I wow not to leave this earth a lonely *****,
Taunted by past lovers who label me as a witch?
Here I am today, keeping my eyes on the price,
I wow never again to be fed by more optimistic lies

From the Caribbean to the Central American shore
Every woman need to be love and to be adored
And not be willfully be subjected
to the life of a married man's *****

I have found solace in my poetry,
Therefore, I cannot commit adultery?

Living with shame, guilt and
asking God to forgive a sinner
Here I am today keeping my eyes on the price,
I just became an instant lucky winner:

Because of that little girl from across the Caribbean Sea
Who travels led her to the Central American shore
Once she said no more, she meant no more

A woman like me is often misunderstood.
Because of the path I have taken through the woods
I have listened numerous times to the blabbing brook
Who comments were rude, about the rich folks

But instead I observe from my homeless tent, the high achievers
I took it all in stride, while the mosquitoes chew on my legs
Women like me aren’t afraid to dream,
Neither are we bashful to wear
the wide rim hat at Easter time
Because all eyes would be on the winners (us)

hard to say goodnight to sweet beauty
the sounds of love passionately
echoing her cries from here to there
but, comes a time eyes must close
and let in tomorrow's dreams and words
I listen while
I sleep
you would too,
if you had Pink Floyd
and David Gilmour
ringing in your ear!

(20 minute poetry)

They're either sleeping or they're dead
no heads stuck in iPhones today
no make up being made up on the Central line, take up a collection, let's hear it for the deadpan men.

Even at Mile End they'll come to a bad end but the East End was always like that,

stopping at Bethnal which sounds just like Bedlam especially if you've got a cold, well
it's green and I've seen it so time to roll on.

Liverpool Street
hot dogs
old meat
dont buy one
don't try one
I don't want to die
none of that krap for me,

the Bank
be Frank
it's a cesspit
a tank full of sharks,

hark
to St. Paul's
what big bells
what big halls
(Did I write halls?)
never mind
the ***** fall down in
chancery lane,
who plays tennis anyway in
the royal courts
where only justice is
served?

Holborn is
old and smells of Catholics and
tobacco,
the next stop wil be my stop if I stop off and step off this train
but I could go round again if this was the circle line
but it's the Central Line

Wednesday disappoints so many.

If I have everything ,
but you .
If all I love are ghosts and tears .
Then what if my beloved ones are lost to indifference
With nothing to sharpen my quill ,
and by bow finds not its rest ?
Only then will your book find peace in my heart .
Yet my beating heart is so weak , it's muscles once pumped ,
now grow weary .

Then awaken my soul again , so sinful thoughts do not abound .
Take this heart and nail it to your mast ,
Let this listing ship  not sink without trace ,
The raging waters not buffer its sides .
Be still .
I am waiting for you ,
With open arms waiting for you .
I am still here waiting .
That ship will reach calmer waters ,
a safe harbour ,
Come I am waiting ,
You are not alone .

It's a heart on world with my sleeve steadily exposed
A life line on a call line, dial 888 to be controlled
Puppets on a string to compose this household
The happier we'll be the more we're enclosed

       Smaller spaces to lengthen the gap
       Encircling our inner self control
       Consuming what's left of the demons
       Trying to get a refund on our soul
      
Love changes colors like a rhyme
Smooth and easy
Eyes like the darkness of time
Slow and steady

Yet we're still not ready for the fight
Insanity walks through the door
And just when the time is right
Our beliefs slowly melt into the floor

Where do honeybees go
after they die
Do they grace and forage a universal
sky
Do they still seek honey day and night
Do they navigate by sun and starlight
Will they continue to entertain us in our next life