Miss Pelican's Perch

Looking at my World from a Different Place

I Won’t Be Sylvia Plath


moon jellies 2
There is a reason I cast poems about lacy-edged waves sliding onto slick sand
and why I write about singing night birds and coyotes skulking in the shadows.
I paint with words the image of moon jellies floating in an infinite blue void.

The teachers say I must write of things I know, and the thing I know best should be me.
The critics say look to the past, share the pain, point to the others who rent my heart.
The experts say a poem is good if tears and rage spill like blood on a butcher’s block.

I won’t be Sylvia Plath going crackers in a bell jar, or one of her
colleagues harping on suicide, and spinning her madness and agony on paper.
I would be Issa and Basho singing of sparkling dragonflies and plopping frogs.

I would be Li Po and Wang Wei crafting verses about trees and shards of moonlight.
I would be Robert Frost and Miss Dickinson finding beauty in silent snowy
roads less traveled and in the elegant simplicity of a homebody’s life.

There is a reason I fling poems about yellow-eyed cats, driving rain and hot coffee.
I will not assume that I should be the center of your universe.  I want to
find my world in that proverbial grain of sand and hitchhike on the backs of stars.

LJGloyd (c) 2013

Photo:  Moon Jellies in a Blue Void


2 thoughts on “I Won’t Be Sylvia Plath

  1. I wish I could be Basho too.

  2. Miss Dickinson, Walt Whitman, Hone Tuwhare and many others for me. But most of all myself, but inspired by them.

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