlights...
is being a little girl in the first place'
'If this is Hell, then Hell could not be much,
neither as special or as ugly as I was told.'
-Anne Sexton
I am diagnosed dragging on a Camel,
staring at the river, full of all the selves
of detachmemt from my actual one.
They used to be me as one self when I was
fused into the wall of my mother,
before I came here to this bridge.
I am deranging like the splitting haloes
of car headlights...
#dark
#death
#river
#memories
#AnneSexton
857 reads
19 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
29th Aug 2019 2:39am
29th Aug 2019 2:39am
The Awful Rowing (Toward God)
Perhaps God is only a deep voice
heard by the deaf,
I do not know'
-Anne Sexton
Where is God, what sun, what moon
towed the misogyny
to leave me here in his blood?
The far off island of blinking starlight
winks and carries me off:
I am floating, I am rowing.
Seeking, I am always seeking;
such tedious labor to play this game.
He is receding as I push on to his
island in the sun
inhaling its fishy, sour sobriety.
My skin is removed of its endurance,
I am raw, blistered in the...
heard by the deaf,
I do not know'
-Anne Sexton
Where is God, what sun, what moon
towed the misogyny
to leave me here in his blood?
The far off island of blinking starlight
winks and carries me off:
I am floating, I am rowing.
Seeking, I am always seeking;
such tedious labor to play this game.
He is receding as I push on to his
island in the sun
inhaling its fishy, sour sobriety.
My skin is removed of its endurance,
I am raw, blistered in the...
#death
#God
#confessional #AnneSexton
#confessional #AnneSexton
1628 reads
10 Comments
thepositivelydark
Poem Published
8th Dec 2016 10:29am
8th Dec 2016 10:29am
For Them, Who Cannot Keep Me Any Longer
She is all there.
...
She is, in fact, exquisite.
...
Let's face it, I have been momentary,
A luxury.
...
She is solid.
As for me, I am watercolor.
I wash off.
- "For My Lover, Returning to His Wife," Anne Sexton
You have such a way with words, honey.
Such a way with words.
They billow out of your mouth,
Stained with the color of her lips.
I see it.
I hear her say your prayers every night.
And how they all fall into
Pages of binding
Signed with your names.
...
...
She is, in fact, exquisite.
...
Let's face it, I have been momentary,
A luxury.
...
She is solid.
As for me, I am watercolor.
I wash off.
- "For My Lover, Returning to His Wife," Anne Sexton
You have such a way with words, honey.
Such a way with words.
They billow out of your mouth,
Stained with the color of her lips.
I see it.
I hear her say your prayers every night.
And how they all fall into
Pages of binding
Signed with your names.
...
#AnneSexton
941 reads
7 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
goldenmyst
Poem Published
4th Oct 2015 6:37pm
4th Oct 2015 6:37pm
Strangers in the Night
Strangers in the Night
I love the smell of books. I think that, even more than my love of literature, may be the reason I work in a used book store. That and because it is so quiet. I love quiet places where I find I can think more clearly. I know people who crave noise and feel lonely in places like this book store.
However, I feel right at home among the books of Pablo Neruda and Anne Sexton two of my favorite authors among the many represented in the stacks of this antiquarian book store. The books are like companions to me. I feel as though I am in the company of the...
I love the smell of books. I think that, even more than my love of literature, may be the reason I work in a used book store. That and because it is so quiet. I love quiet places where I find I can think more clearly. I know people who crave noise and feel lonely in places like this book store.
However, I feel right at home among the books of Pablo Neruda and Anne Sexton two of my favorite authors among the many represented in the stacks of this antiquarian book store. The books are like companions to me. I feel as though I am in the company of the...
#AnneSexton
1212 reads
4 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
DU Poetry : Long Poems About Anne Sexton
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