Potter

Once more the pastures
turn to gold
and longhorns graze
listlessly in the cold.
Once more the hysterical
starlings fly
in shifting swarms
in the winter sky.
Once more the flurries
sweep the plains
and U.S. Highways and
empty township lanes
and,
still I live, still I live
and rue
a day.


Once more the door
stands open to a frigid breeze
blowing snow from boughs
of straining trees.
Once more the ice
in sullen glare
spreads its treason
upon the stair.
Once more the fire
warms the night
and giddy embers
take merry flight
and,
still I give, still I give
and shape
the clay.




Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
Read 603 times
Written on 2007-04-04 at 23:14

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


Rob Graber
Such calm beauty, and and intriguing shift from ruing the day to shaping the clay. There is an interesting and effective rhyme scheme (your own invention, I suspect?!), and wonderful rhythm. A great, great write!
2007-04-05