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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required "Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting." Robert Frost "Bees Under Milk Wood : A Spell" Spider Web glistens wet in the spoilt lies of a new moon Milkwood’s just another street Black Cat spreads it’s legs it licks it’s own wounds Love in the Asylum a turn of good fortunes Sylvia holds out her arms Dylan folds into her warm bosom and swoons Sylvia smiles a ripped sail safe harbour opening her mind’s ocean Shark’s circling her Bees in their Bell Jar brood How soon the servant sun comes running Life’s not yet over Life’s Riddle taunts provoking Where is the love in a Poet? In the heart or the ego forsooth? Take the razor, cut pale skin draw crimson cross over wrists, two oceans uniting blood boiling make a pact intellects somersault cardinal sin reckoning sabre tooth twins tryst in a hot honeyed bath Try kissing the morrow Honey melting hot lips part tongues duel en garde Blood Sparrows tear the white skin of untouched pages apart Where is the love in a Poet? In the heart or the ego forsooth? Shuffle the deck, cut the pack deal the rebels with brave racing hearts Take the nib, dip in black ink draw new stories unequipped yet ever so sharp Wrists over new minds unite never sink Held like lovers burning in fire, two black dogs bark Fuel the sparks light the pyre, words in the windows of this world dance naked borne evergreen drowning in Absynthe deep bonfires duelling desire Ten times written blarney licks deadly nightshade roots Bees in the Bell Jar Knock ardently on her roof Milkwood swallows her rhubarb smile and pulls her wasted into him, evanescence their sin Black is her heart Vivid Blue is his night He whispers flirtatiously, “Tis my condition not profession to write you these lullabies.” She sighs, like a minx, “In your mind, there my bees will always sting you and fly – you shall never go gently into that good night.” He holds her gently and replies, “You know you really are a Wasp milking honey, but never fear, I will always stay by your side, ne'er apart, always near through all of the good and all of the bad by and by”. (Lovejoy-Burton/August 2018) “Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.” Sylvia Plath "The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps... so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in." Dylan Thomas “I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.” Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar "Poetry is not the most important thing in life... I'd much rather lie in a hot bath reading Agatha Christie and sucking sweets." Dylan Thomas
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