On my way home I saw him,
a tubby man with blazing face,
his face was gnarled and twisted,
his nose, seemed to have been pulped,
a few times too many,
sat on the floor outside the station,
everyone else looked at him as if he's discarded,
a piece of  simple trash,
he talked to me,
he said,
you been to work today?
he looked hungry,
not sure what he was actually hankering for,
I couldn't see a heart inside,
his eyes blankly struggled to even raise a smile,
he looked like he wanted to be in the pink,
but he was red,
more read than a cheap tabloid,
seen by many passers by,
without an ounce of attention.
(C) Livvi

Confusion
There was a spotty tiger,
he got muddled with a lion.
You won't find him on savannah grass,
nor in the trees in India,
you'll find him in the salad bar,
round the corner shop.
You may find him supping mocha's,
and wearing moccasins to keep his claws inside,
wearing his dark glasses to protect his sight,
he wore his bright pink headphones,
so he seek the beat,
never chased a zebra,
nor ate a wildebeest,
didn't hunt the townsfolk,
it wasn't in his style,
instead,
once a year in winter time,
he'd go off on holiday,
go flying down the piste.
Woo hoo!
There he goes again,
that trendy tigon,
liger?
Zooming past upon his skis.
(C) Livvi

In the forest of dreams she sits,
sat on the grass in a copse,
she's wearing a hat to save her eyes,
from the tiresome effects of the lunchtime skies,
she's thinking of last week and next week.
As well as the que sera sera,
she's thinking of missing things and stolen friends,
the girl's debating the existence of fairies and scary things,
scary things like snakes and ladders,
spiders and riders,
who creep through the night,
spiders who're walking over her face,
are they big fat hairy ones with gangly fragile legs,
or are they minute money ones,
ready to leave a deposit,
well that's what she taught her children,
in the days when they were young,
see a money spider,
lain beside his place,
you'll generally find some pence,
somewhere lurking in his space,
he left them there you know,
and they believed my tales of reinforcement,
that spiders were just spiders,
Strange nowadays,
my children think they're really cool.
(C) Livvi

I am just the messenger,
I carry with me parchment scrolls,
I bring them from my empire,
my empire of the sun,
delivered from dominions,
far out,
somewhere from far reaching skies.
My name is Bertha,
I come in peace,
I swallow nothing,
nothing that I'm told,
For I am not gullible,
I seek what I am searching for,
despite what you've been told,
I believe no unlawful utterances,
unless I can find some proof.
I am a member of those folk,
who suffer the human condition.
I suffer fools not gladly,
but, I sure meet one or two!
(C) Olivia

I bought a new dress you know,
it's deep red and lightly patterned,
it looks lovely on,
the perfect shape and style,
respectable but trendy,
not another make-do,
I tried it you know,
I had to,
that dress has a purpose,
I bought new shoes,
they're black you know,
same as my royal blue ones,
but a better colour match,
Why did I buy it I hear you say,
what is your purpose,
it's as if I can read your mind,
I have an interview,
a new job,
I do declare,
don my new dress,
my heel less shoes,
dye my greying hair,
I want this job,
more than anything,
it's more my cup of tea,
hee hee,
I need a little knowledge,
I have a bit of that,
A bucket of understanding,
I have buckets more than most,
a touch of empathy,
a wow amount of confidence,
I show it now and then.
I need a trumpet to share with you,
at the moment,
I'm blowing my own,
perhaps you can blow mine too,
support me in my new job quest,
let me prove myself the best,
trying hard to sell myself,
the very best I can,
as only I can do!
(c) Livvi

A silent silhouette.
He stands starkly in private corners behind his privet hedge.
The silhouette is that of a deceased poet,
recently passed.
Felix Dennis.
He was an amazing poet.
Filled with magical words,
I will miss our one sided conversations,
the ones that hundreds enter into,
maybe someone will keep his spirit alive.
Honoured Sir,
so honoured.
May your dreams not be as vivid as your words.
For as all poets seem to do.
The words flow in while resting,
and you may not get any rest.
(C) Livvi

My fingers are highly charged,
they are itching to gently peel your clothes off,
layer by layer,
very slowly,
to run up and down your spine,
leaving you tingling at their gentle touch,
they want to tickle you,
but that may cheese you off,
what do you reckon?
they are suggesting that my lips reach out to kiss you,
they move up to your face,
they stroke your cheeks so red with passion,
my fingers are quivering,
they're shaking,
as if they're feeling cold,
but they're not,
they're feeling burning hot,
they're sparking and fizzing so much,
you can almost see the sparks,
my fingers want the rest of you,
but they're stopping me writing anymore,
you know why?
Because they want you you to think what you'd like them to do next!
(C) Livvi

My darling dragon,
he never does as he's told,
He spilled a drop of water over him,
his fire went out,
he's blowing cold.
No matter how I tell him he needs to behave,
my wild teenage dragon always rants and raves,
he thinks not much of being good,
it's not like he misunderstood,
my silly little dragon son,
he's not eating fair maidens,
he lives on fish and chips,
however;
when he's standing on the sea shore,
he's partial to a piece of fish,
served up with seaweed and a couple of tasty ships.
(C) Livvi

Today,
I met the man with tears in his heart,
he muddles on regardless,
as he hides them from his eyes,
His name is Chris,
he's full of issues,
everyone else's,
A superman incarnate.

Maybe it comes in relation to being labelled Chris,
I know many Chris's,
they are all full of issues,
the sad and sorry thought for today,
my dear friend,
is that,
I'm all clean out of tissues,
however;
my ears listen and my heart beats,
I could provide you my ears,
if you so desired,

You are a lovely man,
I wish that I could love thee,
you are the sweetest kindest guy,
but we have no chemistry.
You are my friend,
been so for years,
Chris my friend,
all I ever did with you,
was spill my messed up tears.

My tears are dry now,
I sensed you crying inside,
in the supermarket,
where lost hearts go to shop.
(C) Livvi

It's been over for a life time,
a life time of intrepid memories,
that I can explore no further.
It was wonderful and magical,
powerful and passionate,
bizarre and blinding,
it was the longest love I ever shared,
There were two of us that felt the same,
but love to him a heavy game.
it only lasted milli-seconds within eternities plan,
lost in a sprinkle of stardust,
and swallowed with our strawberries.
It's over now,
I'm very chilled,
chilled but fulfilled.
we reach the stars in different ways as we play on,
the dawning of another day.
(C) Livvi

Black Clouds are punching their way through the heavens,
They’re changing shape like blackened ravens.
The wind is tickling the bushes, but I see no laughter,
I hear no voices,
Just a rustle while the breeze teases the grass.
The greenery bends in respect of the wind.
The witch is cooking up a brew,
A brew of green running in soon to occur strands of stew,
The starting storm and the rain melts the grass,
The garden soon to be a sodden melee of muddy passion.
I see it only from my window,
I’m the widow of the garden,
Since the pollen blew.
(C) LIVVI

Affected by time
Time flies as a temperamental child,
She’s chucking her toys out of her pram,
She’s a tempest in a glass casket,
Time zooms by.
A passing sparkling rocket.

Time grows and creates.
An education in the ways of life.
Time is the quay for the husband or wife,
An anchorage for quiet moments.
Spent together or alone.
Sadly,
The revolving of time is revolting at times,
The thought of ageing petrifies.
Time carried in her wings many friends and lovers.
Some current some lost.
Time herself is precious.
An ancient pearl, such wisdom.
Lessons learned.
No matter how many pleas we make.
For life and time to go slower,
It’s a natural progression.
Hanging out in a world of free expression,
Before into the light we fly.
©Livvi

She’d camp out over night for you.
Her body kissed by morning dew,
She’d steal a million stars for you,
She’d stash them in her piggy bank.
She’s saving them to buy your heart.
She’d walk on broken glass for you,
She’d tie her tongue in knots for you.
But love;
Love is out of her league.
She swam upstream,
Struggling with the tide,
From the river side he watches,
With tear-filled eyes,
Enriched with inability,
To meet her heart and hold it,
The way he held her hand.
© Livvi

Mother Earth
I salute you.
Please revel in my salutations,
Earth you are my mother,
Not my mother of skin and bone.
Without you precious Mother Earth,
there would be no human birth,
no breath of man,
or woman's kiss,
no infants would be born.

Without you Earth.
We would not be,
Maybe somewhere in the reaches of the universe,
another galaxy, maybe, we could have found our feet.
This poem's not a fantasy,
it's real,

Let's look after mother,
regardless of colour,
regardless of creed,
Look after our mother,
Earthly inhabitants we must all agree.
(C) Livvi

I have memories,
nothing more than memories,
of the time you held my hand so tight in yours,
at times you crushed my hand so tight the pain seared,
my hand was your support mechanism,
at your darkest frightened moments,
my fingers are numb,
as is my heart,
my heart more so,
my digits are chilled,
so please don't hold my hand again,
unless you are one of my patients in need of clinical support,
If I wasn't breathing and crying,
I could almost profess to being dead.
I am a professor of truth,
a professor of the abstract mind,
the mind of non-committal dreams.
As he cried and he cried,
I don't want you to go,
but I did,
And how I loved you!
(C) Livvi

This tiger sure ain't burning right,
in the forests of the night,
She's blazing with a purple glow,
that none of you will ever know.
She is a sparkle,
in the night time,
a flash in the daylight hours,
no tiger stripes of black and tan.
The lady lost her symmetry,
no sides match,
she's hiding in the undergrowth,
every so often a revelation,
an archetypal creature,
she feeds and thrives and always survives,
safe in the knowledge, that only she knows,
that she'll always feature in the mind of that dark creature.
The speaker of poetry and the writer of words.
(C) Livvi

Every strip of my soul is aching,
It's not because I'm ageing,
I give up on time's flaccid request to give up on love and life and die,
I am not dying,
Nor am I crying.

Instead I am flying,
Into life's sunset with you in my heart,
before me,
me, myself and I are met,
but you and I are an unfinished symphony,
an operetta out of tune,
and out of time,
You,
you are left behind in the land of a little regret.

I will rein in the sun to let my love free,
as the Leo lady spills her dreams,
as she catches her skipping dreams,
before they skip away,
or at least that's how it seems,

She comes with no-one,
she always leaves alone,
in her silent bedroom,
all can hear her moan,
as she hits her sensual zone alone,
Surely being older ain't the end,
Our once unfinished symphony,
let our music play on.
(c) Livvi

As long as the tide bathes the shoreline, love will flow free,
may the tides still in the light of the crystal moon,
the moon shall bathe the night with rest,
and the sun to bathe the day with strength,
strength to survive another day,
to survive the dark blanket of terror and war,
which is spreading farther so much more and more,
may the powers of good become understood.
let the world continue to breathe,
bring the world the gift of peace.
(C) Livvi

If i could drive,
I could visit my grandsons and sit them on my knee,
except of course the little chap,
he lives here with me,
I can hold him whenever I wish,

I could drive off up to London,
whenever I so wished,
or I could drive to Stonehenge,
to greet the breaking day,
but I'm too broke too start.

Maybe I could be convenient,
as the designated driver,
when everyone else gets drunk,
I don't,
driving's one of many skills I haven't mastered,
shame eh chaps,
so on that fair note.

I hereby declare for today at last,
my ridicule of poetry is getting rather boring,
In fact,
you,
you there,
in the yellow hat, my God I see you snoring!
(C) Livvi

'Tis such fun there on Sunday,
Monday's rather fun,
she puts on her glad rags before the setting sun,
She dances with babies,
and aged dinosaurs,
especially the old geezer,
who sits in the corner and snores,
he ignores all the noise,
he doesn't moan,
he listens intently in dreams,
to the poets who babble,
he watches the true blood flow,
of the youngsters,
who go to impress their friends,
he sits there snoring,
but he's merely pretending,
takes it all in before his life meets it's ending.
The old chap in the beige flat cap,
with the face of experience,
that's written as a map,
the lines of the motorways,
the creases of smiles,
the eyes rather baggy,
but, still show their smiles,
a lovely chap,
every so often his fingers will tap,
in time with the beat.
It's nearly 11,
the end of the night,
she tried to disturb him,
to bid him good night,
but he doesn't stir,
he met his ending,
never pretending,
that he was getting old,
sat in the club house,
where his body got cold,

He died doing the thing he loved the best,
all going home,
they did bade him respect.
(C) Livvi

I sit and I sniff as my nose it doth trickle,
the pollen got hold of me,
I'm all in a pickle,
my eyes are so itchy,
I pop in my drops,
maybe I'm lucky as quickly it stops,

Magic pollen,
bringer of life ,
maker of flowers,
it so makes me sneeze,
my sneezing's so bad,
if I get too much closer,
with my powerful sneezes,
maybe,
just maybe,
I will uproot the trees,
destroying nature, with a sneeze.

Take all my pills and rub on my lotions,
trying so hard not to cause a commotion,
what more can I do with hay fever,
except express my emotions!
(C) Livvi

There are ants in my parlour,
they're going on a sugar rush,
all those ****** footsteps.
I see them crawling through my jelly jar,
they're seeming drunk my friends,
pickled ants,
now that's a sight to see,
there maybe thousands of them,
I just cannot tell,
perhaps I'll put the jam jar out,
then maybe they'll be free.
maybe I'll be too,
makes me itch just watching them.
(C) Livvi

The walls are watching,
they have eyes and ears,
in each and every crack,
they listen through  these cracks,
cracks escaping from plaster,
they don't ever discuss what they see or hear,
with any other,
living soul,
however,
they are on the astral plane,
chatting with the lady of karma,
she who make decisions,
based on what the house bricks saw,
and the things that those cracks in the walls,
tried to ignore,
at times,
when they couldn't handle evil things anymore,
they tittled- tattled tales to the Goddess of Karma.
she decides what will happen to you?
in love and luck,
wealth and health.
The cracks in the walls,
with the ears and the eyes,
report to the Goddess of Karma,
the foundations of life,
based on what the house spied,
from the inside.
(C) Livvi

He is a miracle,
a tiny creature,
laid in an incubator,
he struggles and fights,
better than Mohammed Ali,
he fights to keep the lights alive,
his body fits in his mothers hand,
but she cannot hold him,
just gently strokes his arm,
with a warm fingertip,
she wills him to survive,
a tube down his tiny nose,
supplies his nourishment,
his momma,
she sits and she waits,
and she waits and she sits,
he's too small to cry,
and he cannot look,
but they bonds,
more her, than he,
he is too small to know,
to feel to see,
an unbreakable bond,
she prays and she wishes,
she so wants to kiss him,
for the time being at least,
it's just daddy she kisses.
(C) Livvi

So what time is the wedding dear?
I hear you say for real,
never said the little lady,
marriage,
has lost it's love appeal,
love is real apparently,
unless you are a cynic.
(C) Livvi

Once upon a time,
you know that old chestnut,
the routine story start,
there was a male being,
with the thickest blackest greasy hair,
a joy of eccentricity,
for a long time,
more than a smile for a while,
she kept him locked up under her hat,
the straw one that she wore,
he was beautiful and tender,
then he left.

Upon his leaving a thousand nuclear winters were born,
delivered with them winters chill,
As pair of stanchions,
together they once stood,
protecting their respective broods,
in their ways of contrition,
in the end were no happy ever afters,
but a stroke of crazy laughter,
Amen my friend!
(C) Livvi

On top of it all lives Brian,
well actually a brain called Brian,
it is encased inside a box,the skull.

The skull protects the varying being,
mood moments and all that.

The brain is covered by a cap,
a thinking cap,
the cap may become distorted,
when,
hormones flow as rivers,
as emotions are released,
they're running free,
sometimes cheap and easy,
sometimes rather ******.

Making rash decisions,
sometimes dark and complex,
they're going on a mission,
a mission of rash decisions,
now how does that sound?
black and deep,
or bubbly,
miserable or lovely.

Unless you have something sensible to say,
keep it stashed 'neath your thinking cap!
(C) Livvi

She stood in the dock,
a ruddy gibbering wreck,
very flushed and very frightened,
The stern judge was a vulture,
dreams of chewing her flesh,
Counsel for the prosecution,
was a rather noisy crow,
In her defence,
an eagle stood,
Clutching close her feathered brood.
the courtroom clerk a budgerigar,
with yellow breast,
and mottled feathers,
chatting and typing litotes,
although not really listening.
The defendant for the trial today,
was a bright pink flamingo,
with googly legs and googly eyes,
that poured out such pink tears,
the way the case was going on,
well,
she could be locked away for years,
the jury consisted of mockingbirds,
who laughed at everything they heard,
the evidence was null and void,
not really heard above the noise.

Having heard what he could of the evidence,
the vulture judge got rather cross,
he called upon a dove,
"members of the jury,
we have to acquit  this pretty flamingo,
because I believe that I'm in love".
(c)Livvi

The red eyes matched the flags,
draped over the windows, the fences the doors,
The sniffles and snuffles,
of all those supporters,
the ones in Rio,
and all of their daughters,
the fellas in front rooms,
the girls in  the pubs,
all giving their best shots at having a blub,
feeling let down at England's loss,
A storm in a teacup,
a flood of tears,
no more chances for England for another four years.
(C) Livvi

Over the clouds envisage the crowds,
They're milling as ants in their bright stripy pants,
waving and pointing,
Sun bites their eyes,
they're squinting,
concentrate on the aircraft filled skies,
they dance in formation,
the planes that is,
all through the skies,
they are red as flying pillar boxes,
darting rapidly,
almost as if they're wanting to catch the mail.
English tails of red white and blue,
I so used to love them,
How about you?
(C) Livvi

His heart bleeds,
there's a tiny hole in it,
she drilled it,
she stole his whole away,
she stole his all,
as he  had stolen hers,
with a crystal bit she twisted it,
it sparkled in the streetlight,
she could smell the burning at every the twist of the bit,
like hair burning,
as the bit took on the role of diathermy,
she didn't make a mess,
it was cold outside,
inside his errant heart just dripped,
feeling the heat,
but,
silently internally,
her one true love died.
(C) Livvi

Love me tender,
he cried,
smiling,
vengeance,placed behind his eyes,
he smiled some more,
as he called her a *****,
for the second time this week.

She packed her bags as she left him again,
his woman noticed the tears pouring down his face,
such shame and disgrace,
he was wearing so much pain.

Yet again,
She unpacked them all,
put them away,
naively believing,
it wouldn't happen again,
course it wouldn't,
she couldn't leave,
not again,
not for the second time this week,

Sorry said he,
he said,
I promise,
Truly,
I do,
Never again will I beat you black and blue,
I love you.
And once again he did!

The bruise on her eye the result of a tumble,
so he said,
As he gave her a steak,
to stick over her swollen eye,
(C) Livvi

She arises from sorrow's casket,
trussed up in a dusky wedding dress,
yellow tinted cushions below her,
supposedly,
supporting her deathly pallid head,
somewhat discoloured,
looking rather distressed.
carnations and confetti unfurled,
sprinkled maybe as pretty portents abound,
a warning,
that maybe true love ne'er lasts.

Her man,
he sits longingly,
enduring his pain,
perhaps as a tragic hero,
awaiting,
almost to take the blame,
the blame for her demise,
beside her he crouches,
as she's sat,
upon her marble slab,

And yet again,
she rises,
yawning,
stretching out her immortal warning,

Poplars dress the mausoleum,
behind the greying pillars,
to the right,
a gathering,
a crowd small in number,
most impressed,
by non-committal of death's distress,
and her lover,
he sits,
and sits some more,
looking longingly into death's dark eyes,
while patiently awaiting her final tragic goodbye.
(c) Livvi

England,
A land of myth and legend my friends,
where the grass lies green,
it's whispering tales of the things it's seen,
it's said to be greener on the other side,
England's a green and pleasant land.
we have glorious forests,
some old,
some new,
we have beaches of sand and shingle,
where tourist folk mingle,
we have towns,
we have cities,
some very pretty,
some screaming pity.

We have fine art and romance,
we have true love and no chance,
we have mountains and cliff tops,
we have memories of war time ,
with Dame Vera Lynn,
she is singing her praises,
of white cliffs of Dover,
and pure British daisies,
maybe it's better on the other side of the tracks,
just don't ever know,
lucky for most of us,
never been that low,
but,
most of all,
I am English through and through,
I shall not flout being English,
I shall kiss being English,
for  now I bid you adieu!
(c) Livvi

They're sticky you know,
so sticky and hot,
they boot the ball with all they've got,
management in full attendance,
dressed in suits and floppy hats,
the England players,
such poor little fellers,
only used to British weather,
they drip as they stick to the pitch,
playing football in this weather,
hell must be such a *****,
these poor chappies can't wear sun hats,
or lay on mats,
acquiring a tan.

Who do we think will carry the cup?
well probably not us,
the founding nation of the game,
in temperate Britain,
always the same,
In England they may have  stood a chance,
but in subtropical stadia,
it's all a merry dance!
(c) Livvi

You,
you are an artist,
a tangible artist,
artistic in style,
artistic in temperament,
you are strung upon a knife edge,
above the deep blue sea,
and your tongue,
it rolls from day to day,
sometimes painting silver,
sometimes  painting gold,
getting more profound,
as your body's getting old,
and as you're getting older,
find you're getting colder,
the world is weighing heavy,
upon your precious shoulders,
life it lost it's magic,
or at least for you it did,
as you wallow in your not wanting love scenario,
on the dark side of the moon,
that's slugged out of a bottle,
once the bottle was that of a baby,
tender, delicate, satisfying milk,
now the satisfaction bottle is brimmed with whisky,
your rose coloured spectacles became broken,
smashed to pieces on the bedroom floor,
as you sit and sob for lost love,
like the one you had before,
and why do you cry?
the whisky did it,
it made you sob as you wanted more,
whisky,
pure moonshine made you,
your mother's lovely *****.
(C) Livvi

She knows him so well,
that dude he's really swell,
she knows him inside and out,
like an old stained tea ***,
with marks inside,

she knows him like a sugar ***,
complex crystalline granules,
they hit the spot,
his perfect sweetness,
is hidden,
in a heart that is ridden
with disaster as his middle name,

she knows him as her favourite mug,
the handle broke off,
he's more like a jug,
discarded in bits on his tatty old rug,
a chip on the edge,
well he has some of them,
complexities of modern day men!
(C) Livvi

Refreshments anyone?
the sky opened,
the clouds exploded,
party lights flashing through the soggy skies,
thunder thrashed the silence,
the window's dressed in decadence,
maybe someone spilled their drinks,
me thinks,
it's already feels better,
now riotous raindrops,
refresh the lawn.

I so love a grand storm,
sets my head free!
(C) Livvi

She wore a blue dress,
a brilliant blue dress,
full to the brim with memories,
she wore it the last time her eyes met his,
the time when they kissed,
when they last touched,
one and one made two,
both together really wild.

That was the effect of the ladylike gown,
just an old-fashioned and feminine frock,
a splurge of loud blue flowers,
buttoned up the front,
tied at the back in a flouncy cotton bow,
dominated by her feminine wiles,
how they loved and laughed and smiled,
at each other,
for a while,
there were no others.

They loved,
they died,
well the feelings did,
and so they cried,
all for the sake of the blue dress,
dragged out of the wardrobe,
as the weather got hot,
a revelation of memories.

As,she suddenly realised,
she hadn't forgot!
(C) Livvi

I see clouds,
painted onto the sky,
they look like hills,
I could walk over them,
if only,
they weren't,
mere water vapour,
standing liken to mountains,
with castles on top,
as the day changes,
the sun sets slowly,
the clouds hang static,
they're fully charged,
slowly filling with rain,
lashes of rain,
splashes of rain,
soon they will pile,
the sky electric,
waiting to prepare an overnight storm,
perhaps tomorrow,
maybe it won't be so warm.
(C) Livvi

In the park,was a mahogany bench,
you know the one,
by the babbling brook,
sheltered beneath the bowing tree,
lay a crumpled up sleeping bag,
made out of glossy nylon.
At the end of the bench lay a black dog,
with his matted knot of gritty hair,
around his neck he wore a collar,
red, yellow, green and blue tartan,
had a shiny bell attached,
living on the park bench,
not always fun.

Well, it was really rather spartan,
the ***** had gone for a *****,
He wandered away,
over the park,
trotted off,
much rejuvenated,
after his night on the bench.

Went into the bushes to have a quick ***,
he hid in the shrubs,
so the kids didn't see,
God he was so relieved,
when his wee-wee ran free,

he collected his azure sleeping bag,
made it all sound so pleasant,
had, to make it sound so classy,
how, he glamorised that old nylon cover,
as he,
hid it in the trees for the rest of the day,
hoped his sleeping bag remained  hidden,
in the main,
his only prayer,
it didn't rain.

Grabbed, hold of ****,
his faithful Scottish dog,
meandered along the bank,
doffing his hat at the ladies he met,
"top of the morning to you ladies,"said he,
who proceeded to poke their beaks in the air,
guess, these days nobody cares.

Once he was a man of certain means,
hard times  had caught him,
he was still a gent,
without his money,
his love was all spent!
(C) Livvi

Get out of my house she screamed,
wasn't at all a bit like it seemed,
behind him,
she slung his carrier bags,
an old sleeping bag,
and a bundle of rags,
after a row,
silly cow,
she said,
you're not welcome here.
was just a stupid row,
and she's not  really a silly cow.

That night,
the evening fell into disquiet,
the once loving moments had turned into a riot.
dragged his carriers behind him as he walked down the street,
tripping over his muddled up feet,

Night fell, so did he,
In much distress a bloodied mess,
landed on homeless spikes,
landed hard,
landed fast,
anchored to the spot,
poor sod,
not terribly long,
but that poor fellow,
well he punctured a lung,
A passing friend,
noticed his distress,
called the paramedics to come and assess,

Carted him off to the hospital,
the one that still had an A+E,
stuffed in a chest drain,
a little more pain,
and then,
along came the brief,
gave the company grief,

Received a big payout,
went home to the wife,
you remember the one,
who first gave him the strife.
(C) Livvi

The fields are old,
furrows run deep through their barren path,
the last time they were ploughed, was a year ago,
after last sunlight,
preceeding last snowfall,
they are not fertile,
they lay ancient,
maybe they just lie,
maybe they're filled to the brim with old bones,
they store knowledge within their clods,
just occasionally,
now and again a creature crawls over their surface,

It is not a field with furrows, but an ageing face,
A face that needs replenishing,
brushing tenderly with restorative fingertips,
fingertips that soothe with moisture cream,
collecting a nightmare and creating a dream!
(C) Livvi

My Grandad,
I know nothing about you,
I never  really did,
You died long before I was born,
never even a sparkle in your eye,
I have no idea what you looked like,
I know not how you died,
nor when.

I know once that you were a saddler,
a maker of fine leather,
In deepest Dorset, laid a paving slab with our family name on.
I saw it once or twice,
It was positioned smartly on the pathway, outside a shabby looking shop,  that shop it wasn't yours, you had long since gone,
The shop, well it's probably a convenience store now,
haven't been there for a good many years,
That kerb stone may have stayed in place,
One day, I may go take a look,
a photo for my memory book.
(C) Livvi

Arromanche,
and the sea ran red,
a scarlet tide mark on the beach,
left as the water went out,

I went to Dunquerke,
aged eleven,
much of a nothingness,
a mud flat beach,
just a plaque,
standing lonely,
A memoir,
of the lost and lonely,
and today,
and that,
that is my childhood naive memory.

Seventy years down the line,
I am grateful freedom is mine,
honourable gentlemen,
you are remembered,

I saw medal strung heroes,
today, seventy years since,
and at the going down of the sun,
and the rising of the morning,

I am free,
We are free,
thanks to the now elderly brave souls,
Let the gone rest in peace,
and the living,
may they have clear minds and peaceful hearts,
for the remaining years they live and breathe,
remembering you in our hearts,
as you remember your lost comrades,
we remember them too,
as free today,
We hold you high in tear filled esteem,
Thank you!
(c) Livvi

She has spirit,
A spirit that speaks without voice,
Emotion in a fantasy,
She'll stroke your soul and play for you,
She'll play you a solo symphony in an orchestra alone,

She's sweet on you,
her perfect life, she'll give for you,
She is the ****** angel,
who's halo,
never slipped,
she wants you,
come and get her,
pick her up,
grab her,
sweep her off her feet,
the lady needs a treat.
(C) Livvi

Am I to be an anemone,
with florescent blue petals,
chalky stamens hid inside,
dwelt within my calyx,
I  have waited impatiently to break free,
dusted in vibrant blue.
I digress, for I am not an anemone,
Find my only friendship in bees,
stripy buzzing vested bees,
For I am a lady locked up,
I am beginning to gush.
(C) Livvi

In sparkles and butterflies she's coming to grace the stage,
it's said,
astonished to be made aware,
the stage at Glastonbury 2014,
is to share,
Dolly Parton and her bits,
diamante maybe dressing her ****,
the queen of country,
along with Debbie Harry,
what a strange combination,
let us all pray,
that Glastonbury doesn't drown this year,
I fear perhaps it will!
(C) Livvi

Senior moments,
a reflection,
times gone by,
the young ones,
they think us crazy,
we are not,
we carry on our shoulders,
experiences learned,
reparations of broken hearts,
separations and marriages of minds,
times of celibacy,
fingers sometimes burned,
fiddling with things,
things we don't want to talk about,
events of nothingness,
our children,
apparently they love us,
occasionally they prove it,
we prove to them entirely,
that as grown ups,
we're not truly mad,
our levels of interest,
considered somewhat obsolete,
in comparison to the focus of  our maturity,
but,
as adults we must remember,
we don't always know best!
(C) Livvi