about three of my favourite female poets, who wrote raw and painfully, had a similar history and have all comitted suicide in their own poetic way..

Dwelling the Mercy Street

Dwelling through the Mercy street,
your father's starry eyes on you,
Like you always sought after -
craving for the old soldier's attention
to heal your wounds in the velvet train,
bucks were all around,
yet the tap on the head stayed away;
Wondering in memoriam,
when as you knew it was too late:
"Haven't you been brave,
swallowing the little pills?
So how come, Daddy,
did she get to be your baby doll?"
All that jabber about mental conditions,
severe depressions - couldn't have helped,
you knew that doctors are heartless -
Claming to cure, while kicking the soul down the ground,
All you wanted was to wear a sunny yellow dress,
And fall asleep on a pile of notebooks.
Oh why, beautiful Anne,
do women like us marry at 18?

Escaping from barrier to barrier,
hidden from their view,
Though you're locked up in a room
with a glass wall.
Staring is part of life,
maybe one should even consider it an asset?
Locking the children upstairs,
saving them from a horrific motion picture,
A mother with her head burned to ashes in 1963
dying bravely wasn't a selfish feministic act -
like men in white have described it.
I'm sorry if I'm putting myself on a silver plate,
These are just my admonitions,
hopefully I have those kind of guts and intestines.
You talked to God, but the sky was empty,
While cooking gas was present in the same room.
Often wondering:
"Daddy were did you put your foot today,
Shall we be able to talk some time soon?"
and ending with:
"Daddy you bastard!"
Dear Sylvia, why do women like us get lost in shadows?

Standing behind patriotism -
a thing I never could connect with -
I adapted too damn fast
to every weather in each country,
Plus what's the point of missing trees
that grow in yesterdays?
Some things stay, others are meant to be flowing
Writing about poets of great calibre,
those who fought with sharp blades
for the honour of their love -
Remember the time when people,
treasured the loved ones so,
That even fading in their name wasn't knotty?
Individual of the sea,
even your name sprang from the waves
And yet you died all lonely,
always searching for something special.
Always idealizing mystery, as if dimness
Was making love to you better
than a man ever could.
Bonded by rings, thinking that this is it
each time around.
Why is it that women like us get to think suicidal thoughts?..

Poetry by FrancescaLuca
Read 547 times
Written on 2006-12-28 at 01:55

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Wow-excellent work. There is so much pain and raw emotion throughout. The imagery and descriptions are right on..you bring the poem to life! BRAVO!

Interesting topic franchesca, Yes poets do have a raw emotional tendancy to stare into the abyss more than the average bod on the street imo. It is a hazzard of the arts into which we fall I think! It is a bad habit though and I do my best to discourage such thoughts both in myself and the many poets I come across from time to time on the net. Don't meet any in real time!lol That is why the net imo saves so many souls each and every day. Have a great new year, Smiling at you, Tai