Thursday, October 9, 2014
Doodling with words
I doodle on edge of the noodle.
A flower wears power then snitches on the boy.
The boy walks on paper hat, itchy as a tart.
Where the clouds slips, I also lip sing aloud.
Latin in Manhattan, English is ticklish, like licorice.
Maybe I should be eating a strudel instead.
Or canoodling with the whole caboodle.
Instead I doodle oodles of wiggly lines
Curvy lines, vines, pines and nines
In the center is the sea of peas
Rushing, thrashing, blushing blue
Suffocating the dark is a spark
Grass grows underneath my teeth
Wheat is whey, milk is silky
Playing with words is swaying with birds.
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Hosted by Bjorn Rudberg ~ A poem with no meaning but relies on sounds.
Picture credit: here