Well, Gypsy Guy would rather die than hunker down in chains,

be ridden south with bit in mouth, or heed the hold of reins.



The ruling lot are in a spot, the boss man he complains:

“The gypsies’ soul, I can’t control, my patience wears and wanes;

they will not cede to common greed, which conquers far domains

and furtive spies and news that lies have barely baked their brains.



“But in the court of last resort the final fix remains:

in boxcar bins with violins we’ll freight them out in trains

(should one ask why, a quick reply: ‘It’s that which God ordains!’),

and in the bogs, they’ll die like dogs, and everybody gains.”

Walking up the bloodstream hills.
Where silent warriors fell.
The land of noise and gun shot.

And so the holy fell.
As they fell into the asylum.
Rocking in chairs without rockers.

Enter stage left, the therapist,
the one with the listening ears.
He looks straight through those tears as whimsically they fall,
Drooling from your smile.
Trying so determinedly.
To try and raise a grin.
Matters not how hard he tries
You know he'll never win.
His smile mere mania.
Nothing whimsical dwells there within.
Pass him the gin bottle.
This mother's ruined,
(C) Livvi

Forbidden Fruit,
Oh yes, an acquired taste,
One I have sampled, hmm,
So long, this was denied me,
And now, the taste is good:
So, so very good; ah.
I indulged myself further,
Using hands to explore,
Becoming explored myself,
And how I enjoyed.
Oh yes, truly fulfilled,
Until I became quite dizzy,
Lost in abundant sweetness,
Things turned around,
Until up was down,
Until it was I, being consumed.
The world tilted, slipped away.
My mind woozy, cossetted,
My senses swimming, whirling,
With slowly falling blossom.
Reason floated away, danced,
With soft petals in the breeze,
Twirling among scented flowers,
And I discovered the truth.
Whomever claimed, stated,
That forbidden fruit, so juicy,
Is bad and to be avoided,
Can never have tasted,
Forbidden fruit.

You and I used to be
So perfectly connected
Thick as thieves, hip to hip
In the  mirror of our irises our happiness reflected

Those days have gone
Shadowed, now in the past
Time has healed those wounds
Heart knows you will not be my last

I do wish though that you could see
How beautiful you are
I hope for you such grand heights
To be again someone's only star

For years, I've waited
For a chance to come
To hold your hand
And to call you mine
Every year I felt
Like I took another knife to my chest
But I never said anything
Because I secretly wished
That good things came
To those who waited

You see,
I always had this dark thought
That people who rushed making decisions
Would meet their doom
Just as fast as they took their chance

But more years came
And more knives I took

One year,
I saw my chance
You held it
Like it was yours
And I was very ecstatic
That no one but you held it
You grasped onto my chance
Like it was your life
Like it was the most precious thing in the world
Then, I decided not to take my precious chance
Away from you
I decided to wait for you
To offer it to me
Because that would've felt better

I decided to wait for you
To finally hold my hand
And call me yours

I decided to wait

I subliminally agreed to myself, again
That good things came to those who waited

You continued on with your life
But you still kept my chance
I wanted you to give me my chance back
But you never did...

I watched my chance come and go
I watched you give my chance away
To someone else..
I watched as you crushed my heart
And I didn't say a word
Nor did I ever tell you
That I was hurt

I just watched you take a chance
but not on me..

And all I did
was wait..
...and watch

The poet weaves his magic web of words
They dance in the moonlight
Glistening with dewdrops
Like mezmerizing stars
Stalk and pounce is left to lions
The prey will come to him
Lured by sheer beauty
A glimpse of the soul
Hidden secrets locked in boxes
Peeks inside draw her near
The truth is found in years of purging
Unabashed release without inhibitions
Darkness and light
Shadow puppets of reality
Watched, absorbed
And loved more with each passage
Harsh words foment
Pain breeds caring
Love and hope pull her in
Laying bare on the dewy silken words
She waits and he smiles
As he claims his prize

You know I'm tired of playing this game
Always chasing the right girl away
All because I'm too blind and stupid chasing after the wrong
Why am I playing this ******* game
It's like I'm allergenic to the truth,
And just enjoy beating my self as if I'm slave
Like seriously what the **** am I doing with my life
Ruining it, maybe
Because I'm sure as hell ain't making it better
I mean look at me battle scares are bruises imprisons my body in the jail ceil in monopoly
Only if it were a game
But no, this real life
This is reality, what my life will be based off of
But stupid ol' me treat it as if it was a ******* game  
Why can't I get it through my thick skull that is not a ******* game
Am I retarted or just that slow
It is as if my ******* chained my arms to the **** floor and threw away the ******* keys
What the **** am I doing with my ******* life
Why am I throwing it away as if it is worthless tool
Am I really that much of a fool
Just sitting down on this stool watching the clock tic
What the **** am I doing with my life
No seriously someone please tell
Cause clearly I'm not bright enough to know

It is a world of wonder and delight
because of this love we call poetry

With sisters and brothers
and friends and lovers
and novice and poets to see

There are poems to be crafted
and humor to be laughed at
but sadness is not to be spared

With nightmares to be spoken
as they are put out in the open
and hopes and dreams are shared

We all gather together
to put down with letters
that, which makes us who we are

From near or from far
this is what we are
the crafters of poetry

mkt

the average human
describes their heartbeat
as a thud-thud or a few
rough pats to the chest.

i fall asleep with my ear
pressed up against your
chest. all i can hear is the
echo of a captain yelling,
"let me sink...let me sink..."
i ask you how you would
describe your heartbeat,
you point to the ship
in the bottle mounted on
your father's bookshelf
& faintly say
"the glass bottle keeps the
ship from sinking, completely
blocking out the captain's wish
to learn how to breathe
underwater because air just
isn't doing its job with keeping
him alive."

your break up letter to me
went a little something like;

"you were built in the fire,
stop acting like you burn in it.
you were never made to be fragile,
you were never made to be my glass."

my plead for you to stay
went a little something like;

(20) Missed Calls

your final goodbye
went a little something like;

a thud thud to the pavement.

& my final goodbye was
cracking open a bottle on your
headstone & standing in the sea
with the water rising up to
my knees, with a small ship in
the palm of my hand, a dunk
underneath the tide & a faint
whisper, *"breathe."