Sylvia Poems - Poems about Sylvia

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...

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sylvia ***this concerns several books I once owned. Some were written by Rod McKuen, others by Richard Brautigan, others by others…*** i discovered that words are like some decadent dessert too small to cause harm but too big to have a second helping in the margins of tattered books were scribbled lines i hoped to someday share with someone who still had...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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They sang to stars, to flowers pale with dew, To hearts that bled beneath the waning moon; Yet every song they wove from sorrow grew, Each note a dirge, each rhyme a fading tune. The world too heavy, pressing on their soul's, A crown of thorns their tender temples bore; Love fled like whispers, leaving them to hold, And silence reigned where...

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Oh, tender heart, too full to bear, With words like fire and frail despair, A mind too sharp, a soul too raw, Seeking solace in the flawed. Through brittle days and endless night, You poured your pain in streams of light, Each verse a glint, a gentle sigh, Too heavy for a world so dry. I see your spark, your blazing flame, Bound by...

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The night swallowed her, quiet as the sea, Where the waves carried whispers, heavy and deep— Sara, a ripple lost in the currents of time, A flicker gone dark beneath the moon's hollow eye. Oceans curled their backs to kiss the blue sky, Choked on salt and her long drawn out sighs, drowning what they knew— Her words, her marrowed bones,...

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In her frail hands, she held the flame, A flicker bright, yet bound to fade— Her words, like stars, her heart aflame, Her soul, a scarred and shadowed glade. Beneath the weight of unseen chains, She sang her sorrow, soft and low, While in his eyes were cold remains Of love long buried in the snow. He turned from her, a shadow cast, A...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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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Why, in a gas oven, dear Sylvia, did you stick your pretty, middle-class head? Was the life of upper suburbia too much for you that you'd rather be dead? If, like you, we gassed ourselves to death at thirty, we'd never forgive ourselves for leaving...

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