My Favorite Sylvia Plath Poems

[My Favorite Sylvia Plath Poems]
I do NOT own these poems, I got them from a Sylvia Plath fan site. I happen to like these poems, that's why I posted these poems.

Kindness

Kindness glides about my house.
Dame Kindness, she is no nice!
The blue and red jewels of her rings smoke
In the windows, the mirrors
Are filling with smiles.
What is so real as the cry of a child?
A rabbit's cry may be wilder
But it has no soul.
Sugar can cure everything, so Kindness says.
Sugar is a necessary fluid,
Its crystals a little poultice.
O kindness, kindness
Sweetly picking up pieces!
My Japanese silks, desperate butterflies,
May be pinned any minute, anesthetized.
And here you come, with a cup of tea
Wreathed in steam.
The blood jet is poetry,
There is no stopping it.
You hand me two children, two roses.
February 1, 1963

Child

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose names you meditate---
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little
Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical
Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.
28 January 1963

Gigolo

Pocket watch, I tick well.
The streets are lizardly crevices
Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide.
It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac,
A palace of velvet
With windows of mirrors.
There one is safe,
There are no family photographs,
No rings through the nose, no cries.
Bright fish hooks, the smiles of women
Gulp at my bulk
And I, in my snazzy blacks,
Mill a litter of breasts like jellyfish.
To nourish
The cellos of moans I eat eggs---
Eggs and fish, the essentials,
The aphrodisiac squid.
My mouth sags,
The mouth of Christ
When my engine reaches the end of it.
The tattle of my
Gold joints, my way of turning
Bitches to ripples of silver
Rolls out a carpet, a hush.
And there is no end, no end of it.
I shall never grow old. New oysters
Shriek in the sea and I
Glitter like Fontainebleu
Gratified,
All the fall of water an eye
Over whose pool I tenderly
Lean and see me.
29 January 1963

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Š2002 Burnt Doll Productions

[My Favorite Sylvia Plath Poems] I do NOT own these poems, I got them from a Sylvia Plath fan site. I happen to like these poems, that's why I posted these poems. Kindness Kindness glides about my house. Dame Kindness, she is no nice! The blue and red jewels of her rings smoke In the windows, the mirrors Are filling with smiles. What is so real as the cry of a child? A rabbit's cry may be wilder But it has no soul. Sugar can cure everything, so Kindness says. Sugar is a necessary fluid, Its crystals a little poultice. O kindness, kindness Sweetly picking up pieces! My Japanese silks, desperate butterflies, May be pinned any minute, anesthetized. And here you come, with a cup of tea Wreathed in steam. The blood jet is poetry, There is no stopping it. You hand me two children, two roses. February 1, 1963 Child Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing. I want to fill it with color and ducks, The zoo of the new Whose names you meditate--- April snowdrop, Indian pipe, Little Stalk without wrinkle, Pool in which images Should be grand and classical Not this troublous Wringing of hands, this dark Ceiling without a star. 28 January 1963 Gigolo Pocket watch, I tick well. The streets are lizardly crevices Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide. It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac, A palace of velvet With windows of mirrors. There one is safe, There are no family photographs, No rings through the nose, no cries. Bright fish hooks, the smiles of women Gulp at my bulk And I, in my snazzy blacks, Mill a litter of breasts like jellyfish. To nourish The cellos of moans I eat eggs--- Eggs and fish, the essentials, The aphrodisiac squid. My mouth sags, The mouth of Christ When my engine reaches the end of it. The tattle of my Gold joints, my way of turning Bitches to ripples of silver Rolls out a carpet, a hush. And there is no end, no end of it. I shall never grow old. New oysters Shriek in the sea and I Glitter like Fontainebleu Gratified, All the fall of water an eye Over whose pool I tenderly Lean and see me. 29 January 1963 Back Š2002 Burnt Doll Productions
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