In our cottage, echoing in silence,
words became taboo;
inducing an early winter.
The snow fell in hordes,
down upon this town.
We let go
of our silent vows,
as its flaking lullaby began.
With numb gloved fingers,
we moulded her,
sculpting the perfect doll.
We glazed her porcelain skin with ice,
crudely poked in her eye sockets;
our own Frozen Charlotte.
We longed for her eyes to flutter open,
even for just one glassy glance.
Previously published in THE SEASONS: A Collection of Poetry and Prose on Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, 2017.
It rains in big fat drops, that drip and drip
and the cat tremulously purrs and purrs
as he lies in the folds of the blanket,
looking up at me with an upside down head.
His tail sways back and forth, back and forth,
a content and constant metronome ticking away.
He buries his head into me in a delicate shuffle.
Rain drops outside are dripping and dripping.
Previously published in HAPPY: A Collection of Poetry and Prose on Happiness and Being Happy, 2017.
As well as selling the Sylvia Plath ‘Poppies in July’ print , there are now 7 other Sylvia Plath themed prints on Etsy.
There are designs inspired by the following poems –
1. ‘Poppies in July’
3. ‘Poppies in October’
4. ‘Mad Girl’s Love Song’
5. ‘Lady Lazarus’
7. ‘Winter Trees’
8. ‘Morning Song’
A Buy One, Get One Half Price offer is currently running on these designs, just select the option in ‘style’.
See the designs on Etsy here – https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/519635841/sylvia-plath-poem-prints-8-designs
A selection of my poems have been included by The Blue Nib Magazine in their 6th issue.
- No News
- For Rebecca, Remembered
- The Oak Tree
See them here –
This art print depicts the poet Sylvia Plath and features one of my favourite poems by her ‘Poppies in July’.
As with the majority of my prints, it comes in either 4 x 6 or 8 x 10.
See it on Etsy here – https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/519635841/sylvia-plath-poppies-in-july-poem-art
Poppies in July
Little poppies, little hell flames,
Do you do no harm?
You flicker. I cannot touch you.
I put my hand among the flames. Nothing burns.
And it exhausts me to watch you
Flickering like that, wrinkly and clear red, like
the skin of a mouth.
A mouth just bloodied.
Little bloodied skirts!
There are fumes I cannot touch.
Where are your opiates, your nauseous capsules?
If I could bleed, or sleep!
If my mouth could marry a hurt like that!
Or your liquors seep to me, in this glass capsule,
Dulling and stilling.
But colourless. Colourless.