Poems on Sylvia Plath Seeking Friendly Advice
#SylviaPlath
Shinobi
Poem Published
30th Oct 2021 5:10am
30th Oct 2021 5:10am
A Gothic Poem
man made rust, and diamond dust
broken vessels of the arcane
spell spoken from ruby lips
rhyming like a poetic refrain
how my pulse races...
haunted remnants of the wilting rose
blows through argent winds
scarlet sunburst, crimson petals
electric blue avenues, welcoming
the highway man's smoking barrel
the colors snap poloroids...
I'm not sub-human
my roots are buried deep
as the moon dangles wafer-thin
and the river calls to me
coiling on the forest floor
there is a...
broken vessels of the arcane
spell spoken from ruby lips
rhyming like a poetic refrain
how my pulse races...
haunted remnants of the wilting rose
blows through argent winds
scarlet sunburst, crimson petals
electric blue avenues, welcoming
the highway man's smoking barrel
the colors snap poloroids...
I'm not sub-human
my roots are buried deep
as the moon dangles wafer-thin
and the river calls to me
coiling on the forest floor
there is a...
#SylviaPlath
#sensual
#witches
#symbolism
#fear
587 reads
1 Comment
Shinobi
Poem Published
26th Sep 2021 12:31pm
26th Sep 2021 12:31pm
Mummy Dust
There will be hell to pay!"
I heard him shout out
shaking the rafters so...
dust drifted down
into my gaping mouth
the taste of old whiskey
as avarice
greets my dry tongue
like scorched flesh
standing to close to fire
"There will be hell to pay!"
blackbirds sing from their pulpits
craved oak benches giving me splinters
whilst I lull my days in the chapel
those scriptures that they speak
becomes gibberish in my ears
mummy dust settles,from the trestle
drifts...
I heard him shout out
shaking the rafters so...
dust drifted down
into my gaping mouth
the taste of old whiskey
as avarice
greets my dry tongue
like scorched flesh
standing to close to fire
"There will be hell to pay!"
blackbirds sing from their pulpits
craved oak benches giving me splinters
whilst I lull my days in the chapel
those scriptures that they speak
becomes gibberish in my ears
mummy dust settles,from the trestle
drifts...
#politics
#America
#FreeVerse
#SylviaPlath
#symbolism
368 reads
0 Comments
Heaven_sent_Kathy
Poem Published
2nd Aug 2019 00:54am
2nd Aug 2019 00:54am
Girlfriends
( after Anne Sexton )
‘Death’, sounds almost tender
and childlike when I say the name,
rhyming as it does with ‘breath’,
A life force unlike, lesser the end,
when a door is pried open
with a common kitchen utensil.
I didn’t pay attention and failed,
leaving me to salvage
Plath’s words before her last,
When we’d speak of it many times,
as fireflies, like girlfriends,
sending up smoke rings to be the first.
Now I jealously guard the rite
while I still have life and a history,
and can...
‘Death’, sounds almost tender
and childlike when I say the name,
rhyming as it does with ‘breath’,
A life force unlike, lesser the end,
when a door is pried open
with a common kitchen utensil.
I didn’t pay attention and failed,
leaving me to salvage
Plath’s words before her last,
When we’d speak of it many times,
as fireflies, like girlfriends,
sending up smoke rings to be the first.
Now I jealously guard the rite
while I still have life and a history,
and can...
#suicide
#fate
#SylviaPlath #AnneSexton
#SylviaPlath #AnneSexton
891 reads
5 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
14th Feb 2019 10:41pm
14th Feb 2019 10:41pm
Her Love Is A Madness
I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.’
-Sylvia Plath
When did I become mad,
the day I began loving you,
singing in my head how we
are one instead of two
Or crashing ashore in winters wrath,
rockweed wringing hands around
granite boulders moved only in storms
at highest peaks of existence
where you were there, only you and I
and the fullest moon ---
A lunacy!
Did you ever envision me
that I might...
But I grow old and I forget your name.’
-Sylvia Plath
When did I become mad,
the day I began loving you,
singing in my head how we
are one instead of two
Or crashing ashore in winters wrath,
rockweed wringing hands around
granite boulders moved only in storms
at highest peaks of existence
where you were there, only you and I
and the fullest moon ---
A lunacy!
Did you ever envision me
that I might...
#love
#sea
#beach #SylviaPlath
#beach #SylviaPlath
832 reads
9 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
20th Nov 2018 2:03am
20th Nov 2018 2:03am
Cemetary Walk In November
This is what it is to be complete,
it is horrible.’
-Sylvia Plath
Kicking through leaves
the whitened stones unannounce themselves
to rushing air, quiet, unreckoned,
pandering to a deceased moment
which endlessly repeats its
howling, repentant song.
I am never coming back, it says,
who would, not here, not ever.
Underfoot I notice trampled clothes
and a belt, an opened packet of something,
a whiskey bottle freezes gradually to
the patchy ground.
How unholy, lifes...
it is horrible.’
-Sylvia Plath
Kicking through leaves
the whitened stones unannounce themselves
to rushing air, quiet, unreckoned,
pandering to a deceased moment
which endlessly repeats its
howling, repentant song.
I am never coming back, it says,
who would, not here, not ever.
Underfoot I notice trampled clothes
and a belt, an opened packet of something,
a whiskey bottle freezes gradually to
the patchy ground.
How unholy, lifes...
#fall
#memorial
#graveyard #SylviaPlath
#graveyard #SylviaPlath
780 reads
11 Comments
george4man2box
Poem Published
30th Jun 2018 1:07am
30th Jun 2018 1:07am
Godot Paid Me A Visit...
While constipation kept me in arrears,
asper daily writing,
thus ordinarily straight forward
practiced process culling material,
(a daily endeavor generally mastered
by your truly), this moment bares
with more difficulty, thus derriere's
functionality created backlog
(of personal business),
hence presenting literary chops,
a real bummer today,
disgruntlement with Fanny Pack,
(which gripe flares
cheeks) pitted me considerably
behind schedule, so...here's
the scoop...
asper daily writing,
thus ordinarily straight forward
practiced process culling material,
(a daily endeavor generally mastered
by your truly), this moment bares
with more difficulty, thus derriere's
functionality created backlog
(of personal business),
hence presenting literary chops,
a real bummer today,
disgruntlement with Fanny Pack,
(which gripe flares
cheeks) pitted me considerably
behind schedule, so...here's
the scoop...
#women
#men
#friendship
#SylviaPlath
#CharlesBukowski
498 reads
0 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
1st Jun 2018 11:00pm
1st Jun 2018 11:00pm
Black Lake
It is a chilly God, a God of shades
Rises to the glass from his black fathoms’
- Sylvia Plath
‘Tis a black lake, one of indecision
Wherein the finished souls scream to the
Oblivion of bottomless trepidation.
Where here, they cannot turn back to
The fuzzy stasis of life itself ---
Aran-knit pleasantries
And a warm teacup on a
Green, knotty hillside and sheep in a mist,
Blank-eyed and innocent, no.
The hills have surpassed them a hundred times
And...
Rises to the glass from his black fathoms’
- Sylvia Plath
‘Tis a black lake, one of indecision
Wherein the finished souls scream to the
Oblivion of bottomless trepidation.
Where here, they cannot turn back to
The fuzzy stasis of life itself ---
Aran-knit pleasantries
And a warm teacup on a
Green, knotty hillside and sheep in a mist,
Blank-eyed and innocent, no.
The hills have surpassed them a hundred times
And...
#death
#spiritual
#SylviaPlath
813 reads
10 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
4th Apr 2018 2:40am
4th Apr 2018 2:40am
At Land's End
The future is a grey seagull
tattling in its cat-voice of departure.'
- Sylvia Plath
The grey-green abyss looks placid
In its stark rendition of loneliness.
It harbors creatures below the dim surface
With its pale streams of white light.
Are you down there, precious All-knowing?
The smell is heavy salt and brackish awareness;
It truly drowns the olfactory avoidance of it.
And it is in my mouth, too,
I can taste its chemical-laced brine, its metallics
As I become one with its...
tattling in its cat-voice of departure.'
- Sylvia Plath
The grey-green abyss looks placid
In its stark rendition of loneliness.
It harbors creatures below the dim surface
With its pale streams of white light.
Are you down there, precious All-knowing?
The smell is heavy salt and brackish awareness;
It truly drowns the olfactory avoidance of it.
And it is in my mouth, too,
I can taste its chemical-laced brine, its metallics
As I become one with its...
#sea
#beach
#SylviaPlath
981 reads
8 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
15th Feb 2018 8:23pm
15th Feb 2018 8:23pm
Dark Fruit
In this light the blood is black,
Tell me my name.'
- Sylvia Plath
I forgot who I was under a tree,
The garish light
Filtered by fractured leaves.
The white knuckles at dawn,
Those dumb uncertainties.
Who is it? I say.
I am halfway to Moonrise ---
A quickening of utterances
Ushers me to the occasion
Of my own acquiescing.
I remember too much
To abort this freedom.
.....
Tell me who I am,
Oh, furtive seekers...
Tell me my name.'
- Sylvia Plath
I forgot who I was under a tree,
The garish light
Filtered by fractured leaves.
The white knuckles at dawn,
Those dumb uncertainties.
Who is it? I say.
I am halfway to Moonrise ---
A quickening of utterances
Ushers me to the occasion
Of my own acquiescing.
I remember too much
To abort this freedom.
.....
Tell me who I am,
Oh, furtive seekers...
#dark
#SylviaPlath
1036 reads
14 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
19th Jan 2018 7:25pm
19th Jan 2018 7:25pm
Banished Words
Hush, do you hear the sound
of my churning mantras
sullen in their mediocre drudgery?
Can you mouth the severances
that spoke a language I created to
breathe on its own?
Will you inhale it to spew it forth
to rebirth the futile creature as
drivel runs on a page baptised
by my tears?
As pages ripped from the
testament of my heart ---
How the roots of my evil
are those words.
Shall I tear and burn
this libel I created, this
life I berated?
Will you hate it too as you ...
of my churning mantras
sullen in their mediocre drudgery?
Can you mouth the severances
that spoke a language I created to
breathe on its own?
Will you inhale it to spew it forth
to rebirth the futile creature as
drivel runs on a page baptised
by my tears?
As pages ripped from the
testament of my heart ---
How the roots of my evil
are those words.
Shall I tear and burn
this libel I created, this
life I berated?
Will you hate it too as you ...
#SylviaPlath
#LifeAsAWriter
565 reads
2 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
21st Dec 2017 11:07pm
21st Dec 2017 11:07pm
Electra Dreams
(1)
In my electric dreams, Daddy
always cared for me,
his neon promises delivered.
Words and notions, tears
never found such absorbent
sympathetic ears.
His grotto of love was
everflowing and cascadant;
never was anyone else above
me.
Especially when Mom left him,
Oh, I shined like a diamond ring
he wore on his pinkie.
But Daddys have their secrets;
his was how much he needed me;
I heard his eyes whisper it.
And I couldn’t stand the pain,
couldn’t bear the rain but ...
In my electric dreams, Daddy
always cared for me,
his neon promises delivered.
Words and notions, tears
never found such absorbent
sympathetic ears.
His grotto of love was
everflowing and cascadant;
never was anyone else above
me.
Especially when Mom left him,
Oh, I shined like a diamond ring
he wore on his pinkie.
But Daddys have their secrets;
his was how much he needed me;
I heard his eyes whisper it.
And I couldn’t stand the pain,
couldn’t bear the rain but ...
#father
#SylviaPlath
688 reads
2 Comments
PoetsRevenge
Poem Published
21st Dec 2017 11:04pm
21st Dec 2017 11:04pm
The Undoing
Born green we were
to this flawed garden,
but in speckled thickets, warted as a toad,
spitefully sulks our warden,
fixing his snare
which hauls down buck, cock, trout, till all most fair
is tricked to faulter in split blood ‘
- Sylvia Plath
.....
Warped existence;
trampled on gentleness ---
the white violet
shuns its reflection
and we; entangled
shed our efficacies.
Split from timbre
of a forests unmaking
we; unmoved ...
to this flawed garden,
but in speckled thickets, warted as a toad,
spitefully sulks our warden,
fixing his snare
which hauls down buck, cock, trout, till all most fair
is tricked to faulter in split blood ‘
- Sylvia Plath
.....
Warped existence;
trampled on gentleness ---
the white violet
shuns its reflection
and we; entangled
shed our efficacies.
Split from timbre
of a forests unmaking
we; unmoved ...
#love
#SylviaPlath
#FallingInLove
564 reads
4 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems on Sylvia Plath Seeking Friendly Advice
#SylviaPlath is curated by Ahavati (Tams).
