sylvia_plath Joana. Mad Girl's Love Song "I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan's men: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)" 000811 ... ? what colour hair did she have? anyone, anyone? 021028 ... .:.:.:.:.:.:. light brown 021028 ... . . 021029 ... fuck all damn it. I thought it was red. 021029 ... .:.:.:.:. so? 021029 ... .:.:.:.:. oh, hi nocturnal. 021029 ... nocturnal hello. doesn't matter. I couldn't pull it off anyway...the costume I mean. 021029 ... .:.:.:.:. sure you could. -50s clothes, accessories and make-up -curled hair sprayed with temporary light brown coloring -a notebook 021030 ... endless desire my inspiration. 040926 ... unhinged as much as i hate to admit, gwenyth (sp) was a great sylvia sylvia pulls my heart strings 040927 ... iNsEcUrE_GoTh_GiRl one of my closest friends is a huge fan of her work. personally i have yet to read any of her work but from what i have heard and the vast amounts of ppl who love her, i think that i will read a lot of it. 040928 ... oldephebe how can someone who is alive and in love with pain not be a fan? 050309 ... neesh NOT just a white little Tucked-in-tight little Nighty-night little Turn-out-the-light little Bed- wants a pocket-sized bed 050309 ... mytwohands my_best_friend 050530 ... a thimble in time Admonition If you dissect a bird to contemplate the tongue, you'll cut the chord articulating song. If you flay a beast to marvel at the mane, you'll wreck the rest from which the fur began. If you pluck out the heart to find what makes it move, you'll stop the clock that syncopates our love. 050530 ... werewolf oh you blonde bombshell, on a muted trading card. that unknowable and supposed to be this and that. every word a note - if you read this, i didn't say what i wanted to say and am now dead. a blank white cactus belly of word bones. all loose ends, interchangeable because there is no pattern. in the end. she had what she had and knew the world would make what they wanted. she let them have that power which they, and she once, in the soft landscaping eyes of ivy league cuckolding - wanted. by dying. let my words be as meaningless to you, as they became to me. a sparrow, a nestling bleach. the word bleach. world belch. i gave you the broken footed path i followed. to where words disjointed and endless as speculation become a canon when given their grim or easter conclusion. and which it is doesn't matter. it's just, did i leave the oven on did i leave the oven off? a note you left on the front door, some middle aged woman does the same with gawdy decorative wreaths - in the end, you force an answer and pretend the words ever were enough. like the closing of a door, the returning to the car. yes the oven was off. makes it seem as if days are enough. as if you won't ever have to do that again. as if anyone actually touched the panic that snake raced your mind while you wavered between driving on to meet him and driving back to face yourself and the stopping point. where the words all prior become meaningless not even worth discarding. 050531 ... unhinged *sigh* plath yes, sylvia pulls my heartstrings 050531 ... barn owl a whining sophomoric journal poet. fitting that so many blatherers like her. 050531 ... stork daddy journalistic poetry is the only sort. any other use for poetry is ridiculous. philosophy and science can accomplish everything more abstract poetry attempts with much greater success. it is only poetry that aims to create emotion, to give catharsis, and to find personal meaning in the various nouns and verbs the world consists of. my poem hardly praised sylvia, though i would further defend those who are enamored of her because her life was informative. don't get me wrong, i like wallace stevens and all, but poetry is a balance between the obscure and the apparent, and there are many choices which fall more towards either side. in the end the result must be a conveying of emotional content or else poetry has abdicated its only useful function. 050531 ... mytwohands barn owl deserves a big fat FUCK YOU, for that comment. words cannot express the amount you deserve that. you're such a coward that you can't even stick a valid name behind that outlandish statement. sylvia would laugh at your stupidity. 050531 ... jane snakecharmer 050601 ... somenom blackberrying 050601 ... oldephebe heh I think barnbrain or owl or whatever was bored and just wanted to raise some hackles (and what are hackles you say and or query? well in the neolithic age the word was used to convey what we mean today by when we say "work my nerves" with the attendant neck and head movements derivative of classic african american female mannerisms to convey ire...and what is hoped to be imperial ire at that) okay so well... ... 050610 ... nom frieda_hughes 060615 what's it to you? who go blather from