For me these machines
Stand for normalisation;
Functionality;
The death of the magical.
They just plod along
In their monotonous ways;
Tried and tested, yet
They don't soar like the angels.
Soon, no doubt, they will
Be replaced by ' better' ones,
As metallic grey
Turns red with rust. These machines
Are here today and
Forgotten tomorrow. I'm
More interested in
Poetry's obscure purpose:
How suns and moons turn
To pure gold in the mind's eye;
How certain moments
And memories linger like
Spectres at twilight.
How the seeds of strange notions
Grow into wild and
Beautiful, blazing flowers.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A well inked magnificent poem. Truly marvelous...10++++++