Blank canvas, as wide as outstretched arms
Sparkling white, clean, virginal
Spent pounds on two- for one is never enough
They stood adrift
Like two drunken men in the junk room
A junk house
They could be heard rudely burping into the air
Guffaws of laughter
How long they will roam there, I'm not aware.
Will they sober up and reveal something
Realistically I doubt it.
There is some desire in their blankness
Gazing at nothing that could become a great piece of art
Depends who purchases them blank, I guess
Whose masters hands gets a hold of their throat
Or caresses their pallid skin tenderly
With strokes of the brush
The best they can hope for
In my junk room studio
Is to get wet with oils.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Whose masters hands gets a hold of their throat............i think master's or masters' hands. so, did they get dirtied? i should have said wet. you ARE an artist............with poetry. They stood adrift Like two drunken men in the junk room A junk house................nice. reminds me of one you posted a couple (?) of years ago, in which you described a cluttered room. bri :) p.s. i'd say something clever about virgins, but it might not be in good taste. to MyPoemList..............lovely