... (deranged_piglet) wrote in visions_in_grey, @ 2004-08-03 21:54:00 |
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Current mood: | tired |
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Hey everyone. I haven't posted anything because every little piece of poetry I've written has been really raw and personal, so I thought I'd stick a poem up here for discussion. I think it's fantastic, but I don't have enough time to rave about it. I'll let you decide for yourselves what you think.
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For Susan O'Neill Roe
What a thrill--
My thumb instead of an onion,
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of a hinge
Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz.
A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.
Whose side are they on?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill
The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man --
The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux Klan
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence
How you jump --
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.
---- Sylvia Plath
I think it's fantastic poetry. Really really really good. And I thank Ben for it.