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Skinny Kid sat
by the white metal table
on the lawn
Anne sat opposite him

her crutches
by her chair
I heard
you puked last night?

Anne said
I did
Skinny kid said
all over the blankets

and pillowcase
nice
said Anne
it was the liver

they made me eat
he said
I told them
it made me ill

but they said
it was good for me
and said
I had to eat it

serves them right
she said
Sister Bridget moaned at me
he said

O her
she's got  a face
on her
like a sufferer

of haemorrhoids
what's haemorrhoids?
he asked
painful

bulging blood vessels
hanging from the ****
she said
he tried not

to picture it
or see it
in the nun's face
feel better now though

he said
good
she replied
my mum's visiting today

he said
good for you
she said
has your mum

visited you yet?
he asked
no I think she's
making the most

of me
not being around
Anne said
it's a kind of holiday

for her
me stuck here
after my fecking leg
was chopped off

he stared
at the area
of her skirt
where no leg appeared

she saw me in the hospital
and brought me grapes
and flowers and stuff
and a bag

of odd socks
he stared
at her one leg
hanging from out

of the skirt
does it hurt?
he asked
it does at times

and I go to rub it
and it isn't there
someone's stolen
me fecking leg

Anne bellowed
to the kids
playing on the swings
and slide

on the lawn
of the nursing home
they looked over
at her

then quickly
looked away
a nun nearby
shook her head

and wagged
a finger
Skinny Kid looked
at the vacant area

of skirt again
what's the matter Kid
want to see my stump?
and she hitched up

her skirt
to reveal the stump
of her leg
and a glimpse

of blue underwear
he blushed
and looked
at his hands in his lap

never mind Kid
she said
good manners
is a load of crap.
A BOY AND A ONE LEGGED GIRL IN A NURSING HOME IN THE 1950S.
The reason I haven't written a lot about Collin lately,
Is not because I have been having trouble connecting with him.
Or seeing him.
You see, I've been very self centered, and very alienated.
I think I have been trough a few tragedies this year,
And due to my inability to processes events that might hurt me,
And my ability to bury emotionally challenging memories,
I have internally wallowed for about the past 11 months.
The last month, in particular,
Has been quite bad.
Collin is my ghost baby,
And I love him with all my heart,
I still feed him,
And read to him,
And let him play with candles,
And tuck him into bed with me.
I am a **** good mother to that little ghost boy,
Especially considering I'm not a ghost myself.
But it's just been me and him.
No one else.
And we had our Christmas late at night,
And he is still learning to read,
And I still give him lots of love and kisses.
I just haven't felt the need to share any of it. Any of us.
Other stories about Collin can be found in the collection "Son", which you can find if you look in the notes down below.
Another Christmas done and dusted
time to put all things away
Is it worth the time and effort
To celebrate for just a day?

The Christmas ponies back to normal
No more unicorns to be found
No one there to see them changing
It all took place without a sound

The Christmas Grotto and the Santa
Gone and packed up at the mall
Neither one will see the daylight
Until some time come late next fall

The Christmas spirit, does it linger?
Or is it boxed away as well?
Is it something that's within us?
Or something that the shops just sell?

Boxes packed and stuffed away
Piled high beneath the stairs
Is it just the decorations?
Or is it full of hopes and cares?

Another Christmas done and dusted
Next year, there's another one
Is the Christmas Spirit still within you
Or is it packed in the box marked "1"?
After reading about some tribal warfare in a far away land, I wrote this true story down. Now re-published every year on this day. Seems more appropriate than ever

one July 4th,
many years ago
walking the streets,
of the city of Nice,
situe on the Cote D'azur of France,
on the Mediterranean Sea,
where ships of navies
may safely park their sailors,
sending them ashore for R&R,^
they, leavened to disembark^^

how I came to be there is a
poem for another time

walking the streets,
palm tree resort,
along La Promenade Des Anglais,
coming at me,
Three Sailors,
unmistakably
American

one white,
one black,
one brown from California,
which I believe,
is still part of the USA

how we fell upon each other
in warm embrace,
smiling, bestowing
blessings of grace
not as strangers,
but as fellow signatories
on the Declaration of Independence

brothers,
long lost, reunited,
as if it had been many years,
since we last had our arms entwined,
one family from one far away united place

dialectical differences ignored,
even the wide-eyed 'Bama boy,
totally comprehensible, for on that say,
we spoke a language that
encompassed a single brotherhood,
a common histoire,
all on that
holy day

no tribes in America, no colors,
no religions,
only sisters and brothers-in-arms

I need not choose to believe,
for it is certainty guaranteed,
that should it happen again
twenty years hence,
perhaps with their great grandsons,
my embrace will,
exactly the same be,
for I know it true,
there are
no tribes
in an

American heart
^ Rest and recreation
^^disembarked to be leavened....either ok

written in 2013, but true story that occurred many years prior
how timely for this day and time
Titanic
****** berth, she stands,
Maiden stream deflowering the
sunlight.
Immense furore along the dock.
Streamers, banners, brass bands.
Herald the beginning of
the end.
Magnificent and stately,
There she stands, a glory to behold.
Pomp and splendour,  
Wealth with greed,
All set to sail the seven seas.
A dream of life,
A life of dreams

Splendour of their own,
Scrambling ice mountains, glisten
Shining a fateful allure to a frozen death
A stern captain,
Calm, dignified,
Guides the ship of dreams unto her nightmare,
“Astern”, he cries, unheard through
muffled joy….
Crunching, crashing, listing,
A myriad of smashing crystal,
Destined for the deep,
Air thick with screams of terror,
Young, old, rich, poor,
All scared.
Mortified corpses float,
Water littered with deceased,
While the living dead look on.
Hope’s dashed,
Time dies silently.
Carpathian angel,
Saviour of souls,
God spoke,
Their souls were saved!
Livvi  Kent  2012
ladylivvi1@hotmail.com
This is a little out of time sync, but I am printing it out for my friend and it prints well from here! Livvi x
glorious apricot roses
graced the manor's garden
their color blended nicely
with the green hedgerow
I noticed the shadows
Your eyelashes display.
Your spine the string of a piano
Wound too tight to play

I noticed the words
You never let spill
I could hear the chords
Before you froze them still

I noticed when I yelled
You loved me less
In the distance bells knelled
You watched me undress
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