On a nice, bright sunny day, a part of me feels a tad bit guilty about posting a poem by Sylvia Plath (1932-1963) because she did commit suicide at a very young age. But, those of us who are even occassional connosieurs of poetry have become more interested in her work since a movie was made about her short, turbulent life (forgive my percieved shallowness). So, here is "Metaphors" from Ms. Plath:
"Metaphors"
I'm a riddle in nine syllables,
An elephant, a ponderous house,
A melon strolling on two tendrils,
O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!
This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.
Money's new-minted in this fat purse.
I'm a means, a stage, a cow in a calf.
I've eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there's no getting off.
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