Tag Archives: Sylvia Plath Poetry

The photographic chamber of the eye records bare painted walls, …

Behind him the hotdogs split and drizzled On the public …

With white frost gone And all green dreams not worth …

Bare-handed, I hand the combs. The man in white smiles, …

These poems do not live: it’s a sad diagnosis. They …

Now this particular girl During a ceremonious april walk With …

God knows how our neighbor managed to breed His great …

Color of lemon, mango, peach, These storybook villas Still dream …

In darkroom of your eye the moonly mind someraults to …

All right, let’s say you could take a skull and …

Through fen and farmland walking With my own country love …

I? I walk alone; The midnight street Spins itself from …