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Confessional Poetry

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I am tired of being brave.

Anne Sexton, 'The Truth the Dead Know'

There is a minute at the end of it, a minute, a ghost.

Robert Lowell, 'Epilogue'

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.

Philip Larkin, 'This Be The Verse'

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.

Sylvia Plath, 'Mirror'

What did I know about waters rushing back, what did I know about drowning

Adrienne Rich, 'Diving into the Wreck'

Anger as black as a hook, Overtaking the foreground.

Robert Lowell, 'Skunk Hour'

Huffy Henry hid the day, unappeasable Henry sulked.

John Berryman, 'Dream Song 1'

Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Anne Sexton, 'With Mercy for the Greedy'

You do not do, you do not do, Any more, black shoe

Sylvia Plath, 'Daddy'

Out of the ash I rise with my red hair And I eat men like air.

Sylvia Plath, 'Lady Lazarus'

I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night;

Sylvia Plath, 'Ariel'

Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so.

John Berryman, 'Dream Song 14'

All day I hear the noise of waters making moan,

James Merrill, 'The Broken Home'

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.

Sylvia Plath, 'Morning Song'

We tell beginnings: for the flesh and the answer,

Muriel Rukeyser, 'Myth'

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