Unmellowed

Fine lines and precision

What are those? Asks the child

When art is no skill but the creative mind at its play

The willow sports turquoise candy

the sun, indigo rays

the dirt road, a farmhouse with pink and bright emerald.

What are rules? asks the poet

What are rules? asks the child. 

Strike the crayon on the page and create vivid scenes

Flamboyant unreality not yet mellowed

by what they call maturity

Reviews

[Chris]

THIS left a smile of understanding behind my eyes... well read AND said.

[RedHairedWarrior]

Thanks you :)

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i prefer the creative mind at play...maybe age will form us into poets of form...but sometimes that limits creativity...sometimes chaos has its purpose...and heart overrules matter.

i really like this...but then i tend to be an unmellowed poet myself...
and in many ways, still a child even in my late sixties.

j.

[RedHairedWarrior]

Thank you :)