Short Sylvia Poems

Sylvia Plath left
Her poetry immortal
Why—we never know...

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Be like Sylvia
Plath sanctified her broken
leg and cast in verse...

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She knew how to write
felt every change in the wind
died on the sabbath...

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Sullen Sylvia sadly 
Departed deeply devestated by 
Her husband's heartless 
Departure for a deadly damsel...

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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...

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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....

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Blip

This is a short poem. 
Not a long one like the rest. 
(not haiku)
This is about time, 
and saying a lot in a small space.
Updates to follow.
Be quiet... (calm)

?...

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Yesterday

We 
that can remember
keep-alive
those that have been forgotten,
in the small room,
the place in our hearts,
where God 
plants the best flowers,
and no tears…
fall....

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Longing

Little mermaid on the rock, 
Wishing and wondering, 
What it would be like, 
just to walk?

Little girl in a chair, 
riding around on wheels of air…
Wondering; what it is like… to feel?...

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925

They are pure silver, 
and have no idea. 
They are humble and kind, 
pray for each other, 
and welcome strangers.

Yet polished or aged, 
vintage of freshly fired, 
the address is the same. 

925...

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...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....

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Grief

God gave me an angel, 
a wife, 
a helpmate.
I had no idea the worth of that gift, 
bestowed upon my unworthy life.

Regret has nothing to do 
with the sister of joy.  
Loss is the little brother, 
of the spoiled....

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...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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...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....

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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....

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Whisper
 
A subtle current,
a fierce expression,
of a gentle feeling, 
wild,
powerful, 
no longer held contained 
by any restraint. 
 
Not weak, as may be expected, 
but the very difference...
between life and death. 

Listen....

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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...

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A Blip Offering

I
we
they
and...

a show
a play
a picnic
an event

chaos
loss
grief
love
laughter

joy
connection
wisdom
truth

stranger
family
friend
soul mate

God


(free verse until it is no longer free...)...

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...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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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....

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...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....

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My Best 
"She is a flower..."

Pink roses, 
not the big ones, 
not the small ones, 
not the buds or full blooms. 
No. 
Not one of them. 

All of them!

Pick them fresh, 
and make a bouquet, 
that I can take to my friend, 
on her special day....

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Reader Rabbit

Toward the end of a book,
we tend to speed up, 
in anticipation of the climatic finish. 

Yet sadly, 
the build-up...
was the part we savored, 
on the perfect path
to the right...
final, 
and everlasting
word(s).

The beginning....

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In the cold space,
between the ceiling and the rafters, 
angels drift like butterflies, 
ever answering the calls, 
of both hope and sorrow! 

A mother's song, 
a father's whisper. 
A loved one lost, and one born.
Close to heaven and ever nearer to hell....

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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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