The most learned of astronomers, philosophers and medical men state man is born to die.
Timely sands starts flowing, in-vitro.
Before you first open your beautiful eyes.
Opening those eyes, to first see the light.

For, as a child, odd moments occur.
You could potentially be dying of fright.
Just me having a chuckle.
Not wanting to believe life is minute.
Oh, so scared of dying.

At some stage in life.
Children can't conceive the fact, one day all men have to die.

Once upon a time.
I was said child.
I grew.
I started to ache knowingly.
My worry dispelled.
Dying was fearful.
I became tearful.
Not scared anymore.

Now my fellows in life are falling like flies.
No whys or wherefores,
Nothing's wrong.
Life's an eternal wheel.
Rolls on and on.
What follows life on earth?
Find me a dead man who can confirm the truth to those who still live.
Welcome to the land of wait and see.
(c)LIVVI
Inspired by the untimely death of VICTORIA WOOD.

TIRED
My expectant pen is blossoming like fresh bloom upon a springtime tree.
It is with a degree of urgency, that it fills me more and more.
Full of words and ideas.
The size of a barnacled blue whale.
I need to write.
To breathe.
To conceive of such imagery.
The mistress of the pen in spring urges the world to write and sing.
And so,
After a sleepless night at work.
Forthwith be drawn a ****** birth.
Inspired by a missing sleep morning.
Friday is dawning.
The poor poet is yawning.
(c)LIVVI

IDLE WILDERNESS
Ancient moorland calls to me.
The wind whistles, as it rustles my hair.
A trickling stream just visible.
A brown cow grazes on patches of grass.
A landscape which; looks as if mange has taken hold.
Appears sparsely coated.
Strangely, it's countryside ruminant colleagues sit beside the wall.
Yet the sky remains cloudless.
They say 'tis a prediction of coming showers or heavier rains.
Not a sign of raindrops.
Perhaps they're hiding from the breeze.
A clump of trees with leaves that rustle a touch.
Invasion from nowhere.
Crashes.
Bangs.
Sparks.
Soaked ground.
Drenched cows.

Glad I remembered my old gabardine mac.
Soaked to the bone.
Tommy came to find me.
Diesel powered pony.
Hopped inside.
Off we both go.
Poor cows, stranded in a soggy field.
I'm soggy still.
I know how they feel.
Poor things.
(c)LIVVI

I look at the clock.
Finding that I'm thinking of you again.
Visage fading into distant clouds.
Just your image.
Keeps creeping back.
Just like the smell of freshly baked bread.
Love it.
Makes me feel I'm alive.
I love fresh baked bread.
And I love you too.
And the moon is dressed with vapour trails from passing jets.
The vapour trails remind me of our foreign business trips.
Perfect pleasure.
The places we've been.
All that we've seen.
I smell your feel in my bed sheets.
As I felt your fingers in my bed hair.
Guess what?
You're just a fantasy.
You were never ever there.
(c)LIVVI

Upon my grave I swear such words.
Not be repeated by men or birds.
By kith or kin.
No mortal sin.
As scabies creeping 'neath itching skin.
Irksomeness and irritation.
Drums be banged in expectation.
May the flowers be bought forth.
So buzzing bees get fed and pollen spread.
The coming.
The going.
All mortals knowing.
Perplexed by the way the world is going.
Purple haze of flower beds.
Man and his minions are losing their heads.
Heralding a missing future.
Of dog show trophies made of pewter.
Bent out of shape.
Somewhat distorted.
Free flying world of buds and bees.
(c)LIVVI

You know what?
I don't care if I never indulge in closeness again.
*** is messy.
Love is complex.

I dwell in a room that I leave now and then.
To go to work when the need arises.
Another day.
Overflowing surprises.
Not cause I'm crazy.
I'm in love with myself.
My very being.
I can count upon me.

I don't argue back.
I have the knack of that.
I'm good at being alone.
No one to whinge at.
Nobody to moan.

The telephone rings from time to time.
Usually someone telling me that they're interested in arranging a pay out for the accident that I had many moons ago.
I say "what when was that then, you seem sure that you know".
After this I hold the phone away from my ear, and on they drone.
I can sense the pennies that tick.
As they're flowing  away down the phone line.
Do they really think, I'm that thick.
I guess, they've all got earn a crust.
(C) LIVVI