Tag Archives: poem prompt

two worlds

two worlds

there is
darkness there,
faded forests
silent fields…

here, a little
ever green is
where unfading
flowers hum


I have missed Manic Monday’s Three-Way challenges and finding poetry amidst the lyrics of the featured songs. So I am challenging myself to “find” poetry in some of the greatest poems of all time. You can see a list of them HERE at the Best Poems Encyclopedia. Starting us off is this gem by Emily Dickinson called, “There is Another Sky”. (My found poetry, aka blackout poem, is shown below by the bold text.)

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
rithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

The Phoenix



i will vanish;
the flesh will die
my hands, my skin
and bone, it feels
like hell, so real…
i say, enough
my scars, my heart,
a touch of blood,
your opus that
melts to nothing,
beware, beware
out of the ash
i rise like air


A Black Out Poem for MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie Sunday Writing Promptbased on Sylvia Plath’s Poem, “Lady Lazarus” as seen with bold (Black Out) text below.

Lady Lazarus by Sylvia Plath

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it——

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?——

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanishin a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
Whata trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot——
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
Tolast it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feelsreal.
Iguess you could sayI’ve a call.

It’seasy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.
It’sthe theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart——
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—
You poke andstir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer

Out of the ash
I risewith my red hair
And I eat men like air.


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