Cinderella by Sylvia Plath
The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels
Begin on tilted violins to span
The whole revolving tall glass palace hall
Where guests slide gliding into light like wine;
Rose candles flicker on the lilac wall
Reflecting in a million flagons' shine,
And glided couples all in whirling trance
Follow holiday revel begun long since,
Until near twelve the strange girl all at once
Guilt-stricken halts, pales, clings to the prince
As amid the hectic music and cocktail talk
She hears the caustic ticking of the clock.
The Path by ME!!!
Trees of orange, yellow and red,
Lining the path, the path of life
Full of twists; now I head
through the wind, cutting through with a slice
My feet crunch on dead leaves
Butterflies flitting around me;
Above branches weave
Together and a butterfly lands on my knee,
And nothing is certain on the path of life
But I only get one chance and it has to be right,
The moon comes out, glinting like a knife
In the black sky, leads me, during the night
The path of life has different endings
The path is always bending.
Sylvia Plath is a famous poet from the post Wold War II time period. She was born in 1932. Her parents were Otto and Aurelia Schoeber Plath. Her father died when she was only 8 in 1940. She then started to write, her writing got her selected for the College Board, Mademoiselle magazine in 1953. The Great Depression troubled her because it hit her family hard. She then became depressed and her mother had doctors/therapists give her bi-polar electroconvulsive shock treatment. That did not help her, in fact it made her depression worse and she tried to kill herself with sleeping pills in 1953. MORNING SONGby Sylvia Plath Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements. Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival. New statue. In a drafty museum, your nakedness Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls. I'm no more your mother Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow Effacement at the wind's hand. All night your moth-breath Flickers among the flat pink roses. I wake to listen: A far sea moves in my ear. One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral In my Victorian nightgown. Your mouth opens clean as a cat's. The window square Whitens and swallows its dull stars. And now you try Your handful of notes; The clear vowels rise like balloons.
Your poem is pretty good and you did a good job making it similar to Sylvia Plath's. However you may want to reread it before you are completely done with it because some of the line don't seem like they rhyme very well (missing an "s" or just don't seem right). But overall really good job. I enjoyed reading you poem.
ReplyDeleteI did enjoy how you changed the theme to something that totally sounds like you, and that's important -- to make it your own. I would say though, that you were charged with writing a closed form poem, and when you do that, you have to stick to those confines, those structures presented in the poem, and not take off in your own direction. In that established structure lies the challenge.
ReplyDeleteI entirely agree with Maggie, first off. Also, I love how you made it your own, and the topic is refreshing (compared to Sylvia Plath and her Cinderella shenanigans). Yes, shenanigans. Like people have said, the rhyming and syllables are a bit off, but it still sounds really nice.
ReplyDeleteI agree with Maggie and Alaina. I think you did a good job of imitating the author. I also liked the concept of your poem was really cool. Nice job!
ReplyDeleteI really liked the beginning of your poem. I could tell by the first time that it was going to be really good! And it was. Great job:)
ReplyDeleteHannah, your emulation poem is really good. I liked that you used an opposite view on your poem by writing about something happy and inspirational instead of dark like a lot of Sylvia Plath's writing. Great reading!
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