A poem about Sylvia Plath by Robin McNamara

(c)Ismiskate https://www.literaryladiesguide.com/literary-musings/artists-portraits-of-sylvia-plath/

Strange Dreams

I could not decipher the reality of you:
For you were once, the impossible dream. 

In the city with no time and the shadows 
Of past lives, melded into walls that 
Couldn’t talk of your history. 

Ibsen said,
Temptations are manifold in this word.

In the city of grime and Inclement weather 
That may or may not wash away uncertainty 
Before the night takes hold of

Your morality; before the morning rises
And burns away the poets moon 
And workers scramble from their beds, 

To go to a job that comes before their dreams. Dollar-baby-generation, with all those poems 
By Sylvia Plath, unread on the shelf.

Yearning for learning, musing about losing /
Chains & shackles that sink a soul like 
A stone to the bottom of nothingness. 

In the words of Jim Morrison;
This is the strangest life I have ever known. 

A Poetry Showcase from Robin McNamara


Poetry inspired by Sylvia Plath/Anne Sexton by Jackie Chou

Illustration of Sylvia Plath by Shannon Levin

Father's Day

Father, father
You peeled the smile
off of my face
and yellowed my soul
with talks
of your pain
your struggles
sugar coating everything
and letting the venom
seep in afterwards
The twenty dollars
you left on the ironing board
every other week
kept my mouth shut
Like bandages
they fell off
leaving my wounds
to bleed profusely
It is easy
to pretend not to know
to be cold like snow
But father, father
the men I meet
are a lot like you
They melt my morals
with the heat 
of lovemaking
and I learned
to say "yes"
to go along
with their every whim
My pliant flesh
bears all the misery
you gave mother
I get crushed
then recover
only to begin
all over again

My Degree and Other Things You Don't Know About Me

I am…

a genie in a bottle
drifting from sea to shore
shrouded by a cloud
no folded resume enclosed
explains who I am

a cardboard face
like in those antidepressant ads
two circles for eyes
a curved line for a mouth
a stick of a neck to hold

an occupant
between scraps of memories
like a pressed rose in an old diary
the stamp of honor on my diploma
faded and forgotten

Bio Note: I write free verses, rhyming poems, and Japanese short form poetry, some of which saw the light of day in journals like Alien Buddha Zine, Spillwords, and Cajun Mutt Press, Fevers of the Mind Press. I am also a Jeopardy fan.