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  • 28۝ National Poetry Month ۝28

    ۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝MushroomsBy Sylvia Plath~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Overnight, veryWhitely, discreetly,Very quietlyOur toes, our nosesTake hold on the loam,Acquire the air.Nobody sees us,Stops us, betrays us;The small grains make room.Soft fists insist onHeaving the needles,The leafy bedding,Even the paving.Our hammers, our rams,Earless and ...
    Posted to Poems by Galatea on April 28, 2008
  • 21۝ National Poetry Month ۝21

    ۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝ By Candlelight By Sylvia Plath ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This is winter, this is night, small love --A sort of black horsehair,A rough, dumb country stuffSteeled with the sheenOf what green stars can make it to our gate.I hold you on my arm.It is very late.The dull bells tongue the hour.The mirror floats us at one candle power.This ...
    Posted to Poems by Galatea on April 21, 2008
  • 5۝ To All ۝5

    ۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝ChildBy Sylvia Plath~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.I want to fill it with color and ducks,The zoo of the newWhose name you meditate --April snowdrop, Indian pipe,LittleStalk without wrinkle,Pool in which imagesShould be grand and classicalNot this troublousWringing of hands, this ...
    Posted to Poems by Galatea on April 6, 2008
  • 5۝ National Poetry Month ۝5

    ۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝~۝ChildBy Sylvia Plath~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.I want to fill it with color and ducks,The zoo of the newWhose name you meditate --April snowdrop, Indian pipe,LittleStalk without wrinkle,Pool in which imagesShould be grand and classicalNot this troublousWringing of hands, this darkCeiling ...
    Posted to Poems by Galatea on April 5, 2008
  • ۩ ۞ ۝ ♥ The Bed Book ۩ ۝ ۞ ♥

    from The Bed Book by Sylvia Plath Most Beds are Beds For sleeping or resting,But the best Beds are muchMore interesting!Not just a white littleTucked-in-tight littleNighty-night littleTurn-out-the light little……….Bed –………InsteadA Bed for Fishing,A Bed for Cats,A Bed for a Troupe of………Acrobats.The right sort of Bed(If you see what I mean)Is a bed ...
    Posted to Poems by Galatea on January 31, 2008
  • ۩ ۞ ۝ ♥ The Bed Book ۩ ۝ ۞ ♥

    from The Bed Book by Sylvia Plath Most Beds are Beds For sleeping or resting,But the best Beds are muchMore interesting!Not just a white littleTucked-in-tight littleNighty-night littleTurn-out-the light little……….Bed –………InsteadA Bed for Fishing,A Bed for Cats,A Bed for a Troupe of………Acrobats.The right sort of Bed(If you see what I mean)Is a bed ...
    Posted to Poems by Galatea on December 3, 2007
  • ۩ FACE LIFT ۩

    Face LiftBy Sylvia Plath* * * * * * * You bring me good news from the clinic,Whipping off your silk scarf, exhibiting the tight whiteMummy-cloths, smiling: I'm all right.When I was nine, a lime-green anesthetistFed me banana gas through a frog-mask. The nauseous vaultBoomed wild bad dreams and the Jovian voices of surgeons.The mother swam up, ...
    Posted to Poems by Galatea on November 29, 2007
  • ~::~ Bitter Strawberries ~::~

    Bitter StrawberriesBy Sylvia Plath* * * * * * * * All morning in the strawberry fieldThey talked about the Russians.Squatted down between the rowsWe listened.We heard the head woman say,'Bomb them off the map.' Horseflies buzzed, paused and stung.And the taste of strawberries Turned thick and sour. Mary said slowly, 'I've got a fella Old ...
    Posted to Poems by Galatea on October 19, 2007
  • ۩ WORDS ۩

    WordsBy Sylvia Plath* * * * * * * Axes After whose stroke the wood rings, And the echoes! Echoes traveling Off from the center like horses. The sap Wells like tears, like the Water striving To re-establish its mirror Over the rock That drops and turns, A white skull, Eaten by weedy greens. Years later I Encounter them on the road--- Words dry and ...
    Posted to Poems by Galatea on August 13, 2007
  • There was a young poetess named Plath

    There was a young a poetess named PlathMake sense of her death? No one hathSylvia opened her ovenThen her head she did shove inAnd quietly turned on the gath I've tried to understand, but I've failedDespite all that her writings unveiledIs it just that her DaddyWas an Aryan baddy?How I long for a Plath less travailed TLG - Tasteless ...
    Posted to Poems by NoStar on June 22, 2007