She has dedicated her existence to love
affection craved and never withheld.
Living in a dreamlike state of untruths
that to her were as honest as the sunlight.
In dreams she lies in green meadows
the wind curving the golden barley.
Her heart is as permanent as the stones
her love unlimited and free.
She knew men that she called lovers.
They drained their needs and desires
Into her and she loved them.
She bore their children and gave them all.
When they left her she lost a small piece
of her heart.
Sometimes they took a big piece.
After many years she had none left to give.
But still she gave herself to them.
When she died she lay rested.
Below the swaying branches
Of the weeping willow.
And all the flowers turned to her grave
To bask within
her warmth even in death

you may not know me
face to face,
but you and I have connected
heart to heart through words.

Our lives are woven together by
the tapestry of words,
and into a living breathing poetry.

you and I are no longer strangers,
but fellow poets and sojourners
on this journey of creation.

Before I leave..
  And I let you go..
Know that I was going to stay..
  And look out the window with you when it all happens..

They say the sky will turn red and yellow..
   The air will make you fall into the best sleep possible..
The most beautiful dreams will come..
   And you will find heaven..

I am off to a place called Earth..
  Leaving our Mars behind..
To start all over..
  And wait till you are born again..
I will find you..  
I will see are then crimson planet from the Earth sky and always remember you..

PART TWO  When I arrive

Through the fragile looking glass,
Sealed edges, air tight?
Watching dragons as they pass.
Envisaging witches,
Stuck behind glass.
They're standing round copper tone cauldrons
All full up with steam.
The noise is peculiar.
The roaring of dragons too close at hand.
The cauldrons bubble.
The witches whisper.
The dragons wail.
The dragon upon his back sports a sail.
Tries to break through the glass with his mightiest tail.

The dragon had made it
Fantasy left behind the mirrors border.
Accompanied by forward marching bearded dwarves and folk of elven kind.
Pursued by orcs with knives and forks.
With disgusting faces.
And empty bellies.
The dragons, they turned, with sulphurous breath, chased away orcs with one mighty blast.
Back through the mirror the ugly orcs fled.
Straight into the witches cauldron.
Not dead.
The potions the witches were brewing, today ,contained ingredients to chase scary away
Ugly creatures, converted,beautiful.
The rest of the *** contents made into soup.
Making ugly creatures lovely.
Ever seen a pretty Orc?
You'll know where he's been if you ever do!
(c)Livvi

My limbs are wasted with a flame,
My feet are sore with travelling,
For, calling on my Lady’s name,
My lips have now forgot to sing.

O Linnet in the wild-rose brake
Strain for my Love thy melody,
O Lark sing louder for love’s sake,
My gentle Lady passeth by.

She is too fair for any man
To see or hold his heart’s delight,
Fairer than Queen or courtesan
Or moonlit water in the night.

Her hair is bound with myrtle leaves,
(Green leaves upon her golden hair!)
Green grasses through the yellow sheaves
Of autumn corn are not more fair.

Her little lips, more made to kiss
Than to cry bitterly for pain,
Are tremulous as brook-water is,
Or roses after evening rain.

Her neck is like white melilote
Flushing for pleasure of the sun,
The throbbing of the linnet’s throat
Is not so sweet to look upon.

As a pomegranate, cut in twain,
White-seeded, is her crimson mouth,
Her cheeks are as the fading stain
Where the peach reddens to the south.

O twining hands!  O delicate
White body made for love and pain!
O House of love!  O desolate
Pale flower beaten by the rain!

Have you ever thought
Why your heart continues to beat
With all its pieces
Breaking farther
As the time grows

Have you ever thought
Why you still find it beautiful
To look at those starry skies
Every night
Through misty eyes

Have you ever thought
Why our palm has not yet
Lost its sensation
Even after holding on to things
Long gone and dead

Have you ever thought
Why do you never run out of oxygen
Even when sometimes you feel
The atmosphere closing in
on you

Call it fate
Karma, God's will Or simply hope,
You have to keep reminding yourself
The best is yet to come,
And you are far from being done.

I have an old guitar named Gypsy Queen.  Normally this would not be much of a momentous occasion, lots of people name their guitars,but Gypsy is hand made by me.  Many moons ago when my ex wife was pregnant with my only child, a daughter, I took an adult education night class while I was attending college as a day job.  Our instructor had recently taken a trip to Canada to buy wood as he made his living building custom guitars and he had some of the most beautiful birds eye maple I'd ever seen and also some very good spruce for the top of the guitar.  We met at the local high-school's woodshop classroom.  I knew all the power tools there having taken wood shop twice in middle school and again in high-school.  From raw lumber I fashioned her pieces, sides, three piece back, neck, keyboard (made from some exotic ebony my instructor had), and top.  While my wife was patiently waddling about the house I shaped and sanded those pieces on our living room floor.  The interior struts, the binding, and frets for the keyboard had to be created as well.  When I finally got her glued and assembled she was quite a sight, almost perfect in every way, and the quality wood she was made from was so beautiful I had never seen the likes of her before.  Most of the people in the class didn't get that far not having the skills with the tools or the coordination necessary to succeed.  Still she needed to be lacquered and finished.  All told, special tools and accouterments, cost of the wood, glue and sandpaper, plus the frets (nickeled silver), and the grover tuning pegs she cost me about $160.  But almost 500hrs labor went into her creation, whole free weekends spent sanding and shaping.  It was a year or more before I finally got her lacquered and she was so beautiful I could scarce believe I had made her, totally from scratch.  I had even inlaid her mother of pearl keyboard art, god she was a sight.  Both she, and my daughter, are now close to 40 years old, and she still plays like a champ.  Ask any guitarist about guitars they use a lot, see how many survive that long.  She's my prized possession to this day.  Her custom bridge is shaped like a bird (something I've never seen to this day anywhere else) and I'd put her sound up against any expensive Martin made.  Plus she is so much prettier.  She's old and her finish is crackled some but her neck is still true and her action is superb.  Through the years she has brought me so much joy, I'm so glad I took that class.  I hope she survives till I die cause I want to mix her ashes with mine before they get spread around by my friends.  I'll want something to play in the afterlife.