My writing desk is filled with computer parts,
a monitor, a printer, cigarette butts, an ash tray,
an old cleanex tissue, coffee cups, beer cans,
a couple of cats and three dogs on the floor
where some books by Steven King and some geeky guy
are strewn here and there near lots of Rock-N-Roll music
and loads of software and card board boxes filled with a myriad of things,
like a picture of Stonewall Jackson,
and a few old Journal’s full of poems where I wished
that I had ended up different,
or at least that I had ended up rich,
or at least that I was published,
or at least that I had cleaned my desk off
once in a while.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
STOP wishing and lets publish you. Right now this week. You can you will and you should. No more wishing. Just doing. You have plenty of poems to do it with. Hugs Jan