Dizzy with the prelunch wine
I try to connect a scattered brain
So as to invent, think up, create if you like
A thing worth painting, writing, making.
But only a blanking gaze looks out
Jaundiced, on an uncleaned room
And a suddenly intrusive clock
Defines as always the count-down
To something yet to happen,
Which could of course be lunch.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
could be, would be, should be................LUNCH! ! ! TO mYpOEMlIST. BRI ;)
Thanks for your comments. It's James really but settled for my middle name because there is already a James on the site.