Anne Sexton Poems

Over stone walls and barns,
miles from the black-eyed Susans,
over circus tents and moon rockets
...

I am the love killer,
I am murdering the music we thought so special,
that blazed between us, over and over.
...

for Sylvia Plath

O Sylvia, Sylvia,
with a dead box of stones and spoons,
...

Be careful of words,
even the miraculous ones.
For the miraculous we do our best,
sometimes they swarm like insects
...

Better,
despite the worms talking to
the mare’s hoof in the field;
better,
...

My doctor, the comedian
I called you every time
and made you laugh yourself
when I wrote this silly rhyme...
...

A thousand doors ago
when I was a lonely kid
in a big house with four
garages and it was summer
...

Everyone in me is a bird.
I am beating all my wings.
They wanted to cut you out
but they will not.
...

Perhaps the earth is floating,
I do not know.
Perhaps the stars are little paper cutups
made by some giant scissors,
...

We sail out of season into on oyster-gray wind,
over a terrible hardness.
Where Dickens crossed with mal de mer
in twenty weeks or twenty days
...