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 calf.
I’ve eaten a bag of green apples,
Boarded the train there’s no getting off.
Sylvia Plath
**Note: Plath is one of my favorite poets, and this is one of my favorite poems by her. It is my belief that her mental health issues and tragic suicide often overshadowed her raw talent. Whenever I tell people that she is an inspiration to me, they often wonder why I prefer to read poems written by a woman who ultimately committed suicide. As you can tell in this 9 syllable by 9 line work (and drawing featured above), Plath was so much more than the depression from which she suffered.
