On the 11.37 with Sylvia Plath

On the 11.37 with Sylvia Plath

The man shouting at his phone
On the 11.37 to Marylebone,
These are not my words.

My words – Notes from Ariel – drown
In his life of importance and
Deadlines set to fail him.

Unaware, Sylvia sings her Morning Song,
Its rhythm missing my heart,
Deflected in monotone drum beats.

Princes Risborough brings silence.
A chance to ride and breathe the countryside,
Contemplating “Poppies in July”.

These are my words.

© Davy D 2017


Impressive work, Davy. Goes very well with the fine image.

Liked by 1 person

A fine poem, Davy–I had to read it over several times. I read “Poppies in July” and it seems in sharp contrast to the countryside viewed from the window of the train, which makes it all the more interesting. I’m going to look up “Notes from Ariel” too. And I’m sure I’ve met the same man yelling into his phone–obnoxious. I enjoyed thinking about all the pieces to this, Davy.

Liked by 1 person

    Thank you Laura, the book I refer to is Ariel and is a collection of Sylvia Plath poems. I think you will enjoy them. It is good to see the man has made it over to you. Someone would have had to suffer him on the airplane 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

Not waving, nor frowning Davy. Just impressed.

Liked by 2 people

As always impressive Davy

Liked by 1 person

Strong images and contrasts…well done, Davy – as always. 🙂

Liked by 2 people

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