Olivia Kent

Olivia Kent Mar 2017

In auburn the sun fell.
In crimson she rose again.
As a gift of entrancing love.
My flowers overt, with inverted bells.
An infusion of Lila , green and white.
The spring sprung forth from earth so deep.
Leaving winter doth but weep.
A scene from seasons.
Of row boats and true love.
Of coffee with cream.
Photographs on front covers of many magazines.
Periodicals they speak.
Peace descends amidst those flowers.
Many more hours.
Sun hats and short sleeves.
Mystically weaving.
Gossamer strings,
Such pretty things.
(c)LIVVI

Olivia Kent Feb 2017

ADDICTED

And the crack heads were standing around on the corner.
Eyes hanging on stalks.
As eagles they watch.
The girls walk by with their handbags on arms.
Flashing their smiles and immense lucky charms.
And they chase her down the road, like god awful toads.
Who thinks that they're hot,
I assure you they're not.

Their faces laden with swollen oozing pores.
Result of a good many scores.

One's nose kept on streaming, his throat's really sore,
His head, always believing his feet miss the floor.

As he vomits in the corner, he expects her to care.
She looks straight through him as if he's not there.
Not a care did she give,
All she muttered was "***** you"!
(C)LIVVI

Olivia Kent Feb 2017

CRIMINAL?

Death stands on the corner, picking pockets of the passers by.
Looking for discard sweets and transport tickets.
He's hungry.
Not collections.
He hasn't had a sweet for years.
He pinches a toffee encased in a cellophane wrapper.
You may just see him standing there, sickle leaned against the goth shop wall.
He is a bit cheesed off.
Begging for help.
Unwrapping it impossible.
Bony metacarpals no use.
All he can do when he opens it, is ****.
The shop staff, all willing to help.
A little scared of death himself.
Looked into his hollow sockets.
Oh F**K
The goths loved death and so it was done.
Death had a toffee,
His wish was won!
(c) LIVVI

Olivia Kent Feb 2017

LOVE GIFT

The blind man in the corner of the pottery class, moulds his unseen wife between his hands,
He creates a figurine with slender arms.
******* in perfect proportion.
Hips of mature woman.
A bobble nose, with a chin that's dimpled.
Bob shaped hair.
All from the mind's eye.
With assistance, her eye shaped is made, brow line pinched into place.
Formed a skirt down to her feet.
Baked it in the rapid kiln.
For the day of Saint Valentine.
He made for his beautiful wife, the perfect treat.
(C) LIVVI

Olivia Kent Feb 2017

VISITOR

There is monster.
He lives in my cupboard.
My wardrobe in fact.
He's green with pink and purple spots.
He wears a frilly floppy hat.
Tragic really.
He never speaks to me.
He gives me a sly wink and grin when I open the door.
His eyes are that of saucer size not far away from dinner plates.
Today h
He smiled at me.
His teeth are pearly white.
A couple of canine fangs in fact
Incisors in between.
You know what?
When the sun rises and I go to seek my uniform he's nowhere to be seen.
Left behind,only puddle of neon green.
He's always dressed in green with spots of purple and pink.
It made me think.
Maybe a little presumptive me is believing that he's a he.
When perhaps he's a she.
(C) LIVVI

Olivia Kent Feb 2017

HEALTH IMPLICATIONS

Breathing's carcinogenic, when breathing the wrong things.
Smoking cigarettes.
Laying smog,
Hit the chest like an old dog.
Pollution overload.
Drink and drugs are killing you,
Life's problems, induced by man's behaviour.
Fatty foods and alcohol sure ain't nobody's saviour.
They say that Joan's got a big heart,
It's loaded up with body mass.
And it's the vessel full of poison punch, that John drank from,
That made his liver bigger.
A mass collection of varices float around his swollen belly,
Much the same for Julia.
As if they didn't realise,
It's all over the telly.
Jenny had ****** relations with far too many men,
All the children that she's left with, flock to their mother hen.
A life full of demanding,
With little reprimanding.
But then,
They're living on the breadline,
Mother must be careful, not to burn their toast,
Another ****** carcinogen,
Most people love a cuddle, but no one wants a stroke !
(c)LIVVI

Olivia Kent Feb 2017

WOLVES

The wolf bays, as sundown falls.
He's singing to the moon.
Hark his fearsome calls.
Big in stature, almost screaming, as his ******* swoon.
Running through the undergrowth,his pack aside.
That pack ventures forth.
Due north of course.
There's an elk in the open, grazing,
A little late I know.
Hears the baying wolf coming,
Off he goes.
Fellows from the pack of lupines,
Left eating worms,
Got no grub.
Ain't got no satisfaction.
Maybe tomorrow night.
If they stay silently out of sight.
(c)LIVVI