Les Murray

(17 October 1938)

Late Summer Fires - Poem by Les Murray

The paddocks shave black
with a foam of smoke that stays,
welling out of red-black wounds.

In the white of a drought
this happens. The hardcourt game.
Logs that fume are mostly cattle,

inverted, stubby. Tree stumps are kilns.
Walloped, wiped, hand-pumped,
even this day rolls over, slowly.

At dusk, a family drives sheep
out through the yellow
of the Aboriginal flag.


Comments about Late Summer Fires by Les Murray

  • Veteran Poet - 1,053 Points Peter Stavropoulos (7/2/2007 4:07:00 AM)

    Imagery rich in atmosphere and statement. (Report) Reply

    2 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
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Read poems about / on: family, tree, red, summer



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003



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