Frog Autumn (Sylvia Plath Poems)
Summer grows old, cold-blooded mother. The insects are scant, skinny. In these palustral homes we only Croak and wither. Mornings ...
Sylvia Plath Poems on Mothers (8 Poems)
Stillborn (Sylvia Plath Poems)
These poems do not live: it's a sad diagnosis. They grew their toes and fingers well enough, Their little foreheads ...
Aftermath (Sylvia Plath Poems)
Compelled by calamity's magnet They loiter and stare as if the house Burnt-out were theirs, or as if they thought ...
The Moon And The Yew Tree (Sylvia Plath Poems)
This is the light of the mind, cold and planetary The trees of the mind are black. The light is ...
Last Words (Sylvia Plath Poems)
I do not want a plain box, I want a sarcophagus With tigery stripes, and a face on it Round ...
Face Lift (Sylvia Plath Poems)
You bring me good news from the clinic, Whipping off your silk scarf, exhibiting the tight white Mummy-cloths, smiling: I'm ...
The Disquieting Muses (Sylvia Plath Poems)
Mother, mother, what ill-bred aunt Or what disfigured and unsightly Cousin did you so unwisely keep Unasked to my christening, ...
Sleep In The Mojave Desert (Sylvia Plath Poems)
Out here there are no hearthstones, Hot grains, simply. It is dry, dry. And the air dangerous. Noonday acts queerly ...