Playing with innocence

Looking back at these short poems written thirty years ago - I juggled them into a sequence

The white day 

Passes the dry silence

The sun lies

Blind it's gold mask

Red pendants 

Stale cream sky

Subtle wind 

Moves petals clouds

Hot sunlight sparrows 

Forgotten mists end the dream 

Already in flight 

Only shedding tears

Comment on all transience

A hollow face 

From the dripping shaow

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

this is much like a painting..and in the last stanza, the colors are running because of the tears...the sharpness diluted with pain.

[Michael Oliver]

very perceptive comment had ot thought of the colours running but their this is a piece of juvenile angst .