Plath Poems

Sylvia Plath, Why I Killed My Self

I left the kettle hissing,
A blue serpent coiling in the kitchen.
The window’s breath was winter—
It kissed me cold, a mother I never had.

I was a bone in the mouth of the world,
Gnawed down to a pale thought.
The mirror grew teeth—
It ate my face

The room was quiet as paper,
Holding its breath for the pen.
Ink pooled in

Sara Teasdale, Why I Took My Life

The night pressed in with a velvet hand,
I was so tired, you’d understand.
All day the world had sung its song,
But not for me—I did not belong.

The streets were lit, the windows warm,
Yet none could shield me from the storm.
I wore my smile like Sharon's borrowed dress,
While hollow winds moved through my chest.

I thought of spring,

Mommy

Mommy
by Sylvia Plath (in her voice and style)

Mommy, your face was a frostbitten moon,
A pale eclipse of warmth I never held.
Your hands were glass, and never swooned
To touch the fever in which I dwelled.

You stitched me shut with lilac thread—
Soft on the skin, but poison-fed.
A nursery built from iron and ash,
Rocking the cradle with a

What If I Have To Live Again

What if I have to live again—
Reborn in the bone-thin hush of grief,
A jawbone grinding air,
My love trailing like a torn dress through corridors
Of someone else's dreams.

You cheated with a mirror.
I saw you smiling at your double,
Kissing her with the lips you pressed
To my forehead after midnight sobs.
How dare you touch her with my name

Leaves, A Sonnet

J. Smythe with Sylvia Plath

Amongst the trees he walked, a distant form,
She, like the leaves, danced in the summer breeze.
The plan, he'd hoped, would keep her safe and warm,
Suddenly, she demanded her release.
The summer passed, and lost to fleeting grace,
She searched for luck, a four-leaf clover rare,
Amongst the trees, a lost and lonely space,
Where music

Beyond the Pane

Villanelle: "Beyond the Pane"

B. Marquardt-Alexander with Sylvia Plath and Ima Gen (credited to all) 

In sunlight's haze, I stare beyond the pane,

A world outside, where love and joy remain.

Where freedom calls, my heart begins to strain.

The grass whispers secrets, as I lie in vain,

Longing to flee, to leave this heartache's stain.

In sunlight's haze, I stare

Silver Solitude on Storm's Edge

I emerged / born with a silver pen in hand
…and a tempest raging within.
Words writhe, a serpent's coil
…tightening their grip
A soul adrift in a sea of 
…self-made iniquity.

I buried my daddy 
…in the black shoe
…by the Yew tree
Yes, I, the beekeeper’s daughter
…bearing the weight of hexagonal cells
A hive of memories
…buzzing with secrets.
The bell jar shattered

DEADLY CROSSING OF POE AND PLATH

The raven is too hyperactive at my window pane.
Hear how noisy its wings are; was napping, now knocking knees.
Was about to turn over, with restrictions of the homebound,
As the shadows fly off tight walls, this cot, my face.
I am bothered; I am covered in ebonic feathers.
My eyes tick-tock, they’re grave, and my blue hands they

The Closed Path of Sylvia Plath

Beneath the moon's melancholy glow,
Inclosed secrets began to grow.
A journey cut, a tale untold,
In the closed path, emotions unfold.

Her words, a labyrinth of despair,
Yet beauty in each poetic layer.
Through the closed path, a haunting maze,
Sylvia danced in poetic daze.

The bell jar's grip, a heavy shroud,
In the closed path, whispers loud.
Yet, in her verse, a resilient

Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath
?
In this world danced her words, in a poet's breath,
Sylvia lived in realms of love and strife,
Her verses weaved from darkness to bright wreath,
A soul immersed in tumultuous life.

With pen in hand, she bared her inner storms,
A heart so fragile, yet fierce and wild,
Through verses, her emotions took all forms,
Her truth, a gift, for

Emagi Plath Ennui

PLATH ennui 1&2

   snzzzzzzzzz ••••• snzzzzzzz ••••••••(yawn)••••••snzzzzz(yawn)snzzz

Remembering Sylvia Plath

What she might have been was hidden
Beneath self-destruction and depression
Despair so black it silenced light, war-ridden

Life without purpose, true love forbidden
Leaving darkest doubt lost in the impression
What she might have been was hidden

Her emotions, joy and hope, bedridden
A hole in her soul reflects every transgression
Despair so black it silenced light, war-ridden

Wonders in tears, promise of

Plath In the Oven

WASH the moon ----> bring some soap 
between dirty words might have been born
unlike fetus' now dead
How about Boris Karloff:
makeup for monster actor acting
so funny i died crying life
How fruit flies like bananas
weeping finding out how
my grandfather clock is 
so full of bugs - buzz me out
she has many roses inside
the sad mausoleum of 
i

For Sylvia Plath

For Sylvia Plath

So where do you float now;
Genius of misery
Keeper and kept
Of those mysterious bees?

You would frown at an epitaph,
I know.
But epitaphs are inevitable,
You know.

Anyone who's read your lines
Wonders how you did it;
How those lines, tiny chains,
Pullled steady, unified;
Dragged you down to face the dark
The deep crevices of the mind
- Or perhaps you dragged them?

I'm

Diamonds and Sylvia Plath

tiny diamonds, 
like two tamed supernovae, 
in earlobes; a shiny 
forehead which would do 
to powder; Sylvia Plath
bookmarked with my love letter

31.o8.2019
Writing Challenge 3, August 2019 - Six Lines
Sponsor, Dear Heart- Wiishkobi Ode
Syllables Per Line:	5 7 7 5 7 7

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