For A Fatherless Son By Sylvia Plath

For A Fatherless Son You will be aware of an absence, presently, Growing beside you, like a tree, A death tree, color gone, an Australian…

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Frog Autumn By Sylvia Plath

Frog Autumn Summer grows old, cold-blooded mother. The insects are scant, skinny. In these palustral homes we only Croak and wither. Mornings dissipate in somnolence….

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Flute Notes From A Reedy Pond By Sylvia Plath

Flute Notes From A Reedy Pond Now coldness comes sifting down, layer after layer, To our bower at the lily root. Overhead the old umbrellas…

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Gold Mouths Cry By Sylvia Plath

Gold Mouths Cry Gold mouths cry with the green young certainty of the bronze boy remembering a thousand autumns and how a hundred thousand leaves…

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Green Rock, Winthrop Bay By Sylvia Plath

Green Rock, Winthrop Bay No lame excuses can gloss over Barge-tar clotted at the tide-line, the wrecked pier. I should have known better. Fifteen years…

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Gulliver By Sylvia Plath

Gulliver Over your body the clouds go High, high and icily And a little flat, as if they Floated on a glass that was invisible….

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Heavy Woman By Sylvia Plath

Heavy Woman Irrefutable, beautifully smug As Venus, pedestalled on a half-shell Shawled in blond hair and the salt Scrim of a sea breeze, the women…

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Hardcastle Crags By Sylvia Plath

Hardcastle Crags Flintlike, her feet struck Such a racket of echoes from the steely street, Tacking in moon-blued crooks from the black Stone-built town, that…

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Letter To A Purist By Sylvia Plath

Letter To A Purist That grandiose colossus who Stood astride The envious assaults of sea (Essaying, wave by wave, Tide by tide, To undo him,…

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I Want, I Want By Sylvia Plath

I Want, I Want Open-mouthed, the baby god Immense, bald, though baby-headed, Cried out for the mother’s dug. The dry volcanoes cracked and split, Sand…

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In Midas’ Country By Sylvia Plath

In Midas’ Country Meadows of gold dust. The silver Currents of the Connecticut fan And meander in bland pleatings under River-verge farms where rye-heads whiten….

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Incommunicado By Sylvia Plath

Incommunicado The groundhog on the mountain did not run But fatly scuttled into the splayed fern And faced me, back to a ledge of dirt,…

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Lament By Sylvia Plath

Lament The sting of bees took away my father who walked in a swarming shroud of wings and scorned the tick of the falling weather….

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Little Fugue By Sylvia Plath

Little Fugue The yew’s black fingers wag: Cold clouds go over. So the deaf and dumb Signal the blind, and are ignored. I like black…

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Love Is A Parallax By Sylvia Plath

Love Is A Parallax ‘Perspective betrays with its dichotomy: train tracks always meet, not here, but only in the impossible mind’s eye; horizons beat a…

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Maenad By Sylvia Plath

Maenad Once I was ordinary: Sat by my father’s bean tree Eating the fingers of wisdom. The birds made milk. When it thundered I hid…

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Magnolia Shoals By Sylvia Plath

Magnolia Shoals Up here among the gull cries we stroll through a maze of pale red-mottled relics, shells, claws as if it were summer still….

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Magi By Sylvia Plath

Magi The abstracts hover like dull angels: Nothing so vulgar as a nose or an eye Bossing the ethereal blanks of their face-ovals. Their whiteness…

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Man In Black By Sylvia Plath

Man In Black Where the three magenta Breakwaters take the shove And suck of the grey sea To the left, and the wave Unfists against…

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Mary’s Song By Sylvia Plath

Mary’s Song The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat. The fat Sacrifices its opacity. . . . A window, holy gold. The fire makes it…

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Miss Drake Proceeds To Supper By Sylvia Plath

Miss Drake Proceeds To Supper No novice In those elaborate rituals Which allay the malice Of knotted table and crooked chair, The new woman in…

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Maudlin By Sylvia Plath

Maudlin Mud-mattressed under the sign of the hag In a clench of blood, the sleep-talking virgin Gibbets with her curse the moon’s man, ****-bearing Jack…

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Medallion By Sylvia Plath

Medallion By the gate with star and moon Worked into the peeled orange wood The bronze snake lay in the sun Inert as a shoelace;…

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Metaphors By Sylvia Plath

Metaphors I’m a riddle in nine syllables, An elephant, a ponderous house, A melon strolling on two tendrils. O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers! This…

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Memoirs Of A Spinach-Picker By Sylvia Plath

Memoirs Of A Spinach-Picker They called the place Lookout Farm. Back then, the sun Didn’t go down in such a hurry. How it Lit things,…

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Moonrise By Sylvia Plath

Moonrise Grub-white mulberries redden among leaves. I’ll go out and sit in white like they do, Doing nothing. July’s juice rounds their nubs. This park…

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Mussel Hunter At Rock Harbor By Sylvia Plath

Mussel Hunter At Rock Harbor I came before the water —- Colorists came to get the Good of the Cape light that scours Sand grit…

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Notes To A Neophyte By Sylvia Plath

Notes To A Neophyte Take the general mumble, blunt as the faceless gut of an anonymous clam, vernacular as the strut of a slug or…

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Natural History By Sylvia Plath

Natural History That lofty monarch, Monarch Mind, Blue-blooded in coarse country reigned; Though he bedded in ermine, gorged on roast, Pure Philosophy his love engrossed:…

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New Year On Dartmoor By Sylvia Plath

New Year On Dartmoor This is newness : every little tawdry Obstacle glass-wrapped and peculiar, Glinting and clinking in a saint’s falsetto. Only you Don’t…

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Ode For Ted By Sylvia Plath

Ode For Ted From under the crunch of my man’s boot green oat-sprouts jut; he names a lapwing, starts rabbits in a rout legging it…

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On Deck By Sylvia Plath

On Deck Midnight in the mid-Atlantic. On deck. Wrapped up in themselves as in thick veiling And mute as mannequins in a dress shop, Some…

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On The Difficulty Of Conjuring Up A Dryad By Sylvia Plath

On The Difficulty Of Conjuring Up A Dryad Ravening through the persistent bric-à-brac Of blunt pencils, rose-sprigged coffee cup, Postage stamps, stacked books’ clamor and…

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Pheasant By Sylvia Plath

Pheasant You said you would kill it this morning. Do not kill it. It startles me still, The jut of that odd, dark head, pacing…

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Owl By Sylvia Plath

Owl Clocks belled twelve. Main street showed otherwise Than its suburb of woods : nimbus—- Lit, but unpeopled, held its windows Of wedding pastries, Diamond…

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Ouija By Sylvia Plath

Ouija It is a chilly god, a god of shades, Rises to the glass from his black fathoms. At the window, those unborn, those undone…

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Parliament Hill Fields By Sylvia Plath

Parliament Hill Fields On this bald hill the new year hones its edge. Faceless and pale as china The round sky goes on minding its…

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Point Shirley By Sylvia Plath

Point Shirley From Water-Tower Hill to the brick prison The shingle booms, bickering under The sea’s collapse. Snowcakes break and welter. This year The gritted…

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Private Ground By Sylvia Plath

Private Ground First frost, and I walk among the rose-fruit, the marble toes Of the Greek beauties you brought Off Europe’s relic heap To sweeten…

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Prologue To Spring By Sylvia Plath

Prologue To Spring The winter landscape hangs in balance now, Transfixed by glare of blue from gorgon’s eye; The skaters freese within a stone tableau….

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Recantation By Sylvia Plath

Recantation ‘Tea leaves I’ve given up, And that crooked line On the queen’s palm Is no more my concern. On my black pilgrimage This moon-pocked…

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Rhyme By Sylvia Plath

Rhyme I’ve got a stubborn goose whose gut’s Honeycombed with golden eggs, Yet won’t lay one. She, addled in her goose-wit, struts The barnyard like…

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Song For A Summer’s Day By Sylvia Plath

Song For A Summer’s Day Through fen and farmland walking With my own country love I saw slow flocked cows move White hulks on their…

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Soliloquy Of The Solipsist By Sylvia Plath

Soliloquy Of The Solipsist Soliloquy Of The Solipsist I? I walk alone; The midnight street Spins itself from under my feet; When my eyes shut…

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Terminal By Sylvia Plath

Terminal Riding home from credulous blue domes, the dreamer reins his waking appetite in panic at the crop of catacombs sprung up like plague of…

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Sonnet – To Eva By Sylvia Plath

Sonnet – To Eva All right, let’s say you could take a skull and break it The way you’d crack a clock; you’d crush the…

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Spider By Sylvia Plath

Spider Anansi, black busybody of the folktales, You scuttle out on impulse Blunt in self-interest As a sledge hammer, as a man’s bunched fist, Yet…

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Stars Over The Dordogne By Sylvia Plath

Stars Over The Dordogne Stars are dropping thick as stones into the twiggy Picket of trees whose silhouette is darker Than the dark of the…

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Suicide Off Egg Rock By Sylvia Plath

Suicide Off Egg Rock Behind him the hotdogs split and drizzled On the public grills, and the ochreous salt flats, Gas tanks, factory stacks- that…

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Stopped Dead By Sylvia Plath

Stopped Dead A squeal of brakes. Or is it a birth cry? And here we are, hung out over the dead drop Uncle, pants factory…

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Thalidomide By Sylvia Plath

Thalidomide O half moon—- Half-brain, luminosity—- Negro, masked like a white, Your dark Amputations crawl and appall—- Spidery, unsafe. What glove What leatheriness Has protected…

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The Babysitters By Sylvia Plath

The Babysitters It is ten years, now, since we rowed to Children’s Island. The sun flamed straight down that noon on the water off Marblehead….

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The Beast By Sylvia Plath

The Beast He was the bullman earlierm King of the dish, my lucky animal. Breathing was easy in his airy holding. The sun sat in…

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The Beekeeper’s Daughter By Sylvia Plath

The Beekeeper’s Daughter A garden of mouthings. Purple, scarlet-speckled, black The great corollas dilate, peeling back their silks. Their musk encroaches, circle after circle, A…

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The Companionable Ills By Sylvia Plath

The Companionable Ills The nose-end that twitches, the old imperfections—- Tolerable now as moles on the face Put up with until chagrin gives place To…

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The Burnt-Out Spa By Sylvia Plath

The Burnt-Out Spa An old beast ended in this place: A monster of wood and rusty teeth. Fire smelted his eyes to lumps Of pale…

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The Everlasting Monday By Sylvia Plath

The Everlasting Monday Thou shalt have an everlasting Monday and stand in the moon. The moon’s man stands in his shell, Bent under a bundle…

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The Death Of Myth-Making By Sylvia Plath

The Death Of Myth-Making Two virtues ride, by stallion, by nag, To grind our knives and scissors: Lantern-jawed Reason, squat Common Sense, One courting doctors…

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The Courage Of Shutting-Up By Sylvia Plath

The Courage Of Shutting-Up The courage of the shut mouth, in spite of artillery! The line pink and quiet, a worm, basking. There are black…

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The Detective By Sylvia Plath

The Detective What was she doing when it blew in Over the seven hills, the red furrow, the blue mountain? Was she arranging cups? It…

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