Poetry Monster

Temper Of Time by Sylvia Plath

An ill wind is stalking
While evil stars whir
And all the gold apples
Go bad to the core.
Black birds of omen
Now prowl on the bough;
With a hiss of disaster
Sibyl’s leaves blow.
Through closets of copses
Tall skeletons walk;
Nightshade and nettles
Tangle the track.
In the ramshackle meadow
Where Kilroy would pass
Lurks the sickle-shaped shadow
Of snake in the grass.
Approaching his cottage
By crooked detour,
He hears the gruff knocking
Of the wolf at the door.
His wife and his children
Hang riddled with shot,
There’s a hex on the cradle
And death in the pot.


The End

And that’s the End of the Poem

© Poetry Monster, 2021.

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Some external links: The Bat’s Poetry Cave. — Fledermaus’s poetry site. Talking Writing Monster. — the irreverent and irrelevant chatter on subjects both serious and not quite. A free for all board. You can scribble anything on it without registration (but it doesn’t let spammers in). You can even post your poems. — a search engine from France. It’s an alternative because there are a few alternatives, like Bing, Duckduckgo, and Ecosia. And there is Yandex, the ultimate language-oriented search engine for the Russophone world. Commercial Links: Russian Commerce – the foreign trade assistance agency Other links: Poems and poetry in Russian (if you are reading this in English, as you obviously are, then you’d have to switch the language, the language switch is on the menu. More on languages)


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