a lady of swollen years
sat knitting with glorious colours
she said her name was
saint something or other
I didn't quite catch it
must have been the gum she was chewing
her lipstick was smeared
anyway I asked what she was making
she said stain glass windows
for the cathedral being built behind her
I wasn't going to believe her
but I couldn't help it
she rolled her next joint
with incredible conviction
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this poem of mine is also on Write Out Loud here's a comment from that poetry website about my poem Anecdote " Superb! Great start to my day, thanks for this! "
another comment from Write Out Loud " This one bears fruit for me as it wanders between a perceived insanity and a purpose, never yielding a straight line. Just the idea of swollen years is completely original."