having spilt a glassful of words
onto a long stared at sheet
they puddled and blotted
swelling in such a way
that wild flowers appeared
burgeoning on godcakes
but if you were to lick
them up with your late night
wine stained tongue
they would arrive as pure poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I put this poem on PoetrySoup, here's a comment 'a unique poem, Clive. I liked the first line...as as did 'they (words) puddled and blotted...that does so happen. Nicely done.'