Daily Poetry Assignment: Day 6 – Found Poetry, Chiasmus, Face

Urgh. I racked my brain hard for this assignment. My first reaction was: “What the frick-frack is a found poetry?!! How the heck am I going to write that and add this chiasmus, whatever this thing is?! AHHH!” Compunded with the evils of school work, I was not only delayed with writing this poem, but also with finding a text source for the “found” factor. My head swirled with possibilities: Wikipedia articles, Tolstoy’s novel Anna Karenina, a business newspaper, and so on. Somehow it’s like all of them are vying for attention to be used in my writing. After watching a helpful YouTube vid about found poetry, I settled at last for a simple alternative: to base my poem on an existing poem. Naturally, since I am still studying Sylvia Plath in school, it was the most familiar to me. The poem I based this one on is called ‘Edge’, from her posthomously-published poetry book Ariel. You can read this poem on Poetry Foundation by clicking this sentence. You will be able to compare and contrast the ways in which I have used her words to fit my narrative in this poem.

The poem is about the manipulative nature of some women, who trick men and use them for selfish gain. This is an ironic role-reversal between men and women but still it occurs in society. While many men take advantage of naïve women, there women can also do the same and entrap men as well, especially men who view women as mere objects of beauty. They are oblivious to the fact that some women are clever and can snare them into a living hell of a relationship!

The Pure Punisher

By A. A. Kamalov


Toga-clad enchantress,

Face of milk-white moon

Casts a smile of illusion, oh

Woe to those naïve lechers!


Scrolls of hair, hinting at

A Greek sort of fatalism, I hear

Singing sirens in the horizon

All the while, a spell was cast.


Pitiful fools; attracted by

Amphorae, thinking of wine when

It’s over to begin with.

Embracing the rose petals


With vigour, lonely desperation,

Bleeding passion; it pleases

The perfected serpent.

Devouring each dead body


As a cauldron crackles

With odours of stiffened corpses.

The lifeless losers lusted

But lusted less for life,


Useless sacrifice. A grim garden

Of thorns and marionettes;

The puppet-master wearing

Bone-white veil on the surface.



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