Late February Poem by Ted Kooser
Late February
The first warm day,
and by mid-afternoon
the snow is no more
than a washing
strewn over the yards,
the bedding rolled in knots
and leaking water,
the white shirts lying
under the evergreens.
Through the heaviest drifts
rise autumn's fallen
bicycles, small carnivals
of paint and chrome,
the Octopus
and Tilt-A-Whirl
beginning to turn
in the sun. Now children,
stiffened by winter
and dressed, somehow,
like old men, mutter
and bend to the work
of building dams.
But such a spring is brief;
by five o'clock
the chill of sundown,
darkness, the blue TVs
flashing like storms
in the picture windows,
the yards gone gray,
the wet dogs barking
at nothing. Far off
across the cornfields
staked for streets and sewers,
the body of a farmer
missing since fall
will show up
in his garden tomorrow,
as unexpected
as a tulip.
You paint such vivid pictures. What a finely crafted poem. I will look forward to reading more of your words and work. Thoroughly enjoyed. PEACE
The style of the narration is superb and playful. Enjoyed the portrays of late february. Thanks for sharing.
Winter is bleak over there, much softer here on the North East Coast of Australia; the Police aren't going to come knocking when the dead farmer is found, surely not Ted?
A poem so nicely crafted with the sweetest choice of words. Thanks for the sharing.
Beautiful style of spilling your thoughts. Liked it. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/2/2024 1:10:55 AM # 1.0.0
ANOTHER PIECE OF BORING SHIT ON THIS GOD FORSAKEN SITE.
Get .