Keith Bickerstaffe Poet Verse

Dross

...for Sylvia Plath
 

Her grasp of things is gone,
she fiddles, and is lost 
with no prospect of redress.

She hovers shapeless,
rudderless, 
in a storm-toss'd mess.

Substanceless, tottering
in limbo's loveless hold,
merely dross.

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Kathryn Collins June 30, 2012 at 8:12 AM Such a sad story. Another tragedy begetting another. Dross - the perfect word. love, Kathy

Andrea Dietrich June 23, 2012 at 6:37 PM aha, this must be part one. I can tell she was a poet you must have greatly admired.

Joe Maverick June 23, 2012 at 2:43 PM Interesting piece to read here Keith."

Joann Grisetti June 23, 2012 at 10:52 AM I remember reading Sylvia's poems in the 1960's and thinking how similar we were. Now, not so much. Nice tribute.

Ilene Bauer June 23, 2012 at 5:25 AM good morning, keith! it sounds like you're starting the day on a sad note, but you've expressed it so beautifully. i love "limbo's loveless hold" and the "storm-toss'd mess." poor sylvia!