Anne Sexton

(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974 / Newton, Massachusetts)

Anne Sexton Poems

121. Just Once 3/29/2010
122. Red Riding Hood 3/29/2010
123. The Consecrating Mother 3/29/2010
124. Rumpelstiltskin 3/29/2010
125. It Is A Spring Afternoon 3/29/2010
126. The Witch's Life 3/29/2010
127. Suicide Note 3/29/2010
128. Noon Walk On The Asylum Lawn 3/29/2010
129. The Abortion 3/29/2010
130. Ghosts 3/29/2010
131. Lessons In Hunger 3/29/2010
132. Housewife 3/29/2010
133. Flee On Your Donkey 3/29/2010
134. The Starry Night 3/29/2010
135. End, Middle, Beginning 3/29/2010
136. Words 3/29/2010
137. For The Year Of The Insane 3/29/2010
138. Live 3/29/2010
139. Doctors 3/29/2010
140. Young 3/29/2010
141. The Addict 3/29/2010
142. Wanting To Die 3/29/2010
143. The Dead Heart 3/29/2010
144. Sylvia's Death 3/29/2010
145. For John, Who Begs Me Not To Enquire Further 3/29/2010
146. Crossing The Atlantic 7/11/2006
147. Going Gone 3/29/2010
148. Killing The Love 3/29/2010
149. In Celebration Of My Uterus 3/29/2010
150. Cripples And Other Stories 7/11/2006
151. For My Lover, Returning To His Wife 3/29/2010
152. Cockroach 7/11/2006
153. 'Daddy' Warbucks 6/27/2006
154. The Black Art 6/27/2006
155. Bat 6/27/2006
156. Elegy In The Classroom 3/29/2010
157. Snow White And The Seven Dwarfs 6/27/2006
158. Clothes 7/11/2006
159. As It Was Written 6/27/2006
160. Despair 7/11/2006

Comments about Anne Sexton

  • Franko Macan (3/4/2014 6:37:00 AM)

    Red Roses, was the first of Anne's poems I ever read. A powerful emoatinal peices comparable to Paula Meehan's poem about her dead Mother.
    It helped me embark on a story of my life, which Ihope to have publishes, which includes childhood psychological and emoational abuse leading to bouts of adult Schizophrenia, and many other issues. Thanks Anne where ever you are; hopefully with the other great pure of hearts too good for this world, like Elvis. To me you were the Elvis of poetry. Out there in a league of your own: the Queen of poets, giving many lesser mortals like me inspiration.

    27 person liked.
    43 person did not like.
  • Thomas Revitt (8/31/2013 9:34:00 PM)

    45 Mercy Street is one of the great American poems. It reflects American every day life and individual loneliness and loss, and it captures them both almost in the same line.

  • Samanthia Moore Samanthia Moore (6/25/2013 3:19:00 PM)

    I really like anne saxton, she is a really good writter. besides what critics think of her i think shes amazing.

  • Kevin Patrick (11/28/2012 10:16:00 PM)

    A fabulous poet, her use of language is commanding, Anne was a modern poet who did not use any of the clichés of pretentious Victorianism, her subjects are tough and emotional, she talks about the dark side because she lived in the dark side and you will never get a better depiction of depression then from this woman.

  • Kaye Rose (5/7/2012 7:22:00 PM)

    Anne Sexton is my absolute favorite poet. She wasn't ever afraid to tackle a subject and I admire that; it's a mystery what might have come from her had she not committed suicide. We lost some great work most likely due to that.

  • Cherie Chetyrbok (2/21/2012 12:39:00 AM)

    Excellent poet. One of my All-Time favorites.

  • Amy Marie Amy Marie (12/19/2010 3:43:00 PM)

    I love her style. I recently made her one of my three favorite poets :)

  • fleur de lys (7/25/2009 10:39:00 PM)

    She gets on my nerves too but I can't think of title 'The Awful Rowing Towards God' without smiling.

  • Indigo Hawkins (2/15/2008 4:42:00 PM)

    Sexton gets on my nerves. A lot. Some of her witticisms are hilarious, though.

Best Poem of Anne Sexton

45 Mercy Street

In my dream,
drilling into the marrow
of my entire bone,
my real dream,
I'm walking up and down Beacon Hill
searching for a street sign -
namely MERCY STREET.
Not there.

I try the Back Bay.
Not there.
Not there.
And yet I know the number.
45 Mercy Street.
I know the stained-glass window
of the foyer,
the three flights of the house
with its parquet floors.
I know the furniture and
mother, grandmother, great-grandmother,
the servants.
I know the cupboard of Spode
the boat of ice, solid silver,
where the ...

Read the full of 45 Mercy Street

Her Kind

have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,

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