bathed in the cool light of the moon,
my sweet puppyhead and me,

sit.

under the full soft light, 
her ray’s illuminating the yard,
the woods.

footsteps crunch drying leaves,
fox, deer or foe?

waning canopy,
boughs lighter each day.

fall, majestic, peaceful
dying for another year.

plants and creatures, 
taking refuge in the deep dark void
of mother earth,
of mother nature.

squirreling away tidbits for a late winter snack,
coats blooming, thickening.

such delight, 
each night,
sitting outside,
my puppyhead and me.

quiet and solitary,
no humans 
annoying me.

silent and still
only nocturnal creatures
meandering about.

what magic,
what sacredness.
what mystical delight.
never apart,
only the ONE.

such silly confusion,
thinking a person,
separate and small,
quaking with fear.

the big deep dark mystery
laughing and jovial,
always here,
here for us all.

open your eyes, 
feel your nature,
always here,
never apart.

fearing death
fearing life,
what a silly way to live this
life!

the moment you were born,
you began dying,
what a relief,
knowing the score!

relaxing into the madness,
laughing at it all,
pure and free,
forever more, 
and not……

being,
not being,
eons of reflection,
sages and rishis
revealing the truth,
it can’t be done for you,
only you can become 
that which you are….
that which you always were.

my sweet love, my sweet life,
my puppyhead and me,
sitting here in Fall.
~~~

When I discovered I had cancer,
I was told that I would learn a lot
About Life and Death and Time,
But I never thought that I would
Discover what it means
To be intimate
With strangers,
Or anyone, for that matter.

When my insides were cut open like a game of operation,
I told myself:
Be detached.
When visitors came,
We talked about the weather.

When I arrived home, I spent my time
Trying to forget
The experience
Of impermanence
And shared emotions
That I couldn't even grapple with
Myself.

When the person I loved
Left me
I flinched
And then sunk back into an abyss of
Emotionless functioning,
Cutting myself further and further
Off from my narrative
Of pain.

When it was time to go back to school,
I flinched
And signed up for a workload
Heavy enough
To push out the fading reality
Of my condition.

It wasn't until I was sitting on the steps
Outside of a bar that was slowly beginning
To empty out,
As intoxicated shadows gained substance and lit cigarettes against the brick wall.
I sunk down next to friend I had recently met-
My big t shirt inched up above my abdomen
And the lower jagged mark of my scar
Peeked out-

I didn't choose to tell him my story
Until he asked me about the obvious
Stale incison mark that had a presence
Of its own.
Piece by piece, it peeled itself from off my stomach
And liquified into a sequence of events
And feelings
That poured from me
Like a stream of bubbling bath water
Overflowing from the rim
Of a porcelain tub.

That's when I realized that there is something shared and intimate about scars:
Marred reminders of the flesh
That speak to our upmost human
Encounters with our own mortality.
An indecipherable label of sorts:
An unsigned invitation into the taboo.

In a moment of unintentional word *****
At 2am to a stranger,
I regained my intimacy with myself
And my journey.
I learned that while Life and Death and Time
Will always plague our existence,
They distance us from the human experience that is
To feel:

To feel everything in this God forsaken world.
To feel angry at people for leaving when they should have stayed.
To feel compassion at the same time.
To feel intimacy with others.
To feel intimacy with yourself.
To feel love.
To feel pain.
To feel the cold creases in the wooden floor as you make your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
To feel alone.
To feel surrounded.
To feel the trembling echoes of the past and be able to grab its elusive coattails and shake away the dusty remnants of time and shout that you are present.

To feel nothing.

We talk as if
Your hands have more wrinkles
And your eyes have seen
The world

As if
I don't deserve your
Time or effort because
You don't want to be seen with
An embarrassment like me, because
I haven't "lived"

But please don't forget
You once looked at me with
Eyes that didn't need
To see the world,
And once, your inexperienced
Hands were used for learning the curves
Of my body rather than illustrating
The journeys that have made you so
Cultured and wise

Darling, I'm so sorry, but
You've got it all wrong
As if you know what
It really means to
Live

When you can't reach the stars at the top of the stairs.
When your eyes become blinded in your darkened domain.
All you find is storm, upon storm.
Barrage balloons and a million blue moons ,none that I can find, pray someone remind me that life's really good.
I find no interest but, I know that I should.
When lost moments are gone and you can't see the sky, the nails on your fingers scratch hard, you're wanting to cry,but your tears are all gone, stolen by one, who says that you're stupid.
Tears came back, they're chasing the tracks of the scratches of nails, where snails become slugs, salt hating bugs.
Disintegrate into puddles of slush.
Reminiscent tears, begin more to gush as they flush out bad feelings of battling with demons.
Want more soft furnishings to cushion my head, I fight onwards and upwards, wish I was dead.
I doesn't always follow, as sometimes I'm mellow, tinged with spots of cowardly yellow.
The bus passed the stop and I just can't step off.
The world keeps on turning, somewhere a sparks still burning.
Never know why, I just need a good cry.
I want a good sob.
I know that I do.
My world is beaten black shades of blue.
I sit in the corner and rock like the clock on the shelf, with the crocodile tears, just a big fish out of water, they call me a flounder.
A bit of a chicken, scratching the farmyard.
Guess what ladies and gentlemen the poet's a ******.
Not too hard to work out I guess, yep, everyone knows that the poet's a mess.
Large black dog, swirls round my head, still wish I was dead, born a coward always will be, stay in bed, take some proper medication..no not suicidal, some delicious anti-d's.
All shall pass, soon I shall be me again,
Honestly.
(c) Livvi

I have a luck dragon
and, he flys me through the sky
I have a luck dragon that never says goodbye
he flys me on his wings
high up in the sky
through storms, and rain
through all my trauma, and all my pain
I have a luck dragon
he's here to stay
he always wipes
every tear away.

Even after ten years
of living alone
the coal mine depth
of the morning silence
stuns me.
Time was, it could be
pierced by Mozart,
birdsong, poetry.
Now it has become
an impenetrable,
invisible wall
that I strain at
but cannot
hear through.
I accept that it
is permanent.
I know that when
the silence ends,
I will too.