the city and it's music
every changing
the city and it's music
daily rearranging

you can hear the distant thunder
kept in time by city drums
a beat of urban tires
that makes the city roadways strum
the wind blows through the subway
you can hear the wires hum
it's the city making music
shut your eyes and listen some

the band has no conductor
there are horns and there are strings
there's a bass back from the buses
listen to the joy it brings
it's a concert in the city
by the city and it rings
the bells from downtown churches
and the piegeons flapping wings

you've an orchestra around now
listen close, it never stops
from the cars racing through downtown
to the whistle blowing cops
it's a different kind of music
it's got a rhythm that just pops
it's a gritty harder sound
that echos to the building tops

cars, trucks, people walking
all are part of this great band
and the best part of this music
is it's spread across the land
each song you hear is different
nothing ever comes out planned
each city has a cadence
listen close, the show's at hand....

i'd rather you hold
my heart too tightly
than not at
all

Whatever you thought
of the modern art
you never said
you were impassive

your eyes or features
betraying nothing
you studied the art work
in your usual calmness

no ****** expression
no raised eyebrows
no tut-tutting
even the dead sheep

in the glass case
didn't put you off
or raise
emotive response

you eyed everything
walking slow
holding the programme
bought at the door

looking at each
as you went by
after a while
we moved along

to the small café
in the gallery
and had drinks
and sandwiches

and you talked
in your soft
open manner
not of art

or what we'd seen
but of work
and what you did
and unfolded things

like a magician
without revealing
secrets of it all
then we moved on

and you
were silent again
into the other rooms
of modern art

the Picassos
and Mondrians
and others
you taking photo shots

with your mobile phone
eyeing all the art
showing no emotion
no tilt of head

or wide-eyed
revelation
of surprise
just your own way

of appreciation son
your own
gentle way
of moving between

what is good or great
or seemingly crap
with the calmness
of a swan

through water
your depth
drinking it all in
with no pretence

or show
just that inner knowing
what you liked
and didn't

I am glad
you came with me
that day
the Tate Modern

wouldn't have been
the same somehow
your silence
your calm taking in

of art
your secret
appreciation
made it all

worth while
some way
but now
your untimely death

my son
makes it seem all
the more worth while
that day

that art
the shared time together
but I'd give
any Mondrian

or Picasso art away
just to be with you again
if only
for one more day.

I woke up in love today
I wasn't in love late last night
In fact I went to bed alone
So, something just ain't right
Cupid shot his arrow
But, he'd better check his sight
'cause I woke up in love today
And I wasn't late last night

I figured I'd go drinking
To the bar, scene of the crime
Nothing felt that different
Hit the jukebox, dropped a dime
Joan Jett hit my eardrums
Grabbed a beer, and nothing more
Then I saw her hair a' flying
As she danced around the floor

An angel in a flannel shirt
High boots and tight blue jeans
She was dancing with no rhythm
To a song from in my teens
I wasn't gonna join her
I can't dance, and I won't try
I just waited till she spun around
Then I'd try to catch her eye

The waitress brought another drink
I paid, and she was gone
And my dance floor angel
Disappeared after that song
It must have been more lust than love
At least that's what I think
I looked around the bar for her
And I had another drink

The waitress took her bar rag
She wiped my table off for me
She put her hand on top of mine
And said this drinks for free
I thanked her, and she smiled
Left her number by my phone
She said why don't you call me
I'll be off when you get home

A few more drinks and smiles
And I left without a glance
But by then I had forgotten
The dancing angel and those pants
I can't remember calling
I don't remember much at all
But I woke up in love this morning
And I don't remember it at all

i wonder today
as i walk down the street
if someone
will yell at me.

something like
"does the carpet match the drapes?"
"want a ride?"
"nice ***"
"you're just my size"
"hey ginger"

red in the head
good in bed
they say

i am glad the pictures here are in black and white.

Four pigeons sing-song, nine hours the day long
Menial and manual, this warehouse life is annual
Lonely industrial estates on a hazy morning
when the ecstatic eastern winds are horning

Where I count boxes, load lorries and dodge bosses
Listen to the birds coo and a phone playing blues too
I give names to them all, the birds in the rafters
and sing a nine hour song of all their ever afters

Dirt under my nails, from a day of insulation sales
The solace I find of an eve is the fantastic words you weave
You who write to live, you who my soul I will give
The ghost of my future self, a rambling poet
working for money, I'll be you I just know it

Simultaneous afterlife, generational satellite
The energy we possess, is transferred with every breath
You are me and I am you, together, nothing we can't do
Some day I'll run wild, a leader of a literary mob
but right now I just dream of such things on the job

An illumination of wrinkles, pasted, splurged and multi-coloured.
Creeping out,from under the light at the end of the lane.
Filling the cracks of yesterday, left swollen with visible concrete.
Furrows brim within a mask of lies, in a covenant.
Hereby designed, disguising, only the flying of time.
Your face is still beautiful, your eyes still  to drown in ,so lovely.
A well of experience framed in an attitude, once drowned by buckets of tears.
(C) LIVVI