Olivia Kent

Olivia Kent Mar 2016

RAPTURE

He captured her with his imagination.
Entranced her with his perfect eyes.
Loved her with his rapture.
Captured her with his passion,
Burning hot.
He is now gone.
She is not.
(C) LIVVI

Olivia Kent Mar 2016

A FOOLISH THOUGHT

There are moments in time when a fool is just what I am.
A fool for love.
A fool for a diamond.
A second hand on a failing clock.
A female clock with inoperable biorhythms.
Falling backwards.
Flicking my left hand over my right.
While blinding myself with the stab of a pointed finger.
Accidentally of course.
All in all I guess I'm just a fool.
Nobody's, fool save my own.
(C) LIVVI

Olivia Kent Mar 2016

HAIRY HAPPENING

Just slaughtered the string.
It dyed in my arms.
Between my fingers.
Once grey.
Now red lingers.
Leaving me feeling a little less dead.
Grateful for fingers and bottles of dye.
(c)LIVVI

Olivia Kent Mar 2016

HEAVEN SENT

Live in the land of fantasy.
Where children play and blood runs free.
Mindful of angels who fear to tread.
Playing games of madness that live in the head.
Going to live forevermore upon the never, never score.
Angels serenade with pink lemonade.
With ***** and wine.
A score board marked with red and white ink.
Stuck in time.
Sit and think.
Time it rolls, onward and upwards.
Heaven sent.
Perhaps heaven's meant.
(C) LIVVI

Olivia Kent Mar 2016

LIVING

Want to do music and drama and dance.
To whirl round a maypole while seeking romance.
Collecting spring flowers.
With wonderful scents.
To live for the moment.
To roll on damp grass.
Watching the birds fly.
Seeing a magpie from the side of my eye.
While lovely children go running awry.
Evening is coming.
A life full of fun.
Recalling the moment they once called me mum.
Mum became nan.
Such is life.
(c)LIVVI

Olivia Kent Mar 2016

THE PURPOSE OF THE PENCIL

The pencil is straight.
It's a female pencil.
How do I know?
Because it has no colour.
It is rigid and set in its ideas.
It writes as directed.
If it was coloured perhaps it would be gay.
As it played.
Or maybe with colour flowing through its soul.
It may scribble pristine poetry.
The reason for its existence.
(c)LIVVI

Olivia Kent Feb 2016

RUNNING

Run to the hills with the wind in your hair.
Tripping out as if you don't care.
Chase the birds out of the trees.
Avoid winding up the honey bees.
Incessant sound of pouring rain.
Infinite tapping on my brain.
A spring that's coming is coiled fast.
The wind and rain a malevolent blast.
Swirling around telephone mast.
A maelstrom of communication.
Feel vibration of melodic calling.
The Sand is clogged.
Tis waterlogged.
The rain and wind shall surely blow.
Where they shall blow us none shall know.
The future hangs upon the stars.
Of all the boys in all the bars.
The poetic pen shall be irreverent.
But, all shall be indifferent.
And the poet self-indulgent.
(c)LIVVI