Explore Poems GO!

Late Summer Fires

Rating: 3.0
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.
Read More
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS
Peter Stavropoulos 02 July 2007
Imagery rich in atmosphere and statement.
6 1 Reply

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

6/23/2021 12:00:32 AM # 1.0.0.632