Some poems

Are made out of

Sunshines

How for a second brief

Through the meadow it peeks,

The warmth it gives off

Melting cold hearts

Some are made

Out of drizzles

Its reverberating sound

As it first touches

This cold grey land

Where, in each others' arms

This biting chill, we melted

But this verse

Which I made out

Of thread and needles

A stitch to the heart

Out to unforgotten memoirs

Of a sullen past

—a closed wound, opened

All over again. 

When I think about

The way the world works

Sometimes I get lost

In the gears of everything

Slipping through the cracks

Of the instructions

We have set into stone,

Filling the mold

That I've carved for myself

Morning, Prosers. 

This week's TBT is a Throwback to the time where @LillyZ and @DaveK wrote this beauty. Feast your eyes on this and check the bottom of the piece for the link to the beautiful infographic only on The Prose Blog. 

Sylvia Plath was born in Massachusetts in 1932 and died by suicide at the age of 30 in 1963 while living in London. While literature will always honor her as a beacon of brilliance, let us strive to be who she should have been, not who she was. The legacy of Sylvia Plath reminds us that no matter how talented we are, we are still human and prone to frailty.

Sylvia Plath was first published at the age of eight in the Boston Herald and would be published on several occasions during this time in her life. Her father also died when she was eight from complications with diabetes. His death effected her deeply, causing her to lose faith in her Christian upbringing and most likely contributed to her lifelong battle with depression. Sylvia’s first national publication was printed in the Christian Science Monitor when she was 18 years old. She attended Smith College and graduated with honors despite a brief stay in a psychiatric care facility where she received electroconvulsive shock therapy for depression. Her first suicide attempt was by taking sleeping pills and crawling under her mother’s house to die. She stayed in the crawl space for three days before being discovered. She also drove her car into a river and would eventually die from carbon monoxide poisoning with her head in the oven and wet towels at the base of the doors to keep the fumes from her children. While there is a debate on whether or not she really planned to die, an officer at the scene is quoted as saying she “had really meant to die.”

Sylvia married poet Ted Hughes only a few months after they met when she was 24. She said that he had a writing voice like “the thunder of God.” The two would separate after she learned he had been sleeping with another woman. She died six months later. After hearing the news, Hughes said in a letter that “That’s the end of my life. The rest is posthumous.” He chose the inscription on her gravestone that reads, “Even amidst fierce flames the golden lotus can be planted.” Her headstone has been vandalized numerous times by admirers angered by Hughes name on the stone, attempting to scratch it out so Sylvia’s would be the only name left. When Hughes’ mistress, Assia Wevill, killed herself and their four-year old daughter, the vandalism became more frequent. Hughes has repeatedly had the stone removed for repair. Sylvia’s son, Nicholas Hughes, killed himself in 2009 after a history with depression.

Sylvia Plath advanced the genre of confessional poetry, publishing poetry collections and novels before being awarded the Pulitzer Prize after her death in 1982 for The Collected Poems. A critic said of Plath that, “The horrifying tone of her poetry underscores a depth of feeling that can be attributed to few other poets…Plath writes of the human dread of dying. Her primitive honesty and emotionalism are her strength.” In 2000, it was reported that there were more than 104 books in print about her. Though her life was brief, Sylvia Plath left a legacy that will outlive historical events 1,000 years in the making. We can only celebrate what was while we mourn untold numbers of moving words that will never be, hoping that her legacy is one that inspires future writers to see how far their words can climb while their hearts still beat.

If you want to visit this piece in all its luscious image heavy glory, visit here, now: http://blog.theprose.com/2016/06/throwback-thursday-looks-sylvia-plath/ 

Thanks once again to @DaveK and @LillyZ, both of whom you should follow on Prose if you don't already! 

Until next time, Prosers,

Prose. 

Hey

Umm

I was wondering if -

Well, I mean

I was just kinda hoping

Well

Its just that

You know

I just think that 

This is kind of wrong

If you don't mind me saying

I

You

Well

I mean

It just hurts

Only a little bit

But I would really appreciate it

If -

I am just a little bit

Tired

Of all of the blood

I mean

Not that it's too bad

I just

I'm sorry

Its just that

Umm

You know

I

Uhh

I just -

Never mind

It's okay

Really

Forget it

Sorry...

When we share, and allow others 

to hear and see our weaknesses, 

we help them along their journey;

we strengthen them

with the honesty of our failures.

But to share only our strengths and successes, 

is to only weaken them on their path; 

which inevitably weakens us as well.

My story intersects with yours,

every time you share;

we journey together. 

You are my song

My words

My emotional strength

My rock

My companion

My grace.

Good morning, Prosers,

This feature focuses on the wonderful words coming from our Letters from Prison contributors. Some of you may not be aware of this initiative yet, but by the end of this post you will be!

Each and every Wednesday, Sammie and Paul visit prison and teach creative writing to the residents there. We then bring their words to Prose and post them in the Letters from Prison Portal where members of the Prose community comment on them, providing much needed support and feedback which we then take back into prison and share with the residents.

This program has provided the inmates with a much needed release whilst improving their spelling, grammar, self-confidence, and has had a profound effect on their mental health, too.

This new weekly feature is to celebrate some of the cracking words that escape the bars and make their way onto Prose.

I watch from afar

I watch it spread

I watch it breathe

It’s catching, just like a cold

~@IVVial

From: Injustice Disease

Fear like a still frog

Terror of the enemy in sight

Never to be here

~@TwistedSpiral

From: Ignited

Now the world

For all to see

Has been shared on YouTube

For fucking free

~@Squeakypeewee01

From: YouTube Boob

If you like what you read here, we encourage you to check out the Portal, get commenting and supporting this amazing program.

Until next Saturday, Prosers,

Prose.

One

Word is

Enough,

Yet people insist

On using ten.