Instant faith like a tea kettle,
waiting for the whistle is the hardest part.
staring at the stove top
watching heat and water move,
stirring atoms with a spoon
demi-god of all that is kitchen
now some say the world will end in fire some say ice
valhalla with camomile sounds so nice.
my world is elemental, still and calm
my world is sunday afternoon
and liverpool plays fulham
waiting for the whistle is the hardest part
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You move very skillfully from the domestic, to the grand and metaphysical, and back again.