Section: «Poems»

Verse (ancient Greek ὁ στίχος — row, structure), a term in versification used in several meanings: artistic speech organized by division into rhythmically commensurate segments; poetry in the narrow sense; in particular, it implies the properties of versification of a particular tradition ("antique verse", "Akhmatova's verse", etc.); a line of poetic text organized according to a certain rhythmic pattern ("My uncle of the most honest rules").

Going Out To The Garden

Going out to the gardenthis morningto plant seedsfor my winter greens-the strong, fiery mustard& the milderbroadleaf turnip-I saw a geckowholike..

© Alice Walker

A Picture Story For The Curious

(You supply the pictures!)I get to meditatein a chair!Or against the wallwith my legsstretched out!(Or even in bed!)I get to seemaybe halfof what I'm..

© Alice Walker

Be Nobody's Darling

Be nobody's darling;Be an outcast.Take the contradictionsOf your lifeAnd wrap aroundYou like a shawl,To parry stonesTo keep you warm.Watch the people..

© Alice Walker

Torture

When they torture your motherplant a treeWhen they torture your fatherplant a treeWhen they torture your brotherand your sisterplant a treeWhen they..

© Alice Walker

I Will Keep Broken Things

I will keepBrokenThings:The big clayPotWith raisedIguanasChasingTheirTails;TwoOf theirWiseHeadsShearedOff;I will keepBrokenthings:The..

© Alice Walker

Desire

My desireis always the same; wherever Lifedeposits me:I want to stick my toe& soon my whole bodyinto the water.I want to shake out a fat..

© Alice Walker

Expect Nothing

Expect nothing. Live frugallyOn surprise.become a strangerTo need of pityOr, if compassion be freelyGiven outTake only enoughStop short of urge to..

© Alice Walker

In Midas' Country

Meadows of gold dust. The silverCurrents of the Connecticut fanAnd meander in bland pleatings underRiver-verge farms where rye-heads whiten.All's..

© Sylvia Plath

New Year On Dartmoor

This is newness : every little tawdryObstacle glass-wrapped and peculiar,Glinting and clinking in a saint's falsetto. Only youDon't know what to make..

© Sylvia Plath

Yaddo : The Grand Manor

Woodsmoke and a distant loudspeakerFilter into this clearAir, and blur.The red tomato's in, the green bean;The cook lugs a pumpkinFrom the vineFor..

© Sylvia Plath

Incommunicado

The groundhog on the mountain did not runBut fatly scuttled into the splayed fernAnd faced me, back to a ledge of dirt, to rattleHer sallow rodent..

© Sylvia Plath

On Deck

Midnight in the mid-Atlantic. On deck.Wrapped up in themselves as in thick veilingAnd mute as mannequins in a dress shop,Some few passangers keep..

© 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..

© Sylvia Plath

Mussel Hunter At Rock Harbor

I came before the water —-Colorists came to get theGood of the Cape light that scoursSand grit to sided crystalAnd buffs and sleeks the blunt hullsOf..

© Sylvia Plath

Whitsun

This is not what I meant:Stucco arches, the banked rocks sunning in rows,Bald eyes or petrified eggs,Grownups coffined in stockings and..

© Sylvia Plath

Terminal

Riding home from credulous blue domes,the dreamer reins his waking appetitein panic at the crop of catacombssprung up like plague of toadstools..

© Sylvia Plath

Event

How the elements solidify! —-The moonlight, that chalk cliffIn whose rift we lieBack to back. I hear an owl cryFrom its cold indigo.Intolerable..

© Sylvia Plath

Blue Moles

1They're out of the dark's ragbag, these twoMoles dead in the pebbled rut,Shapeless as flung gloves, a few feet apart —-Blue suede a dog or fox has..

© Sylvia Plath

The Great Carbuncle

We came over the moor-topThrough air streaming and green-lit,Stone farms foundering in it,Valleys of grass alteringIn a light neither dawnNor..

© Sylvia Plath

The Times Are Tidy

Unlucky the hero bornIn this province of the stuck recordWhere the most watchful cooks go joblessAnd the mayor's rôtisserie turnsRound of its own..

© Sylvia Plath

The Glutton

He, hunger-strung, hard to slake,So fitted is for my black luck(With heat such as no man could haveAnd yet keep kind)That all merit's in being..

© Sylvia Plath

The Detective

What was she doing when it blew inOver the seven hills, the red furrow, the blue mountain?Was she arranging cups? It is important.Was she at the..

© Sylvia Plath

'Célibataire'

Or, cette jeune fille pointilleuseLors d'une cérémonieuse promenade en avrilAvec son dernier soupirantFut soudain frappée, intolérablement,Par le..

© Sylvia Plath

Spider

Anansi, black busybody of the folktales,You scuttle out on impulseBlunt in self-interestAs a sledge hammer, as a man's bunched fist,Yet of devils the..

© Sylvia Plath

Parliament Hill Fields

On this bald hill the new year hones its edge.Faceless and pale as chinaThe round sky goes on minding its business.Your absence is..

© Sylvia Plath