Writing poetry is a Zen moment
Emptying yourself of words
Concentrating on the bank pages
Cleansing the soul as words flow
Spiritually making you aware
To be a worthy listener
Empty coffers can hold more feelings
And poetry shall flow eternally

Literally,

I've only

Seen one

Other human*

In

Two months.

Her:
Tucked in my glasses
As I saw you down the hall
With you and your friends
Talking about basketball
Your smile is so bright
And warm like the sun
I took a longing glance
But then had to shun
When your eyes met mine
Afraid that you'd see
The love I have
The girl screaming in me
A shrug, I saw
That's what you did
Head down again
I feel so morbid
Onwards I go
I am unbeknownst
I'm back to being...
One of the shadows.

Pull my strings
my puppet master
Lift my feet
and walk faster

Set the stage
make the scene
Raise the curtain
going to please

Music plays
Hit the spot
White light flash
Devious plot

Applause is heard
Silence beckons
Disbelief
All is reckoned

Made you smile
or made you cry
Drop my strings
The puppet died

The pungent smell of the delicatessen shop.
Smoked meat and garlic tinged the stillness of the silent store.
Townsfolk scurrying by in a mighty dash.
Nightly off to the supermarket, to buy their daily wares.
Remember that smell?
Times have changed a tad.
Italian odour fills the air.
Pastrami rolls dangle in the window.
Pots of plastic passion in fridge below the counter.
The proprietor nips out the back to have another smoke.
Smell the odour, a vacuum full of spices.
The deli fell out of flavour a while ago, but still I taste that smell.
(C) Livvi

Great blind men see all,
But you are no gifted prophet,
Your claims are hollowed out
Your visions are tenebrous and ignorant --
Stop acting like you know me,
Stealing days, months, years
Does not mean I am yours;
My wings are clipped, but I still fly
My voice is silent, but I still sing.
You avoid my eyes, yet
You do not own your wrongs,
These bruises that go unnoticed,
These scars that are invisible.
Stop ignoring me! I’m still here.
I’m still trying to heal what is hurt,
Bind wounds opened by your hands.
Blind man, with eyes that do not see me,
Thinks he has ascendancy over me.
Blind man, oh my dear Blind man,
I hope you fall in your chosen darkness.

these thoughts...
they are my own,
walled within the deepest recesses
of my
cerebral labyrinth.

sprouting out of vine covered walls,
are multicoloured blooms
brandishing thorned stems
and
thirsty stigmas,
dripping with
absinthe.

mind full of poison in
permissible amounts...
i am caught in a
web of restless stupor,
anguish...
and regression...

these thoughts...
rationed out sparingly,
for they're not for unready ears
blooms of thought meticulously
triaged before
necessary expulsion.

hairline cracks between
insanity
and peace...
i tread precariously
the fine,
meandering line.

still clutching my flowers
in a tight obstinate grasp...
not letting go
for these tainted blossoms
are
undoubtedly
mine.

we were deeply in love
my new girlfriend and I
and we sat under the trees
in the open fields in the starlight
and she whispered to me:
"Will things ever change?"
And I whispered back, as I nibbled at her ears:
"Nothing will ever change, sweetheart"

Then she got pregnant
and everything changed

I changed my address, my work
my phone number and my email address
my routine and my weekend haunts -
*everything changed

Me and you, we fall like rain
              We spin, we crash, and we cascade.
You and I, we burn like flames
              We dance, entwine, a masquerade.

Pulling each other deep within the most sacred spaces
              We invade.

With a single look, one secret touch
             right before our lips just brush.

You are mine and I am lost in the feeling of your fingertips
tracing up and down my spine.