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My Sylvia Thing

just because your dead
doesnt mean we aren't dating anymore
like you would have dated me
dead or alive
yet i am haunted

you humming
so we must have chemistry
or am i interminably obsessed
like a ghostly house

your poems
had there way with me
like a strip tease
and soft slipping fingers squeezing
making little red veins hemorrhage
like a thick scum intravenous drip
rumbling down a phantom cock

warm breath
on the lay away plan
infernal lips
suck face
a lit match
immortal burning
holes in my stomach

bits of my heart like skin flaps
nailed to a wooden plank
by the tormented photograph of you
tender aged thirty year old
with your head in the oven
languishing gracefully

your generosity in death
a carnival ride of fascination
like a dropped bird

nerved up cat
to tormented to pet
to love
to be well
to smile
to calm
better hors d’oeuvres of rat poison

i like to think
you where inviting me
like a necrophiliac
to love your slender corpse

please baby one more verse
for the thin air road
your poem
a dark crime
behind the big white door
your so pretty in penny loafers
bare legs dangling
a gassed ass
a moveless flower
head in ovens grave
corridor of rabies
finally vacant
honking at my face for a last kiss
to brush my wet mouth
smooth against your goddess buttocks

frothy
smudge face
sunken skin
and that stupid stare
like a half filled ashtray
tongue out and cunty fingers

eyes
"dead ball gods"
your weight no longer measured in grief

you turned the gas up
deep breaths now darling
common you can do it
so steep baby
feel the caress

i was born to late
to die with you
to save you
pretty nymph in a downward spiral
ravens clutch

still crying,
horney for you
and your black light
lanterns
to busy being dead
to give a shit

i'm fixated on your suicide pose
beauty and horror tangled lovers

here and gone
embracing

here and gone
almost in the same split second
graspless

i'm obsessed, obsessively obsessive
for what could never be
and is;
am i not your fan,
your creep

if I pulled you from the oven
saving you for your rattled life
no doubt, you'd be all pissy at me
your magic rescue voodoo hero
your straight jacket of love
keeping you alive
cavalcade of dead girl faces
you would have hated me for that

your dead now
and i'm left here reading your poems
telling you softly
they are the best poems ever
and making believe
you love me

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
Epilog by Ann Rice "The longer their dead the deader they get"
Editing stage: 

Comments

I was lucky to catch the Plath exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery last year. Original notebooks, pictures, memorabilia, a locket of her hair... I think you might have liked it.
Personally, and every reader is different, I think the poem is too long. Plath rarely wrote long as I recall, "Daddy" is the longest I can think of. Not sure if you want to economize but there some redundancies...perhaps condensing into one stance in the poem- you talking to me or yourself about "her poems" and then directly talking to her, which I think is more effective.
I would start by cutting the first line...too telling, start with "just because she's dead..."
From there I would leave it to you.
..

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

A great suggestion..much better start ,,,that poem rolled out of me but maybe I got lost in the woods
from being sort of tired myopic and insensative

Thank you Mark appreciate for your input
Will review this and see
……...

That was an excellent critique
I cleaned it up some and shortened
it Its much cleaner It all spoken to her
I think I was afraid to do that
so intimate Do you feel like a voyeur?
Its so personal I felt I was taking advantage ;)

author comment

"frothy
smudge face
sunken skin
and that stupid stare
like a half filled ashtray
tongue out and cunty fingers

eyes..."zebra

excellent with words your incorporated,
Mario V

Mario Vitale

Many thanks Mario …. so very appreciated ;)

author comment

it is long; but not excessively so. I found myself going back again and again to read over the [ we will be nice] TYPOS [ are you using a Dragon Speaking program? ] and found that I gathered more meaning and tailed the next lines back to the original thought. I was fixated on discovering each new thought's trajectory and found that I was almost disappointed when it ended. Anyway, good train of thought work. ~ Geezer.
.

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Critique or comment today!

Im glad it was almost a disappointment I wouldn't want to take the reader to that road block at the very end as it was how deeply I felt about her as I read her poems and looked at her photos
She was tragic and so incredibly soulfully special In the end I wanted to tell her I loved her and pretend she was touched by that gesture enough to break through like a sun through the dark cloud of her pain

As for typos that tends to be a weakness of mine so if you have the juice point them out and ill fix

Thanks Z

author comment

yea it is kind of long but when I read it in parts I'm glued until my eyes begin to get sore again but then after a rest I pick it up again. Glued once again until (my eyes are fucked) then.

smooth against your goddess buttocks

frothy
smudge face
sunken skin
and that stupid stare
like a half filled ashtray
tongue out and cunty fingers

lol I smile at your language all the way down the writing to her death.
The first line now is a good one far as I'm concerned.

I don't know what to say except keep em coming
Later,

and,
that's how I see it.

Mark L.

Many thanks for your comments Glad you enjoyed the write ;)

author comment

You are so very kind my dear Thank you ever so much :)

author comment
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