’Neath wind and hail swept stone and sod there sleeps a maiden still.
Quiet now her plot where once her lot, where toiled with word and quill.
She reaped but pangs and discontent, denied what she conceived,
beleaguered by the sleights of hope in all that she believed.
Oft’ blighted she by darkly verse of stench and foul a breath,
imposed upon her poetries the imaginings of death.
’Twas cruel her fate, for written, she would dwell amongst the weeds,
the withered stems and fading blooms, the thorns and falling leaves.
Of dreams she wrote, those worthless flames that faded with the night.
Her passions bled whilst sorrows fed the dark into her light.
Forever sought what she should be through shadow, shade and woe,
but always cursed what she traversed her solitude in tow.
When once she roused in fevered awe in reaching for the morn.
To whom would hail her rising o’er the poems where she was born.
She reaching for that far domain beyond her destiny,
into her verse again immersed, but not as it should be.
-
Author:
Tony Grannell (
Offline) - Published: October 9th, 2026 12:46
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell, Friendship, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
As I read this I saw a Mary Shelley, Emily Dickenson or Sylvia Plath. Writers of the dark side and Emily not really recognized until after her death. Beautiful verse as always in your traditional rhyme scheme it flows and is as dark as the subject of the poem. Very nicely done my friend. Have a great day.
Hello, Soren,
A host of tortured poets through out the ages and their poems the saddest poems a poet could read. Your words find me in a state of gratefulness, my friend.
Fond regards,
Tony.
A pleasure for me my friend
It's always strange, but when I read of a troubled female poet, Sylvia always comes to mind.
Definitely a tortured woman, as her poetry tells you.
Many have tried to get into her mind, and I don't doubt many think they know her.
Hello, Paul,
The mind of any poet, I suppose but I see what you mean with regards to Sylvia. Her death and leading up to it interpreted as much as her writings are.
Thank you very much for dropping by,
Tony.
I was thinking of one of my favourite Writers: Jane Austen who left us far too soon.
Not many people know that She also wrote Poetry as well.
A fine Write as always.
Hello, Kevin,
Jane Austin, a lovely writer, both novels and poetry - alas, left us too early. Delighted you dropped by.
Do take care now,
Tony.
And you.
Well written, your poem revolves around the struggles of a female poet—her aspirations, disappointments, and the impact of societal constraints on her creativity and identity.
Hello, Friendship,
Thank you very much for your lovely response. You used the word, struggle which defines the whole poem.
Wishing you much happiness, my friend,
Tony.
Tony, as someone who puts a lot of my own hurt into poems, I wanted to reach her before it was too late...tell her I'd read, and mean it. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Hello, Tristan,
You put your whole being into your poems in that unique and beautiful style of yours, so I completely understand your empathy for this unfortunate lady. I really appreciate you dropping by.
Do take care now,
Tony.
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