Short Sylvia Poems
Short Sylvia Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Sylvia by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Sylvia by length and keyword.
Svelte Sylvia loved acrobatics
She did it in gyms and in attics
She did a pole vault
And a triple somersault
She is known as a fitness fanatic
Is she not a woman,
and a flower, her children,
petals of flesh still inside,
even when deciding to die,
leaving a white wilting flower,
on the kitchen floor.
...for Sylvia Plath
White wisps in
killing glow
dissolve.
Whiteness
won't redeem her;
arctic and stark,
bright yet lifeless.
Barren,
a spectre
without purpose,
she teeters
in darkness,
alone in her lordliness.
...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.
...for Sylvia Plath
Her grasp of things is gone,
she meddles 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,
only dross.
There are grill marks on the frozen chicken
though they’ve never known the grill.
The man in line behind me laughs
and it’s warm like orange oven coils.
I miss
Sylvia Plath
and hate the grill marks on the frozen chicken.
S-hare
Y-our
L-ovely
V-erses
I-n
A-crostic
F-orm
R-ightfully
A-s
N-ice
C-ouplet
E-mploys
S-tylish
C-harm
H-aving
A-wesome
N-ote
Topic: Birthday of Poetess Sylvia Frances Chan (November 22)
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
...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.
Merry Christmas with you Sylvia.
that you would bat your your eyes.
The Lord's in far off places
to get the blessed to wise.
He'll look for you at Christmas
but surely pass you by.
For in the hearts of righteous
come blessings for the wise.
...for Sylvia Plath
White wisps in
killing glow
dissolve.
Whiteness
won't absolve her;
arctic and stark
it wills her ill.
She's hollow,
assured of
missing
opportunities.
She swaggers
in darkness,
alone in her lordliness.
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
Sylvia, you are the heiress to my heart;
Your garden to saunter at your leisure.
Lieu of one seed, I vest whole orchards of my love in you.
Vacant is this Eden, and though the apples be by Eves eaten,
It still be my love, Sylvia, it still be my love,
And now it be yours, evermore.
My mother, Sylvia Plath,
These days, I might laugh,
Electric oven, you know!
I was too young to know,
One way to go--
It was too young to know,
I used to live in dread,
I learnt what blackmail meant,
She got cremated, you know,
I was too young to know,
These days, I might laugh,
My mother, Sylvia Plath.
In the oven should I stick,
My haunted, harrowed head?
Or should I take my Pen and prick
My Will to Live instead?
Alas! the guilt! And, oh! The shame!
If just the Others knew!
They would place their embattled brains
In also, to broil, too...
*I'm in no way trying to exploit or poke fun at Sylvia; I revere her work
Psychotic pain rips her flesh from bone
Leaving her ragged skeletal shadow brutally
Assaulted by maniacal horror imperceptible to the mentally normal
Temptation conquers her and she welcomes serene death with poisonous applause, gas her invisible
Hangman’s noose-forever silencing her
Like every crazy
Love struck man in Korea
I too will break out of jail
And cut the limbs of the trees
That create a frightening shadow on your ceiling
While you lie in bed
Unable to move or speak
As those profoundly ignorant beings
Incredulous as to how a human
Could fall in love with a goat
Proceed to drag me away
You are not my life
You are not my life
My life is free
Just for you
Enjoy
Get me, get me, get me
Get me
I love you
Baby
Baby
Baby
I m yours
Live me
Live my life
Live my life
Feel me
Enjoy my life
Sylvia loves me
I love her
She gone
I follow her
Sylvia
Sylvia
Perfect poet
I love you
Vilmos
...for Sylvia Plath
Her grasp of things is gone,
she meddles, she is lost
with no prospect of redress.
She hovers shapeless,
rudderless in a
storm-toss'd mess.
Substanceless, tottering
in limbo's loveless hold,
only dross.
(Note: One of her poetic devices
was the use of multiple double-
vowel and double consonant words.)
Fame will ruin everything!
Just ask
Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton
They paid for it
with their happiness,
their lives.
They yearned for it
and once
it was achieved
they couldn't handle it,
let it get
the best of them.
So be careful of
what you strive for
because it
could cost you
more than
can be imagined
in this jostled
situation that
we exist in.
Apparantly i should have a style
I don't know about that...
Sometimes I feell like Sylvia Plath;
Sometimes Robbie Burns.
But all the time I feel like me -
And my mood.
Does that make me a lesser poet?
I don't know...
But I do know
That I
May feel sad one day
But happy the next.
It's a conundrum!
So many poets
So many styles...
Sometimes feels like
An 'Unquiet Grave'.
Sylvia stays sedentary still seeking superiority
Sometimes summarizing situations so subtilely*,
Suddenly somnambulistic, she slips silently
Sensing some sarcastic silliness, soon senility.
*alternate, archaic spelling for “subtly.”
SECOND PLACE WINNER
Written June 28, 2022
For "Begin With a Letter" poetry contest
sponsored by Angela Tune
Cut the quill…
spill the ink…
bleed the words…
stain the sheets.
Let it flow! Let it flow!
By Sylvia Chika
[email protected]
http://sylviachika.blogspot.com/
http://sylviachika.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/sylviachikablog
Instagram: @sylviachikawrites
BBM Channel: C002F2845
Twitter:@sylviaoz
© 2017 Sylvia Chika
'You do not know how a lonely heart
is trapped in a cage
made of dreams
and bones.'
she said.
'Yes, I do not know how to walk
in a too small shoe
but I feel the pain
of the foot.'
And it's only a whisper
inside my head.
I weep knowing that Sylvia
is lying in a wooden box
with no windows
her flesh white as marble;
I'd never thought she'll fall asleep,
breathless on the floor of her kitchen.
Form:
Sylvia did not like her brother-in-law Dan.
She thought he was a despicable man
Sylvia talked behind Dan's back
Saying Dan was lazy and slack.
It concerned her sister Sue,
Who did not share Sylvia's point of view,
Dan was the love of her life
And Sue was Dan's faithful wife.
Suddenly poor Dan died,
And Sue's sister Sylvia cried
Saying how much she loved that man,
Her sister's husband, Darling Dan.
Sylvia Plath you don't know how much love my pants hath...
For you-- you stupid Jew--
I'll show you the rack and the screw--
With my rod you will know whose God--
For with every shove
You will feel my Love
You can't fathom your problem
(Sylvia Plath killed herself through asphyxiation by sticking her head in a gas stove and turning it on. In so doing, she left two kids-- in some circles that is cowardly.)