MY DEAR TWO ANNES (TWINS APART)

2 Comments

Poem Commentary

This in tribute to Anne Frank and Anne Sexton, two, of the most important influence of the art of poetry, prose, essay, memoir, and other and all areas of literurature. From Shakespeare to Augusten Burroughs, the aingst is the same and the dire need to explain the unexplainable . The definition of Contemporary writing is hard for me to grasp. When did the line get drawn the most current "Modernist"

MY DEAR TWO ANNES (TWINS APART)

 MY DEAR TWO ANNES (TWINS APART) 05-14-10

 MY DEAR ANNE FRANK:

Dear Anne:

You were so precocious as a child,
needing to be the center of attention.
Yet you were very, very strong inside.
Such a tragedy when you died.

I look at your beautiful face,
And I wonder what you had to see
There will never be enough accolades
to calm the pain of  your lonely place

The ache of loneliness resonates
throughout your expressions;
in your pictures, your poems, your letters.
My heart is breaking, I feel just like you.

You saw yourself as a lover of life.
Your words are so full of hope and love.
My feelings, you express so well.
My sorrow is complete, you are now above. 

My Dear,dear, darling Anne,

Demented devils forced your demise.
The natural beauty of yourself never dies.
God, I wish I could turn back time.
But you left, still believing the world is kind.

I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could convey
that life is full of pain, yes.
But bearable if one maintains a true heart
and a belief in your God’s reprieve.

The death of your mother, your sister.
Your wish to stay was forced aside.
You were alone, a small boat, lost in the sea.
Your attempts to survive were thwarted.
Your mind convinced you otherwise.

I will never forget your struggle,
It resonates within me.
They turned you into a “bag of bones”.
Yet you attracted anyone you wanted.

Your flirtatiousness was infectious.
Boys flocked to you as you played
a game of “want me, but don’t need me”…
Your words are torturous and keen.

I miss you. You explained me.
I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me.

But it’s too late.
You never even knew me.
You were sixteen when you died.
I wasn’t here, it was 1945.

I’ve attempted to die since I was fifteen.
God must have a purpose for me.
Or maybe He likes my suffering,
My shame is in my last uttering.

You succeeded. You made it where I want to be.
Do you still believe what you wrote?
“Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart?”

You have always had the peace I crave
to stop my crawling stomach.

The pain is great, almost overwhelming…
How did you succeed? Would you help me?

(Dedicated to Anne Frank, 1929-1945 RIP)

MY DEAR ANNE SEXTON:

Dear Anne:

You were so precocious as a child,
needing to be the center of attention.
Yet you were very, very sick inside.
Such a tragedy when you died.

I look at your beautiful face,
And I wonder what you did not see.
There were not enough accolades
to fill your soul’s empty space.

The ache of loneliness resonates
throughout your expressions;
in your pictures, your poems, your letters.
My heart is breaking, I feel just like you.

You saw yourself as a stranger.
I see you as someone I love.

My feelings, you express so well.

My sorrow is complete, you are now above.

My Dear, dear darling Anne.
Tormented demons forced you blind
to your natural beauty of yourself.

God, I wish I could turn back time.
You left so much behind

 I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could convey
That life is full of pain, yes.
But bearable if one maintains a true survival instinct.
and a belief in your God’s reprieve.

The wish to leave must be turned aside.
You were alone, a small boat, lost in the sea.
Your attempts to survive were thwarted.
Your mind convinced you otherwise.

I will never forget your struggle,
It resonates within me.
You called yourself “a bag of bones”
Yet you attracted anyone you wanted.

Your flirtatiousness was infectious.
Boys flocked to you as you played
a game of “want me, but don’t need me”…

Your words are torturous and keen.
I miss you. You explained me.
I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me.

But it’s too late.
You never even knew me.
In 1974, you killed yourself.
I was just fourteen.

I’ve attempted the same since I was fifteen.
God must have a purpose for me.
Or maybe He likes my suffering,

You succeeded.
Was it guts? Cowardice?
Illness or madness?
What did you see?

Are you at peace now?
Do you now have the peace I crave
to stop my crawling stomach?

The pain is great, almost overwhelming…
Why did you succeed instead of me?

(Dedicated to Anne Sexton, 1928-1974 RIP)

 (©Written by sjhunt-bloodworth 05-14-10)

 

Poem Comments

(2)

Please login or register

You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
leave comments/feedback and rate this poem.

Login or Register

sjhunt2005 commented on MY DEAR TWO ANNES (TWINS APART)

09-21-2010

Thank you, Marie, I appreciate your comment and your friendship Take care, Susan

Teardrops commented on MY DEAR TWO ANNES (TWINS APART)

09-08-2010

I can see the trials you are dealing with and I pray you see the talent you have to write such beautiful poetry . Your firiend Marie

sjhunt2005

09/08/2010

Thank you, Marie. I have a question, maybe you can help me? I added a few poems, but they aren't showing up in my poems list. Is there a waiting period for posting? Any help would be greatly appreciated! Take care, Susan

When power leads man towards arrogance, poetry reminds him of his limitations. When power narrows the area of man's concern, poetry reminds him of the richness and diversity of existence. When power corrupts, poetry cleanses.

John F. Kennedy (1917-1963) Thirty-fifth President of the USA

sjhunt2005’s Poems (12)

Title Comments
Title Comments
WHY WON'T GOD MAKE ME HIGH? 0
I LIKE SOCRATES 0
THE COURSE CHOSEN 4
MY UNCONSIOUS GUILT 2
MY GRANDFATHER, MY CHAMPION 2
A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A SEMI-SANE WOMAN 0
A BUM DEAL MADE ME NOT 0
MY DEAR TWO ANNES (TWINS APART) 2
TORNADO 2
THE SNAKE 2
AND IN THESE DAYS 1
CAR CRASH 2