Famous Prickling Poems by Famous Poets

These are examples of famous Prickling poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous prickling poems. These examples illustrate what a famous prickling poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).

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She Hears The Storm

by Thomas Hardy
 There was a time in former years-- 
While my roof-tree was his-- 
When I should have been distressed by fears 
At such a night as this!

I should have murmured anxiously, 
'The prickling rain strikes cold; 
His road is bare of hedge or tree, 
And he is getting old.'

But now the fitful chimney-roar, 
The drone of Thorncombe trees, 
The Froom...Read more of this...

Dialogue Between Ghost And Priest

by Sylvia Plath
 In the rectory garden on his evening walk
Paced brisk Father Shawn. A cold day, a sodden one it was
In black November. After a sliding rain
Dew stood in chill sweat on each stalk,
Each thorn; spiring from wet earth, a blue haze
Hung caught in dark-webbed branches like a fabulous heron.

Hauled sudden from solitude,
Hair prickling on his head,
Father Shawn perceived a ghost
Shaping...Read more of this...

Pickle Belt

by Theodore Roethke
 The fruit rolled by all day.
They prayed the cogs would creep;
They thought about Saturday pay,
And Sunday sleep.

Whatever he smelled was good:
The fruit and flesh smells mixed.
There beside him she stood,--
And he, perplexed;

He, in his shrunken britches,
Eyes rimmed with pickle dust,
Prickling with all the itches
Of sixteen-year-old lust....Read more of this...

The Moon And The Yew Tree

by Sylvia Plath
 This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary
The trees of the mind are black. The light is blue.
The grasses unload their griefs on my feet as if I were God
Prickling my ankles and murmuring of their humility
Fumy, spiritous mists inhabit this place.
Separated from my house by a row of headstones.
I simply cannot see where there is to...Read more of this...

Monologue At 3 AM

by Sylvia Plath
 Better that every fiber crack 
and fury make head, 
blood drenching vivid 
couch, carpet, floor 
and the snake-figured almanac 
vouching you are 
a million green counties from here, 

than to sit mute, twitching so 
under prickling stars, 
with stare, with curse 
blackening the time 
goodbyes were said, trains let go, 
and I, great magnanimous fool, thus wrenched from 
my...Read more of this...

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