Looking up from the couch......at the blue California sky,
thoughts have swung from what to write, to how much to eat, to....the time to die.
If I had my way I’d take a walk, but I’m sidelined by my “bad back”.
For now I’ll write this, put death on hold, and then perhaps eat pie,
.....or cake, or ice cream, or cereal,......or nuts, or even fruit.
And when I die I hope to be not-buried; I’ll have no need for a suit.
I only need to write a few more lines; I’m writing like a hack,
and if you don’t appreciate the result, you can give this poem the boot!
(January 2013)
To write, to die, to eat.... this seems an odd priority! Make it 'To eat, to write, to die'! ! Let Death keep off its grip over Bri for some more time! Let him eat and write, for he can't keep these instincts at bay! ! I give this poem the boot! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
sounds like a poem born out of boredom and pain so I think you should have started singing instead of feeling so restrained and you never know it could have brought a good downpour of refreshing rain? , , , nearly wonderfully written Sir Bri but the boot must go in, soz..