I am merely human and as such I cry.
I have emotional moments
As deep in mind I sigh.
I write a hundred poems which many never read.
Maybe, a world of recognition will follow when I'm dead .
(C) Livvi

I went into the bookshop.
Bought myself a novel.
It was a little tatty.
But, it did not bother me.
It was known to be a classic write, full up with grand description.
Became incredibly exciting full up with fractious fireworks.
Kept me occupied.
I found myself engrossed.
Such words I'd never read before.
The author knew how to transfix the reader, with his very potent words.
I could not put it down.
Read it in detail from cover to cover.
More engrossed in that book than my lover.
He tried to tease me, tried to raise a bit more than a smile.
I snarled at him leave me alone for a while.
Can't you see I'm stuck in my book.
I ignored him.
Turned my back to face the wall.
Next the saddest thing of all.
I got to the last couple of pages in my book and someone had carefully cut them out.
I got so cross.
So very hot.
You must by now realise that I had the missing pages had lost me the plot.
Serves me right.
Should never buy books from the charity shop.
(C) Livvi

She was seen there.
Standing on the corner of the street.
Bathed in gas light.
Dressed in a corset of brilliant red.
Her heart she kept within her soul.
She kept it safe from harm.
She was stunningly beautiful.
He chucked her a tanner.
Something menacing hung in his manner.
He beckoned to her.
She stood beneath the aforementioned light.
This was to be her last night light.
Alone that night.
She had seen her last punter.
He was really mean.
He made had black.
Her made her blue.
Abandoned her 'neath the unholy street light.
Found slumped on the deck.
'neath the glowing gas light.
No investigations carried out.
In this the proudest of nations.
She was just another ******.
Discarded with the trash.
(C) Livvi

God be grateful for the poets sat within the trenches.
In trepidation sitting on the grounds so shallow.
Nowhere be there animals grazing in these fields.
These fields all full up with war.
For they left poetic memoirs of days gone by.
Days when many died.
There was no paradise awaiting.
Swirling smoke and cannon fodder.
Wrapped beneath the sullen moon.
Sassoon, Owen and Hodgson.
Poets give feeling like none could ever do.
Walking down the hillside.
In England, just a pleasant walk.
This was no place for summer day strolls.
The dragons fire their fluency in a language all men understood.
Enthusiastic majors told these boys that killed or be killed.
Powerful war cradle spoke out loud.
The cradle where the dead lads slept.
The scarlet crippled carpet lined with uncomprehending eyes.
The sun still shone in all her beauty.
But in their eyes the world was black.
God pray bless the poets in all the wars before and now.
To all war ridden poets.
A smile, an acknowledgement and most of all a heart bound bow!
(C) Livvi

A note I cannot play.
Nor can I sing as a Nightingale in flight.
Love a guitar that's tuned up to sing for me.
As long as another sings the songs.
The joy of magic music.
Played by an artistic maestro.
A multitude of pretty sounds.
Choice words may come to me easy,
Beg me, I pray not that you ask of me to sing.
For I have the rhythm of a strangled cat.
And the banshee howling in the yard speaks much better than me.
My vocals they will torture you.
Your eardrums assaulted beyond belief.
The moment I stop singing, a bucketful of sweet relief.
Once I sang a tuneless poem the room it roared with laughter.
My ad-lib singing poem one mega deaf disaster!
(C) Livvi

A misty morning.
Pleasantly warm inside.
Outside a little breezy.
Bright sunshine rising slowly above the autumn mist.
Wet with chill.
He nibbles your neck.
He ushers you along the queue.
A hurrying issue to get you indoors.
He flirts unconditionally.
He's playing with your heart, it beats faster to beat the cold.
Teasing your fingertips and chafing your lips.
He speaks sometimes, if he's in the mood.
Once in a while he roars.
Sometimes with your skirt he plays.
He lifts it in public as in his nonsense he displays all your bits.
Evening darkness covers you like a shroud.
Your coat lingers longer.
So much longer, he can't get his  invisible hand up it.
Discretion at the end of a breezy day.
(C) Livvi

It's nearly December.
We live in the land of the sweet never never.
The currency is destitution, as the poor man bleeds to death, or even maybe starve.
Wealthy governments crow over us.
The little folks.
The simpletons from their high ground perches, surveying the paupers in a so called wealthy nation.
The fat cats get fatter while the workers waste away.
They find themselves hookers and feed them with worms.
A little protein perhaps?
Nothing's getting better in the land of the never never.
(C) Livvi

Have you ever laid in bed pretending that you're asleep.
While he's stroking the back of your hair.
You're feeling the essence of your own vulnerability.
It's deep beneath his gentle touch.
Hearing his breathing with each caress.
And you miss his image as it lingers in your mind.
Your mind us the only place he lingers still.

Have you ever curled up in a bedroom ball.
A pretence of sleep is all that's left now.
The fear left you quivering.
His coldness left you shivering.
As viciously he turned you out the house.
Welcome to the land of cold.
(C) Livvi

Good morning Muppet.
I saw you staggering out of bed.
After stretching over to turn off the alarm.
****** thing.
Left it snoozing and off it went again.
You're in the kitchen, cooking your coffee and porridge.
A mighty morning brew.
The alarm hangs out on the face of your phone.
You need to use it today.
So you dash upstairs to turn it off.
Tripping over the dog, who's dashing around your feet.
Porridge flies and coffee slops.
All over the carpet and one hot dog.
Morning's, don't you just love 'em.
P.s.the dog's okay.
Just the start of another fractious day.
(C) Livvi

The pungent smell of the delicatessen shop.
Smoked meat and garlic tinged the stillness of the silent store.
Townsfolk scurrying by in a mighty dash.
Nightly off to the supermarket, to buy their daily wares.
Remember that smell?
Times have changed a tad.
Italian odour fills the air.
Pastrami rolls dangle in the window.
Pots of plastic passion in fridge below the counter.
The proprietor nips out the back to have another smoke.
Smell the odour, a vacuum full of spices.
The deli fell out of flavour a while ago, but still I taste that smell.
(C) Livvi

BROKEN HEARTS MEND
To mend a broken heart, a few magical ingredients are needed.
An operation that no surgeon can perform.
Firstly, ****** a strand of cupid's hair.
Thread it through a needle made from the tiny sinews from the wings that the bright blue butterfly donated to your cause.
You must hold the damaged heart gently, between the mender's fingertips.
While the repairer's daughter clutches the magnifying glass,steadily.
The owner of the heart begins to stitch.
Tenderly fixing the furrows that gape.
All possible care duly given, eliciting the right solution.
A word in the ear of the white witch of love and then the magic takes it's effect.
Across the crowded room a smile is a stretched.
She's stunning the lady.
The lady whose heart was mended in a similar way a number of months ago.
Two smiles meet.
The magic worked.
And they said it was just an old wives tale!
(C) Livvi

Hiding in silence.
No words be spoken and tales never told.
Secrets hidden in the curled up pages of a tan tainted book.
The lost hide within.
Ran under my skin.
True eruption of passion as written words break.
Life's sustenance stuck between the sticky centre pages where they dwell.
Escapism urged on with the pen.
It's written.
The demons left.
Wave them goodbye with a white handkerchief.
Your self is finally resting like a dove at peace.
(C) Livvi

There's something delicious about bone china tea cups.
Edged with gilt and white inside.
Little flowers so delicate ran around the sides.
Obviously pastel colours are the only apt' ones.
The tea must be  really hot with a few grains of sugar.
The class of the bone china cup makes the English tea taste better.
(C) Livvi

I swear the clock struck 13
Horses frolicking happily in the paddock.
Drove up past Bolton's bench
In the forest old, but renowned as new.
On the crest of the hill a herd of wild ones stood.
Grazing in freedomas they stood in the open air.
Grey and grubby they were.
Maybe they needed a shower.
They got one anyway.
The sky exploded.
All hail the ponies.
Standing still as the raindrops fell.
The forest village swam by with people of all persuasions, in boy scout gear and boys brigade with bugles and banners,
Marching past, saluting the soldiers as they passed.
Young and old amassed.
All in the name of the crown.
(C) Livvi

TIME FOR TEARS.
The cenotaph, a sea of memories and poppies.
Let us not forget these souls.
Remembrance service on the Mall,
God Bless each and everyone, upon this day of fall.
A sombre sobering thought.
A lump in my throat.
These brave souls always will have a special place within my heart.
And so they should always be remembered for brave acts and facing forced fire.
Without any choice.
Sleep well brave fellows of aged wars and modern wars.
Today I hold you in remembrance.
Poppy blessings on a bright Sunday in November!
(C) Livvi

Women are powerful tools.
The brain of a good woman should never be abandoned.
Nor abused.
A woman is the touch paper upon the blazing torch.
Some women listen to what you desire.
Not all of course.
That would be far fetched.
Men think with their trouser contents.
Women with their brains.
Planning days in odds and sods.
The man beasts think they're demigods'.
Not all by any stretched imagination.
Most are lovely in their own way.
The natural order of coexistence.
Dictates that one and one makes two.
(C) Livvi

The Lego men.
Sat in the toy box playing with their bricks.
Johnnie the little fella took them out to play
Daddy put a board in the garden just upon the patio.
What was just a piece of ply grew before Johnnie's eye.
He tipped them out onto the board.
Went inside to fetch a drink and get  a spot of near noon brunch.
A thriving hive of industry, was hidden in his plastic box.
He came back outside and all was built.
Castles and gardens, palatial palaces.
The Lego men had built a perfect village.
Nobody knew they could.
Just a little shocked.
His little sister Jennifer, she hid behind the garden wall.
It wasn't the work of the miraculous Lego men after all.
Who would ever have believed that the toys came out to play.
(C) Livvi

Can we have a little cheeriness.
Please.
Rosy cheeks and smiles.
Get those clouds of misery and blow them all away.
Let's throw away all the bad things, lock them in a box.
Maybe ,even lose the key.
Bury all the bad things in an undisclosed location.
Never unearth them.
Leave them shut away.
Let the happy lovely feelings come on out to play.
(C) Livvi

Your dark eyes were to die for.
Mine full of sprinkles.
Sprinkles of tears.
My life's focus got  a little mislaid when I looked deep inside.
I can say I spied your real being, from the outside looking in.
I never learned, although a learned soul at heart.
Still lost in your eyes.
And poetic art.
Your iris not a flower, but a hollow tunnel of carbon, awaiting a quiet spark.
And at that the tone of the saxophone so dolefully plays.
Threw a deep jazz rhythm into my mind to divert my focus a tiny bit  more.
In another life at another time I would be  yours and you'd be mine.
That's a certainty.
The time the present, the Christmas gift is inappropriate.
Maybe in a little while the world will work out great.
(C) Livvi

Vows made in the summertime.
Now lowly laid to rest.
The summer sunshine turned to rain.
After the raindrops, came the pain.
The winter cold strolled in, most nonchalantly.
It really didn't care that it blistered noses iced the ends with dusted snow.
You know I know.
I know you know.
Exactly what I mean.
The thunder inside deafened your eardrums.
The lightning assaulted your eyes.
You tried to weep, to rest in peace.
To recover the days just passed by.
The day you lost a precious lover.
The painful weather just wouldn't let you!
(C) Livvi

It's futile you know.
A never ending battle to fight your heart and the feelings it keeps.
It's not your heart that's in control.
It's a mere electric pump.
It has four chambers.
The secrets it keeps are absolutely none.
It stores no emotion nor feelings of pain.
Unless of course it's broken, but it's not destroyed by love and pain.
It may complain a bit if it's oxygen supply is breached, a touch of angina.
Maybe an infarct.
Perhaps it'll die.
There is no true love, not in the hearts of women or fellows.
Love is just a state of mind.
A cocktail of emotions and several crazy notions.
(C) LIVVI

I arose in the morning.
Grabbed a coffee with both hands.
It's cold this morning.
Coffee helps.
My hands are thawing out.
Went and got a porridge.
Hell I need my morning oats.
From me the nurses point of view.
Those oats in the morning.
Will  help to keep your body functioning well inside.
(C) Livvi

The lonely wind sung melancholy.
A tone of such monotony.
And then a terrible switch.
The wind it started growling.
Like a low toned grizzly bear.
Nowhere near as vicious tho'.
The wind was fighting the trees.
Removing all their clothes.
The ******* on the pavements.
Once washed clean by the rain.
Was distributed once again.
Increasing in power.
Howling loudly.
An invisible wild animal stalked the streets.
The wind possessed a girl's name.
In this instance , its name was Gale.
And in the gutters lay soggy leaves,  they're much too wet to play.
The power of the wind.
Blinding the walker as she strolls along.
And the wind continues singing it's song.
(C) Livvi

It's Christmas.
Get out those garlands.
String out those lights.
Drag in the conifer.
Smells so fresh.
Make those mince pies.
Ice your regal cake, crisp with white royal icing.
Um my heaven.
Buy packets of presents.
Hang up your stockings for Santa.
I'm sure he'd like you in them.
Men usually do you know.
***** Christmas present.
You know what?
Today 8th November.
The windows are sparkling with varieties of coloured lights.
It's 46 days till Christmas.
Someone tell my neighbours.
Hell it's much too early for all this hurly burly.
It's crippling the national grid!
(C) livvi

How did we get here?
Did the howling wind, maybe blow us into each others arms?
Perhaps,the wind died down and so did we.
I guess that's what it is.
I'm left here crying on my knees.
Your tongue whispers sorrow quietly, saying sorry.
All he can say these days, is sorry silently.
Never utters as much as a word.
(C) Livvi

Remember remember the fifth of November.
It was gone in a flash
In bundles of *******.
Was not a celebration of Beethoven's fifth.
It was a night of celebration.
Celebrating that parliament survived.
A night of a million effigy's burning country wide.
Guy Fawkes burned annually.
Merry England.
Always full of tradition.
The night the air tastes of smoke.
(C) Livvi

May the next summer  coming  be laden with the succulent  scent of ice cream and honey suckle.
The scent of the newborn baby due to come in April's next whispering breath.
Lay fresh amidst the daffodils of springtime the second grandchild of spring.
Three grandsons born in summertime and one at Christmas time.
Santa Claus brought Luc for Ben.
Another wee laddie, yet again.
Totally overrun with little men.
I have to wait so patiently to see what the baby is to be.
Tonight, I spent the evening holding tight to the heart of my baby grandson.
Oh to be trapped.
Held tight in my chair, for if I  move he will stir.
It felt so right.
The topic of many many poems before, now he's  doing so much more.
He's nearly crawling.
Bawling less.
Forging forward every day.
Waiting for his  first Christmas to come.
(C) LIVVI

My body aches to hold you.
To feel you.
To stroke you.
To look into your hell filled eyes.
I feel your torment.
I want to climb the mountain with you.
To slide down the other side, maybe on a rug.
So none get hurt.
I need to tell you everything is on your side.
For I shall comfort you as the dummy of the infant.
I want to twiddle with your stresses and tease them from your taut and rigid mind.
Everything will be alright.
I care within my very being.
That I'm sure you'll find.
Sleep well.
Goodnight.
(C) Livvi

Today I have been watching women of American political persuasion.
Maybe political asylum, all the politician's are a stroke insane.
What struck me most is that these women, those vying for power are masses of smiles, or zipper tight lips.
These ladies are grinning like lunatics.
Their teeth seemingly perfect alabaster tombstones.
Their lips all shiny, sparkly, orange pink or red.
Their lips insinuating without a hair out of place.
That maybe a presidential lady, the first lady...can maybe change the United States.
I don't know I have not a clue, American politics, well it's over to you.
I hereby plead the fifth!
(C) Livvi

She broke her heart.
She snapped it.
It was a little fragile.
She let him play with it.
Teasing and tormenting it.
He used it like a rubber ball.
Bounced it round and bruised it.
He made her pretty eyes sob an ocean.
His eyes were terrific.
Her eyes were too.
His eyes were her main attraction.
His hair was thick and black.
Hers was reddish and shiny.
Glinted in the morning sun.
Evening tumbled from the day time sky.
As she smiled and kissed him goodbye.
(C) LIVVI

The air is autumn.
Smell of yesterday enters the air.
Yesterday's furniture.
Piles of junk.
Flaming ablaze.
Flaming amazing.
As I said smell the air.
Don't stand too close though.
No fingers burned.
It feels so good.

Don't need the heating on.
Rely on the bonfire burning bright.
To keep me warm for a while tonight.
Great excuse to destroy the flammable trash.
Only reminder, a pile of ash.
Smell of burning.
Aged brush wood.
A flaming bonfire.
So good so refreshing.
Fireworks such an expensive waste of hard earned cash.
Don't want my wages to go up in a flash.
A good bonfire is just so gratifying.
November the 5th, smelly fun.
Livvi

The cold is biting through the sun today.
Great big invisible tooth marks.
Nibbling away at my fingers and toes.
The cold held me tight.
Gone right through my clothes.
Morning sparkles pleasantly.
Damp shiny grass.
For all to see.
The glistening deceptive sunny bright trees.
Today they're cuddled by the chilly breeze.
Went and bought myself some ready cooked morning oats.
Not much warmer still.
The caramel flavoured coffee warmed my heart a little bit.
Glad I'm inside.
I'm playing hide and seek with the sunlight outside.
At least I have got no snow, as yet.
Be coming soon, of that that I'll bet.
(C) Livvi

Beige at the top
Folded in a perfect crease.
Look at them.
Those distorted twisted veiny.
Puffy legs.
Nobbly knees
Hairy as bumblebees.
Men in shorts and Jesus creepers.
Sight for older woman's peepers.
(C) LIVVI

ONE DAY'S WEATHER
Cleaning the pavements with raindrops.
Painting the beaches with castles,
They're sodden but,solid.
Deposited by the earlier tide.
Dotting the i's and crossing the t's.
What fun it is.
Kicking at the wild swirls of leaves.
They're thrashing about in the autumn breeze.
You're aware of hearing the young ones, all shouting.
They're shouting loud in sheer delight, as they're chasing that kite that tears through the heavens.
The weather changes so often.
They're at sixes and sevens.
What to do.
Weather's changed again.
All in one day.
This weather's irksome.
Time to go home and look for their mum.
(C) Livvi

I smile.
When I smile my face wrinkles.
Several laughter lines trickle.
If I ***** up my funny face in a particular way.
I look a little like a pussycat.
This pussycat smiles.
(C) Livvi

I have a sweet doggy.
She's so cute and funny.
My puppy's a nutcase my own little honey.
She's not a puppy.
She six years old.
Nearly always good as gold.
She should know so much better.
Today she's given me a dose of the blues.
She came into the bedroom and chewed up all my shoes.
(C) Livvi

Today I'm feeling dodgy.
Just a little dark.
I hear you say why.
The reason for my admission is that I wrote a poem last night.
Found no sunshine only night.
Poem chased me into my pit.
I couldn't sleep because of it.
I am not dark of heart.
The poem I wrote bit me.
Been rolling round inside my head.
Thoughts of bad man being dead.
Dead at the hand of the hangman's noose.
I write what I feel and I feel what I write.
I like the poem and the image I created.
A worm wriggled through my head.
Made me stop and focus upon miscarriages of justice.
I have a conscience and I am a deep thinker.
I may blab nonsense.
But sometimes I think.
That poetic piece floats upon injustice.
For the very next few days I'll concentrate on writing nice!
(C) Livvi

BREAKFAST DREAMS.
So much for fancying porridge.
Stepped out of the door to buy some.
Got lashed by sky and her drenching powers.
Yesterday superlative.
Today,somewhat naive.
The wind and rain out there today.
Enough to bring me to my knees.
abundance of rain.
Sunday pain.
Have to think again!
(C) LIVVI

He slung his jacket on the back of the chair.
The office held a chill this day.
He rolled his pen between his fingers.
He often did.
Before he started his thankless task.
This day he had hell to pay.
Straightened his perfect black tie.
Today the day the bad man dies.

Together the anonymous chap and his friend.
Decided to make do and mend.
Left the office.
Upon the final orders, of the man with the black cap.
In through the heavy wrought iron door.
A clang.
Such an almighty roar.

A soul collection.
Just past breakfast time.
The two of them are heard to say.
Heavy bracelets weigh upon his mind and wrists alike.
And so they go.

Into silence.
X marks the spot.
A hood covers the eyes of the hawk.
The heavy duty noose is placed in a carefully executed duty knot.
A few careful words.
Uttered by the damaged one.
The handle pulled.
The deed is done.

It's five 'o' clock.
He picks up his jacket from the back of the chair.
Almost as if, he doesn't care.
__________________
­
ENDING ONE

His daughter saunters up to him.
Smiling,
He hears her say.
"Daddy,what did you do today"?
She picks up her cat's cradle.
"Daddy, do you want to play"?
__________________­_
ALTERNATIVE ENDING
Excitedly she ran up to her daddy.
Eyes buzzing with thrill.
Notepad in hand.
Seven  blank lines crossed the bottom of the page
Daddy,  familiar with the game.
Threw the first letter across the crisp  white page.
"H " was first.
The next letters flew.
Matchstick man diagram,gradually created.
Last letter "N"
"M" in the centre.
Never completed the game.
The scaffold full before their game complete.
"HANGMAN"
(C) LIVVI

Perfection lives in a goldfish bowl.
Swimming in eternal lonely circles.
No bills.
No commitments.
What fun it has to be.
Guess The Boomtown Rats got it right
Maybe "The Fine Art of Surfacing" could be exciting.
(C) LIVVI

I'm thinking.
I'm thinking so hard that I'm clutching my chin.
The deeper I think the deeper I drift.
I'm scratching my head.
I got a splinter.
I'm thinking again.
Where on earth are the tweezers.
(C) Livvi