Posts Tagged ‘stone’

9

Posted: June 25, 2015 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

If I set my Face like Stone,

would not I be- only- Alone?

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Am I built of

more than flesh?

Then, what will remain

when I’m laid to rest?

 

A Heart of Pure gold,

and Ivory bones?

Or Papers and Books,

and a Will like Stone?

Here lies the stone I have thrown,

regurgitated from my fist as if it were a serpent.

It will be missed.

Notice its gleam in dull light,

the clouds blot out the sun. Discriminate

is the light which floods the earth

as clouds move away, the true beauty

of the stone is taken. I have spent

hours staring at nothing more than a rock.

The realization hits with locomotive force.

Still there is some sadness to be rent

at the loss of something once beautiful.

My eyes linger at their corners as I step away.

They hope that grayness will reveal how radiant

this stone could be again. But it never said a word to me.

It only gleamed like expensive crystal

in half-light. Multivalent

as a stone, so beauty is.

So love is.

Sylvia Plath reads her poem “The Stones”

Instead of posting my own poetry today, I decided to post a video of my favorite poet reading her poetry. This is one of my favorite poems by Sylvia Plath, and listening to her read her own poetry is a very haunting, beautiful experience.

Among the daily rush and tumult

of cars that clatter like distant trains,

I remember, clearly,

that stretch of asphalt leading into the city:

Gray as stone the road grows

into the land of skyscrapers.

It isn’t Detroit, Chicago, Hollywood, or New York,

but it is not terribly small or unknown.

The hazy gray freeway

rushes past like wind

from behind the car window.

There is the gateway to one possible future.

The entrance ramps align, flat as anvils,

forming a solid horizon.

Here is the city I have come to know as my grandparents’.

We even have our own little square.

I see the spotlight that calls to me.

Perhaps I will start here,

my family has already branded our influence on this city.

The road lies ahead like a dead tree

buzzing and humming

from the swarm of cars.

The ramp is one short pathway

into a possible life, a possible home,

a possibility that I reach toward like a star.

The winding stretch of road

curves me toward a blue glass city

where I may engrave my name,

where I might secure a future.