the sadness of sundays
persists
even amidst
the various
reds, yellows, browns and golds
of stormy autumn
and as I walk
I have in mind
the fragility of a veined
porcelain
hand
and who am I to resist
this child's
every imperative?
John , first time I've read your poems. This is poignant and lovely and so simple . Well done.
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Stu Buck
Wed 26th Aug 2015 15:48
this is very good. veined porcelain hand is excellent, as is the near-haikuesqueness (surely not a word) throughout. very emotive and easily conjures up a lovely image.