Cold Morning in March


Winter keeps hanging around
like my girl's best friend
overstaying her welcome,
talking, talking, rudely
territorial when she must leave,
yet the faint colors barely
pink and blue of the freezing morning,
better named as vague shades
in the paint department of
Home Depot,
the sun low in the sky
sloppy as a broken egg yolk,
obstinate as the last raging flare
at the scene of an accident
floating below the limb
of the brittle oak
fracturing the porcelain sky
with it's bitter sweet chocolate
branches, their varicose
confusion being as
the road map of New Jersey,
make the desperate statement of
irrefutable beauty which I
almost resent.





Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
Read 1069 times
Written on 2014-03-11 at 02:20

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Purple Phoenix
Wonderfully descriptive. I really enjoyed this, I had to read it over again.
2014-03-12


Nabeela Altaf
Splendid. Your metaphorical side has it's charm.
2014-03-11


Rob Graber
I really enjoy this seasonal imagery!
2014-03-11