Sylvia Plath makes use of dark and grim imagery to capture “loneliness”. She suffered from depression most of her life. Her experience is often reflected in…
Sometimes when my eyes are red I go up on top of the RCA Building and gaze at my world, Manhattan— my buildings, streets I’ve…
By: Robert Frost I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain — and back in rain. I have outwalked…
By: Wilfred Owen I Happy are men who yet before they are killed Can let their veins run cold. Whom no compassion fleers Or makes their…
By: Lawrence Raab Making something the way it was— what could I have been thinking months ago when I wrote that line in my notebook?…
By: Anne Sexton Someone lives in a cave eating his toes, I know that much. Someone little lives under a bush pressing an empty Coca-Cola can…
By: Timothy Murphy The night you died, I dreamed you came to camp to hear confession from an Eagle Scout tortured by forty years of…
By: Allen Ginsberg Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village….
Poet and essayist Adrienne Rich was one of America’s foremost public intellectuals. Widely read and hugely influential, Rich’s career spanned seven decades and has hewed…
By: Sylvia Plath On this bald hill the new year hones its edge. Faceless and pale as china The round sky goes on minding its…