The London*
underground
Shoes Chatterbox
Choo Choo train
Mr. Earl Gray
Greyhound
Doing cartwheels
Head over heels

Milk the Cow
"Going Moo" in her
Jimmy Choo
Yahoos
Kickapoos
The Odd Mom
Cocker Doddle Doo
Goody Two shoes
'Peekapoo"

The women living
in her shoes
All Mighty God
  
The dog to chew
Her most expensive
shoe
Lasous
The genius
La Cruz

Goody two shoes
That's show biz
Vacation Dr. Seuss
John Hughes
The master of clues
La mousse
Love truce X-File

Instagram, please smile
In her ballet slippers
He's at the Hub
drinking beer
In the London Fog
Her wooden clogs

Ladybird chirper
He's down to his
goulashes?

Got sidetrack hot
fever lovesick
La muse shoes
Cozy at the caboose
Playing golf in the
Gulf of Mexico

You ain't got a thing
if you don't have
the shoes to swing
Kick up your shoes and
start to sing

I LIE IN THE BOTTOMLESS PIT OF BITTERNESS
What have I done to life
That it kills me even though I lie
Down in the bottomless pit of bitterness
I am ****** down to the barest state of anarchy
Too choking and breathless, I can’t talk

Catatonic, I stand in dumb
Severe as I lay in me numb
I can’t wish to have life within me
I only choose to let go of it
If it will let me, leave me!
Leave me! Leave me! Life
For I hate you and everything in you

I am a genius, always eager to go along
You are too jealous of me
And capture me in your wicked web of limbo
That I may suffer and strip away like straw
Waiting to be burnt for the cloud smoke
I barely uphold my breath and strength
As tears and mucus mixed at my chin
All streaming down to my mouth

Am sick and tired of wiping
My weakling hand also tired of wiping
I’ll only let the constituent enter my mouth
Or pass down the earth

What have I done to life
That it kills me even though I lie
Down in the bottomless pit of bitterness
Rolling in painful rub of suffering
Dejection and rejection am screaming!
And sobbing as I struggle to doddle out
Of the brutality of life

Leave me; let me go for am tired
To be thrown, tried even tired of tossed
Who shall set me free, who shall deliver me?
Can you hear my cry?
Help me! for I am drawing
into the boiling ocean of life

Get to the Market

Some people take the back road
Others use the highway
Some arrive early
Some arrive late

Get the market

We all follow our own way
No persuasion
No need to jump a red light
A river will flow where it flows
Carve its own way

Get to the market

Some exhilarate
Others doddle along the way
Walk or run
You will arrive when you get there

Get to the market

Everything better simple.
Everything better with words sliced to size.
The chasm between
waking and not being waking,
all moments minute
and colossal lined up,
delightful in their plainness.
The making of friendships,
a cinch, interests shared
and food eaten,
laughter that ricochets from wine glasses
with a shrill giggle.
Then the maintenance work, a doddle.
Dialogue runs as blood through a body.
Time to see each other.
Time to make an effort
to make time to see each other.
Clutching onto loves
before sell-by dates.
Labels disposed of
before they are even affixed.
No rise of an eyebrow
when the different ones
open their mouths,
revel in the spaces
where they don’t fit in.
Decisions made without
a flutter of uncertainty,
a bubble of anxiety
that bounces round the brain.
Everything better simplistic.
Everything delightful in their plainness.

Life is like a doodle,
        you may not see the
                               picture.

But to the one that
                    scribbled it,
it makes perfect sense..

The mind is a misuse of reflections,
we gaze upon the maddening of our
life and make order from a doddle
of randomness.

"A tree barks, still no one hears it?

We have the wisdom of moments,
but are we still infants in the scheme
of our growth. Are we still crawling,
but the illusion of us standing gently wilts.

"Freedom is a leash, getting tighter everyday,

Sleep is the illusion of time, for we wake
reliving the same day, but envision it as new.
Time is non-existent, were just a tape replaying
different moments till its overplayed then just ceases.

The only big struggle
Is for money bristle
Finishes like a bubble
When we see Sin puddle.
Is this so thing doddle?
Actually it is a circle
Vicious; none to fiddle
As it makes one nuzzle
In their cozy castle.
Earlier there was raffle;
Making us quite subtle
In all innate our struggle.
Money’s single ripple
Can conscience straddle
Into treachery subtle.
So dear when see boodle
Don’t forget to whistle;
And flee away with chuckle
From this vicious girdle.

A beautiful and sweet girdle
Collecting it is quite doddle
Counting is like a hot fettle
Touching it is a bit brittle.
Let be the Geeta or the Bible,
Let be grapes or pineapple,
Importance of money able
Is not be explainable.
Money can make a castle
Or buy handful cattle
Or can earn a good title
Or can bound to peddle.
All is easily possible
By the mint boodle.
Carry them in a duffle
Or in a golden vessel,
It is going to be a rouble.
So friends value a boodle
And crave for it to chuckle
The taunts of world little.

This Poem was given to me by my friend the Author
and poet J Alexander thank you so Much Jay!
Where are u queen?

Somewhere...
seated in-between faded lines of a potent love poem
written in the 60s by hippies named Flower with the
power putting peace in pens teaching Zen to 10 crescent
moons refusing not to glow, only to then grow-up making
a living as a breath-taking metaphor?

Somewhere...
in a private casbah being made to feel like more than
a woman while God summons a handful of her ebony
angels giving each an epiphany of ample high-5's and
performance promotions for a magic potion creation
well done, one eternity at a time?

Somewhere...
still reminiscing about a kiss that could soften stingy steel,
calling no cobs on the cookie unless cats come correct,
not like rookies but like roosters that ****-a-doddle-doo
and make you sit still while layers get peeled till you fulfill
your fantasy feeling the
power of Niagara’s flow?

Somewhere...
letting tomorrow take care of itself as it usual does
while wishing someone-unlike-no-other would take
care of you today, tattooing the inside of your eyelids
with the letters L.O.V.E. with binding blood for you
to gaze at a view of outer-space using commitment
constellations as mental masking tape, sticking by your
side until there is no such a thing as time?

Where did you go?

Somewhere...
sleeping solo, dripping "I'll show him" slob on pride
pillows instead of riding bicycles with no seats -
just the pole, juxtaposed underneath unapologetic
satin sheets swapping gossip on unlimited minutes
about unfinished business to bitter listeners with
limited vision, although behind your back would switch
in an instance, since it's existence - misery always needed company

Somewhere...
thinking about making the 1st move for the 2nd and 3rd time?

Somewhere...
keepin' it 100 with 90% of your single friends?
Where are you my luv?

Somewhere...
becoming conscious, covered deep with earth on a
continent in a South African mine in your prime,
replacing the black blood and applying your tear drops
upon diamonds, making them shine twice as bright
with infinity shelf life?

Somewhere...
practicing saying a surname on for size in front of a
candlelit white picket fenced vanity mirror,
placing pillows near navels underneath your
blouse knowing it fits your style and hoping
that daddy will be speechless proud about his
princess, pride and joy?

Somewhere...
working too **** hard?
Where are you irreplaceable?

Oooooh.....still right here, sippin' Verbal Koffee,
listening to Sade’s I Couldn’t Love You More and down for whatever!!
©2009
jAy aLexander
Fountain Head Publishing

Years back!