Poem #5 — Who’s There?

From my Poetry Portal

Hello, I wrote the first few stanzas of this poem way back in 2021, probably around August, and posted it on Facebook. I knew then that I had to write more about this incredibly prolific poet, not just because I’m a big fan. Her birthday is coming up on the 27th of October. I figured, hey, why not celebrate her birthday honoring her short life? Her name is Sylvia Plath. If you don’t know her, Google her.

WHO’S THERE?

I heard a whistling sparrow

That greatly angst one depth below

Your oven head, your eyes stared

They’re beckoning someone to bed.

I simply think, maybe I’m not,

But darn, I beg to suffer not.

You state your case to terminate

A want repose and dissipate.

A cog on wheels that locked the den

A sign surreal can’t fathom then

Yet there’s your name chiseled in pain

A ghastly bust riddled with rain.

A faint of fig held off the edge

As if to brush or open such…

The cenotaph forlorn in rust

I dread to glance, again I must.

My nimble feet attempt to spurt

Yet they remained fastened on dirt

Your voice command a slithering hand

Alarmed the bells in Panic-land.

I stood against the wall of dread

Your faintly hand motioned your bid

Your roaring laugh dispelled the cat

Your rolling eyes darted the rat.

I tweaked my brain for sanity

To understand who this may be

I bit my lip for entreaty

Ask this ether, why bother me?

The catacomb opened at last

A blasting murmur, a sight unmasked

The full structure blown in my path,

Good God Almighty! It’s Sylvia Plath!

Knees in tremor, mouth wide agape

I kept my distance to be safe

I stayed aplomb for heaven’s sake

I came to pay homage to the great.

She murmured to investigate

My passing through, what motivates?

You see I am an avid fan,

A tiny lad from nowhere land.

A point in case that came to mind

I’d been bewitched by what you’ve done

And wondered why a brilliant one

Would take her life to Neverland.

“You wouldn’t know”, she cried below.

“You never got the pain I got.”

Oh, dear, oh, dear, my Sylvia Plath

I understand, but hear me out.

Think of the meadows, clothed with mist

Trudge along, and they hug your feet

Think of the ice-capped mountain-tops

Watch them twirl, as you hop and stop.

“Oh, no lecture please, for Kumbaya,

Had enough of that, from my Pa,

Had enough of that, from my Ma,

Even Ted, used to blah, blah, blah.”

A second point that came to mind

Another question, pardon my rhyme,

To terminate without a cause,

A life so brilliant, I utter most.

What’s there in you, you so despised?

A life you dread, or a life you made?

“You-can’t get an answer from a dead!

I’m nowhere near inside your head.”

What makes you think that you are dead?

I crave for answer from your head.

I know, you know you’re obdurate.

The fact that I have you in mind,

Writing tribute, to you this time,

Coz’ it’s your birthday, don’t break my rhythm!

My fair lady, enjoy for once,

The life you live, this time around.

Here is another poem by Santayana Rose Lewiscoaches

Author: Santayana Rose is passionate about writing and ideas.

The Takeaway by Lewis Harrison “Ask Lewis”

I love writing and reading poems. Poetry bypasses my left brain-intellect, and connects that part of me that seeks meaning, rhythm, emotional resonance, and literary texture.

For me, the best poetry has a natural richness of meter, intonation, and rhythm.

Many readers of poetry, aren’t aware of the fact that rhythm and meter are different, though closely related. Meter brings the definitive pattern established for a verse, while rhythm is the actual sound that comes from poetic words, and phrases.

I have many friends and associates, who write wonderful poetry. Usually they drop their creations into a Facebook post where it is likely to be noticed by less than 25 people. I have decided to create a Poetry Portal in a number of wonderful publications on Medium.com. Here I have gotten permission from my poet friends and associates to repost the writings of these gifted creators.

Here is an introduction to this series of poems.

When it states written by Lewis Harrison at the bottom of this poem it refers to the Poetry Portal. This specific poem is by Santayana Rose.