23 Fitzroy Road

23 Fitzroy Road



i wonder if sylvia read her birthday letters
from ted

blew out her candles before succumbing to the gas
her goodbye party filled with the inside frown
of the clown of poetic costume
the blushed cheeks, black eye make-up
the raven clown claws at the last bits of humor in
a circus life

opens her presents
and herself barely contained
wrapped so prettily
divorce papers with a bow so tight
she never unties his poetry from her mind

above the door "yeats lived here"
now under the porch mat, "sylvia died here"
with a little bit of icing dripping from her chin

she gave in
the letters unopened like most of her heart
the invitations spent
never sent
and ted's name crossed off the mailbox.


erin-cilberto
4/16/11

Reviews

[J. J. Nightingale]

The End.. keeping it's promise..
Sad times here..

Well Stated...

Jazzy

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Jazzy...

i appreciate you.
j.

[J. J. Nightingale]

......You are welcome....................♥...........

[duff]

Poetry at its finest when it tugs our strings. Storytelling with promise and delivery. Warmth and cold. Nicely written

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind words, duff---
j.

[duff]

You're welcome.

[marilyn 1225]

ah Sylvia Plath tortured soul who commited suicide who had her life ahead of her to continue writing Jacob, great work as always!!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind words, marilyn...she is my second favorite after Dickinson...
j.

[marilyn 1225]

good to know

[ROXANE DORSEY]

when the divorce proceeding starts, love is lost quick. thanks for this lovely write.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

yes, just like that...
thank you, Roxane.
j.

[Ardra]

divorce papers with a bow so tight
she never unties his poetry from her mind

above the door "yeats lived here"
now under the porch mat, "sylvia died here"
with a little bit of icing dripping from her chin

the picture you paint here ...hits home..
the icing dripping...

the divorce paper as a gift... guess if she wanted freedom it couldn't have been a better gift.. am not so sure if she was happy about it in this poem...

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your words, Galadriel...
j.

[Ayvid N]

This is such a touching tribute to the great poetess. Reading it, I felt wondered what depressed her more, husband's unfaithfulness or the disillusionment of living in a dark world. The penultimate verse blew my mind!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

you are so kind, DIVYA...thank you for your words...i love Plath....wrote my masters thesis on her and Sexton....
next to Dickinson, Plath is my favorite poet.

j.

[Ayvid N]

I read the Bell Jar and some of her poetry after reading about her in a poem of yours, some years back. She was phenomenal Mr. Jacob. You are so blessed to have done a thesis on her. I wish I had this great literary opportunity. I'll look forward to reading Sexton and Dickinson now...

[Julie McCarthy (juliesp..]

Beautifully written
Love this Jacob can you tell me the history of it plz when u get a chance

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Julie...

tumultuous relationship between sylvia plath and ted hughes...at the end of her life, plath lived in the house that Yeats had lived in..and he was her hero..

[Fabian G. Franklin]

The sad part was the kids in the house with wet towels under the doors to keep out the gas. Excellent write as always.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

yes, that was the saddest part....for sure.
thanks, Fabian.

j.

[John Alexander McFadyen]

You tell the tale of Plath and Hughes from Sylvia's sympathy evoking, sad viewpoint. Tis a tale of two damaged people who collided and exploded as their emotions fed their poetry. Sublime and full of empathetic respect Jacob.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind review John.
j.

[andrew mitchell]

The title reminded me of 84 Charing cross road I don't know why but is this about Sylvia Plath and her love for yeats I am not familiar with her life's story but a fine write all the same.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind words...Plath lived the last months of her life in Yeats' old house.
j.