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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...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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...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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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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...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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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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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....

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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....

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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
...

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...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.)...

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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....

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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'....

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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...

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