Wednesday, April 17, 2013

National Poetry Month: "30 Days of the 5-2" Blog Tour


I'm happy to be celebrating National Poetry Month by participating in the “30 Days of the 5-2″ Blog Tour.
Editor Gerald So publishes an original poem in text and audio/video every Monday at “The 5-2: Crime Poetry Weekly."  Submissions of poems (crime-related, or the poet’s reaction to what he or she sees as crime), 60 lines or fewer per poem (any form or style) are open year-round. The 5-2 seeks original, unpublished work only. Read the complete submission guidelines for further information. Follow Crime Poetry Weekly on Twitter @poemsoncrime.
If you would like to help promote The 5-2 Blog Tour this month, use the hashtag #30OfThe52.
the_52_crime_poetry_weekly_mugDuring the month of April 2013, sales proceeds of poetry publications by The 5-2 will be donated to the non-profit American Academy of Poets to support poets at all stages of their careers and to foster the appreciation of contemporary poetry. Sales proceeds from The 5-2 Shop at CafePress.com will also be donated this month.
I would like to feature a poem by Christine Aletti, called "Sylvia Plath: Gaslight Left On," which was published on The 5-2: Crime Poetry Weekly on February 11, 2013 -- the 50th anniversary of the tragic suicide of 30-year-old Plath. She was the youngest person to receive a Pulitzer Prize posthumously; it was awarded in 1982 for her Collected Poems.

Sylvia Plath, via Biography.com
SYLVIA PLATH: GASLIGHT LEFT ON


I waited by the phone for you to call
the coals from burning, burning off the bed.
I suppose I never knew you at all. 

When clouds' rims reddened, rope began to fall
& overanalyzed lies swayed and pled.
I waited by the phone for you to call.

Itch my anger, the skin's started to crawl;
Crack the coating, the olive oil's bled.
I suppose I never knew you at all.

In the street, villagers started a small
affair, stomping and singing, but instead,
I waited by the phone for you to call.

There’s no enamel left here to enthrall;
Stroke heaven’s match on its gelatin head.
I suppose I never knew you at all 

This little note was just what I could scrawl:
I’m sorry. I didn't mean what I said.
I waited by the phone for you to call.
I suppose I never knew you at all.

***
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