My poetry's not just the servant of pleasure,
And serving self-interest isn't my treasure,
But serving my muse, I am glad to disclose
(Though at times I lose track of my spiritual clothes.)
I'm riding a bus and enjoying the country,
When verses are born, unexpected reentry
To world barely known, I'm a long way from home
(With one's muse in control, no direction's toward Rome!)
Kaleidoscope spins with old verities blurring,
Know truth lives there though for emotion's recurring,
You rework your lines as your muse plays its part
(As you lift up her veil, kiss your bride, bed your art!)
Brian Johnston
17th of June 2018
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
you need to publish a newspaper.... on time delivery...the best that you can do at the moment goes out into the world for all its criticism... good/bad. Tweaking Non Allowed...it's too late! ! !