Behind the evening's golden glow
The skies are hiding early snow
The road leads homeward toward the glow
Day is done, it's time to go

The gold shows ending of the day
The clouds show snow is on the way
Time to ride and not to stay
I've got to put this one away

Amber fills the autumn skies
Signalling the storm behind it lies
It's time to say our fair goodbyes
And be serenaded by coyote cries

The golden sheen is the sign
Your day is done, as is mine
I'm heading west along the line
Back to the ranch "The twisted nine"

A golden glow before the clouds
filled with snow, a winter shroud
I know the wind is getting loud
So I am off to beat the crowd

Behind the evening's golden glow
The skies are hiding early snow
The road leads homeward toward the glow
Day is done, it's time to go

Thousands of dreams
Thousands of thoughts
Its just a time to blow

Thousands of signs
Thousands of shows
Its just a time to throw

Thousands of hopes
Thousands of wants
Its just a time to slow

How dreadful to see
Those that I cannot read.
All over the latest feed.

Not poetry,
Like puppetry.
A repetition of words, numbers, and symbols that aren't clever in the least.
And users with names
In impossible tongues.
Their gibberish reeks!

Line after line,
All the same, it's uncared for.
They write marriage, black magic, and European countries.

It's daily infinity,
Thieving the spaces from more thoughtful writing.
Shall I fight just to see the absense of these;
And say hello only to real poetry.

In the dullness of the day
There comes a flood of red.
The color showers down
Pumping life into the dead.

Within seconds they embrace the red.
The red drives them quite insane.
So much red all at one time!
But the red will come again.

The red will show no mercy.
The red will be feared.
The raging red will feast on even
The innocent while it's here.

But still, the red will bring them laughter.
Red's brought them joy from the start.
This very red reverberates
In their violent, ****** hearts.

The red will be forgotten.
The red will be ignored.
The ruthless red will ruin some
While others go on as before.

To those who prance around
And join in on the rumble,
Know that when you play with red
You're also playing with the devil.

There she goes, pure as snow,
Just trying to get by in life.
Here you come, mean as a ****,
So eager to dim her bright light.

I see that sneer upon your face,
That devilish little grin.
From afar you look like such a saint,
But something evil dwells within.

She pretends your words don't hurt her,
But I know they tear her apart.
I can tell you're killing her slowly.
You're shredding her fragile heart.

You stab her with your words,
And you call her filthy names.
You tell her that she doesn't matter
And laugh at her terrified face.

She tries to shield off your words.
She tries to keep going her way.
She's lost, both inside and out.
She longs for an escape.

She runs, yet you still follow.
You cackle just like a witch.
Only I know what she's planning
As she heads straight for the bridge!

"Oh no," I whisper. "Please don't." I whisper
As my eyes fill with tears.
I scream, "I think you're beautiful!"
But it falls on broken ears.

Here you come, mean as a ****,
And you pull her last string.
There she goes, pure as snow,
Tumbling down a hundred feet.

She doesn't even scream;
She just soars into the dark.
Your grip is finally off
Of her tired and long bruised heart.

I wish she hadn't done it.
It haunts me every day
To see the sad angel face,
To watch her go that way.

I turn to you as you take in a gasp
And tumble to the floor.
You didn't think she'd do it,
That your words could slam her doors.

Well, I hope you're happy.
You drove her quite insane.
I yell, "I hope you're happy!"
You snatched her life away!

She had so much going for her;
I hope you're happy that it's all gone!
To her, I say, "Hope you liked the free fall
And that in Heaven you're better off."

I wish I could have caught her
And saved her on that day.
You wish you would have stopped her
Because regret now floods your veins.

There she goes, pure as snow,
Just trying to get by in life.
Here you come, mean as a ****,
So eager to dim her bright light.

Bonnie squeals as the cart soars past various boxes of cereals and granola bars. She glances at her brother, Clyde, expecting him to share her fright, but is bewildered to see that he is thrashing about in a fit of giggles, enjoying the thrill of the ride. Knuckles white as snow, Bonnie's frail little fingers grasp the side of the red cart with all of their might as her eyes clamp shut. Her heart beats faster than the speed of light, and she questions her motives for agreeing to Clyde's devilish ways.

She reminisces on their earlier arrival at the Local Target. They had come with their mother, planning to do a little grocery shopping and then be on their way. Of course, Clyde had schemed up a way to stray from his mother's side unnoticed. Bonnie still can't fathom how he managed to drag her down with him.

Cautiously, wind whipping through her hair, Bonnie peaks one eye open and instantly regrets it. She let's out an ear - piercing howl as the cart thrusts into a mountain of PopTart boxes large enough to be deemed the Empire State Building's father. She crawls out of the heap only to be met by an eruption of heartfelt laughter spewing from her brother's mocking lips. "You should have seen your face!" Clyde teases as Bonnie sends daggers through his skull.

The two troublemakers step out of the cart and attempt to retrace the way back to their mother. Devastated, they come to the conclusion that the aisles now resemble a maze. As they confidently take on this new challenge and make their way through the unknown, their spirits quickly take a downward spiral upon realizing that they have ended up back where they began. Tired and desperately longing to go home, the two siblings reach a clearing past the aisles and are overjoyed to spy their mother waiting patiently in line at a register with a new cart in hand.

Bonnie and Clyde casually lazy on over to their mother's side and make light conversation as if they had never left.

The Street Cleaner
He is not a lucky man, but he is happy but one day he won on a lottery ticket,
not a not a big sum of money but enough to by wheelbarrow got permission
from the local council to keep the town's streets clean.  Happy, telling himself
he was self- employed and could sleep till nine in the morn  if he wanted to.
A busy bee a busy bee he was till he collided with Mercedes was taken to court
and his wheelbarrow was confiscated to pay for the damage. He had a bike and
got a local garage to put a two- wheel contraption to fasten to his bike, the town
got rid of its trash again until an officious policeman asked him if he had a licence
for this he didn't and it was confiscated. Now he had a jute sack slung on his proud
shoulders and a walking stick with a nail attached, a weapon a police officer said
  he was carrying a weapon in public and he was prosecuted.  He didn't show up
to the hearing and when the law came around, he hung from a rafter sometimes
even serious optimists give up and with no cleaner the town sank into misery,
plagued by vermin the population fled, a town given into paper napkins pizza boxes
and burger wrappers and the poor who had nowhere to go. And if this reflects
the life of a typical inner city of our English speaking world it is purely incidental.

Funny moments.
Sitting and thinking about rabbits jumping around on sunny banks.
The children chuckle as they watch them.
Shush children, you'll scare them away.
It's pure natural love watching animals at play.
The dog's getting excited.
You crouch behind her, you don't want her to scare the bunnies away.
Strangely they're oblivious to our presence.
I guess they must be used to us.
A kind of relationship dynamic.
It's as if they recognise us from yesterday.
We left them some crisp carrot tops.
Maybe that's why they trust us.
A loud voice booms out from behind us..one they're not familiar with.
"You coming home love?"
He waves his air rifle, menacingly.
Perhaps he fancies, rabbit pie!
Not on my watch, that's for sure.
Run little rabbits, run.
He's not a farmer, but he sports a gun.
They scarper back into their warren.
Post haste.
Phew!
(C) LIVVI

The ground shook yesterday,
And the limb I perched upon
Bowed and threatened to break.
The sky above darkened with clouds
As moisture gathered in the air.
My fingers loosened from their firm grasp
Round the branches to which I clung.
And as the sky lit up with nature's fireworks
Of crisscrossing patchwork lightning
I stood up and spread my arms.
The wind picked up and beat icy droplets
Into my chest and cheeks.
And in the moment before I fell,
I yelled.
As the breath escaped my lungs
In a violent echoing release,
I closed my eyes and steadied myself
And then stepped off and flew.
Oh what a flight it was!
And the ground caught me
Like a frypan catches the tossed up pancake.
And all life was beaten from my body
And all my demons exorcised.

And then my eyes peeled open
To see the white ceiling above
And i felt the starched sheets
Chaffing my sweat-soaked skin
And I realized I have to live the day
All over again.