Poems on Sylvia Plath Seeking Honest Critique
#SylviaPlath
My Masterpiece
"Dying is an art, like anything else" ~ Sylvia Plath
Funny how I knew it from the start
how dying is its very own art
a true medium unto itself
meant for neither wall nor shelf
Deserving a mantle of its own
I continue struggling to hone
my own meagerest of skill
using paper, ink and quill
As I use this parchment of life
again pen about joy and strife
let the words have their say
in a sage and poetic way
Blend blood and tears into ink
while I now pursue the link
between life and...
Funny how I knew it from the start
how dying is its very own art
a true medium unto itself
meant for neither wall nor shelf
Deserving a mantle of its own
I continue struggling to hone
my own meagerest of skill
using paper, ink and quill
As I use this parchment of life
again pen about joy and strife
let the words have their say
in a sage and poetic way
Blend blood and tears into ink
while I now pursue the link
between life and...
#art
#confessional
#death
#SylviaPlath
#WritingPoetry
23 reads
6 Comments
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...
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...
#death
#love
#mirror
#SylviaPlath
#WritingPoetry
195 reads
6 Comments
In the Path of Plath
How then to truly do the math
travel within the footsteps of Plath
this shadowing she still casts
how her haunting memory still lasts
Hiding every single scar
safely within a bell jar
she made it safe to say
how I do suffer the same way
For bipolar is my cross to bear
an invisible sackcloth I wear
as I rise to face each sunrise
witnessing with tearful eyes
All that I have done and seen
can never then be made clean
no matter how holy this water
I remain a Confessional daughter ...
travel within the footsteps of Plath
this shadowing she still casts
how her haunting memory still lasts
Hiding every single scar
safely within a bell jar
she made it safe to say
how I do suffer the same way
For bipolar is my cross to bear
an invisible sackcloth I wear
as I rise to face each sunrise
witnessing with tearful eyes
All that I have done and seen
can never then be made clean
no matter how holy this water
I remain a Confessional daughter ...
#bipolar
#confessional
#MentalHealth
#SylviaPlath
#WritingPoetry
12 reads
3 Comments
Neoconfessional
Seems I took the unworn path
of Lowell, Sexton and Plath
a most lonesome sort of way
just to justify all that I may say
Since it always then begins
with my cataloguing of my sins
laying down ink upon paper
under the lonely light of a taper
I tally up all of these scars
this constellation of my stars
that guides me through the night
help me consummate each write
Hoping to bleed true in every line
in the hope to someday so refine
this life I seek to live
to leave behind this truth I give
Yet...
of Lowell, Sexton and Plath
a most lonesome sort of way
just to justify all that I may say
Since it always then begins
with my cataloguing of my sins
laying down ink upon paper
under the lonely light of a taper
I tally up all of these scars
this constellation of my stars
that guides me through the night
help me consummate each write
Hoping to bleed true in every line
in the hope to someday so refine
this life I seek to live
to leave behind this truth I give
Yet...
#confessional
#SylviaPlath
#TruthOfLife
#WritingPoetry
#SelfReflection
24 reads
8 Comments
A Simple Math
There is such a simple math
when it comes to Sylvia Plath
to this undying Confessional fad
for in order to finally add
one must first subtract
leave all balance left in tact
hence one must choose
to be prepared to then lose
before at last you dare take
that final line break
when it comes to Sylvia Plath
to this undying Confessional fad
for in order to finally add
one must first subtract
leave all balance left in tact
hence one must choose
to be prepared to then lose
before at last you dare take
that final line break
#confessional
#SylviaPlath
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
#PowerOfWords
17 reads
6 Comments
Poette
She is a deft poette
always places herself
high upon the top shelf
kept just out of reach
Or safely on the beach
away from a violent tide
lying in a truth denied
in word but not in deed
Just a germinating seed
surely meant to bloom
if just given enough room
watered by sufficient tears
Weaving her barbed years
into a clever tapestry
one that only she can see
deciphering her fine lines
In a poetry which entwines
each listener from the start
with an enchanting...
always places herself
high upon the top shelf
kept just out of reach
Or safely on the beach
away from a violent tide
lying in a truth denied
in word but not in deed
Just a germinating seed
surely meant to bloom
if just given enough room
watered by sufficient tears
Weaving her barbed years
into a clever tapestry
one that only she can see
deciphering her fine lines
In a poetry which entwines
each listener from the start
with an enchanting...
#SylviaPlath
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
#PowerOfWords
#art
11 reads
0 Comments
My Own Bones
Everything she said was like a
secret voice speaking straight
out of my bones” ~ Sylvia Plath
I feel these bones most
in this old wintery discontent
when my body aches
when its silence breaks
crackles static electricity
becomes again dynamic
potential into kinetic
motion is its only burden
which cannot bear itself
knowing every word I said
means more after I am dead
secret voice speaking straight
out of my bones” ~ Sylvia Plath
I feel these bones most
in this old wintery discontent
when my body aches
when its silence breaks
crackles static electricity
becomes again dynamic
potential into kinetic
motion is its only burden
which cannot bear itself
knowing every word I said
means more after I am dead
#LifeStruggles
#confessional
#SylviaPlath
#MentalHealth
#aging
17 reads
1 Comment
The Bell Poem
In memory of The Bell Jar
by Silvia Plath (1932 - 1963)
So does it really ring true
this thing that I do
these lines I pen
drowning all my paper
Digging deep inside
what I can no longer hide
toss it all about
sling my silly ink
For what is the point
to finally dare anoint
all of these poems
let them see the light of day
When they will not be read
but simply discarded instead
tossed upon the pile
of unending human failure
Even with this very write
that frittered...
by Silvia Plath (1932 - 1963)
So does it really ring true
this thing that I do
these lines I pen
drowning all my paper
Digging deep inside
what I can no longer hide
toss it all about
sling my silly ink
For what is the point
to finally dare anoint
all of these poems
let them see the light of day
When they will not be read
but simply discarded instead
tossed upon the pile
of unending human failure
Even with this very write
that frittered...
#confessional
#SylviaPlath
#WritersBlock
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
19 reads
4 Comments
American Poet
I am the latest edition
of a longstanding tradition
the poet who silently sits
squarely on the sharp margins
A lone sentinel of the time
weaving all of my rhyme
in order to recapture
this juggernaut of postmodernity
Loving the solitary write
draped only in the cloak of night
but hating all of the rules
that always circle me in
Still trying to end the war
(without keeping score)
between heart and mind
between reason and passion
With each new rendition
I poet the human condition
in...
of a longstanding tradition
the poet who silently sits
squarely on the sharp margins
A lone sentinel of the time
weaving all of my rhyme
in order to recapture
this juggernaut of postmodernity
Loving the solitary write
draped only in the cloak of night
but hating all of the rules
that always circle me in
Still trying to end the war
(without keeping score)
between heart and mind
between reason and passion
With each new rendition
I poet the human condition
in...
#rhyming
#confessional
#SylviaPlath
#LifeAsAWriter
#WritingPoetry
19 reads
3 Comments
Unfrequented
Solitude is a lonely place
an isolated space
not often visited
enough...
A commanding bluff
that rises above everything
but still lies below
with all of its murky truths
While the silence soothes
in its own quiet way
the many barbs of the day
this tangled bramble
For there is no primrose path
for a true disciple of Plath
a poet worth her salt
when she bleeds her wounds
Relentless is the tide that pounds
the fragile sandy shore
who always wanted more
than to just be...
an isolated space
not often visited
enough...
A commanding bluff
that rises above everything
but still lies below
with all of its murky truths
While the silence soothes
in its own quiet way
the many barbs of the day
this tangled bramble
For there is no primrose path
for a true disciple of Plath
a poet worth her salt
when she bleeds her wounds
Relentless is the tide that pounds
the fragile sandy shore
who always wanted more
than to just be...
#confessional
#SylviaPlath
#WritingPoetry
#SelfReflection
#SelfDiscovery
22 reads
5 Comments
The Poet Path
In the steps of Sexton and Plath
I follow this poet path
one of broken glass
one of strewn thorns
As each step still warns
that which lies ahead
will finally tell its truth
secrets kept since youth
Rays of golden sun
battles fought then won
with only myself
leave a mortal scar
A bridge still too far
with this river to cross
this river of deep loss
flows only with what it knows
So, I remain upon the shore
yearning for something...
I follow this poet path
one of broken glass
one of strewn thorns
As each step still warns
that which lies ahead
will finally tell its truth
secrets kept since youth
Rays of golden sun
battles fought then won
with only myself
leave a mortal scar
A bridge still too far
with this river to cross
this river of deep loss
flows only with what it knows
So, I remain upon the shore
yearning for something...
#confessional
#SylviaPlath
#LifeAsAWriter
#SelfDiscovery
#AnneSexton
9 reads
1 Comment
Confessional
I have no need of a booth
to bleed my truth
share my pain
all over the page
Words to me are
a fresh breath
a glimpse of death
yet far beyond it
A lifetime of lies
is no real surprise
to one who seeks
pure verity
My only possession
a reverent confession
to lay down the lines
fill up the stanzas
Tallying up the scars
like fireflies in jars
meant to be counted
meant to be remembered
to bleed my truth
share my pain
all over the page
Words to me are
a fresh breath
a glimpse of death
yet far beyond it
A lifetime of lies
is no real surprise
to one who seeks
pure verity
My only possession
a reverent confession
to lay down the lines
fill up the stanzas
Tallying up the scars
like fireflies in jars
meant to be counted
meant to be remembered
#confessional
#SylviaPlath
#LifeAsAWriter
#TruthOfLife
#WritingPoetry
18 reads
6 Comments
DU Poetry : Poems on Sylvia Plath Seeking Honest Critique

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Ahavati
#SylviaPlath is curated by Ahavati (Tams).