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Mar 2014 · 403
How dare they?
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Slaughtered, ripped to shreds.
A reputation repudiated.
Torn apart?
A broken heart?
In full flight, ditched the *****?
In the realms of speculation.
Plastered by the media, I fear.
Immobile in hunting,the weather changed.
The pieces perished submerge beneath those foreign seas.
And the media state the pilot rode the line of suicide, without the evidence.
Not found a body of truth, nor a box of tricks!
(C)Livvi
Potency of death by suicide as say the papers and T.V, pray let us wait and see.
Before the spells of aspersion are cast!
Mar 2014 · 356
Chilled
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Witness the spectacle in the blue spectacles.
The woman who wanders over the bridge, with her heart held tight in her outstretched hands.
She's keeping it safe, protection guaranteed,  keeping her own counsel.
Her hands are cold, she must keep her heart warm.
She needs to be reborn.
Every one laughs at her, an echo in unison.
She is precious, so precious.
Those glasses are breaking, so she cannot see.
In front of her nose, not the wood for the trees.
You know it's reported that, "men don't make passes at girls that wear glasses".
She needs to ***** in the dark, for she can barely see.
Blinded by fear, the only prince she thought she found before, was but, the prince of darkness.
(C) Livvi
Mar 2014 · 786
Fabric
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Love is a rich tapestry.
New love is a beautiful gift, created boldly, a work of art.
Multi -coloured skeins of thread, driven through the fabric, with such force, such urgency.
Feeble thread nurtured, making cloth of strength, as true love's support.
Combined to make treasures to be cherished.
Straight from the loom, as samplers so charming, repeating memories as heirlooms, in otherwise silent royal rooms.
Those colours, they change, when bright and new glowing.
Still vibrating in silent feeling.
A nuance noted with tenderness, as lovers become companions, as two lives combine in unison.
The tints may fade, but the fabric will therein reside.
(c) Livvi
Mar 2014 · 650
Tragic Mystery
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
The ship of the air, now a ship of the sea.
May the souls of the dead, fly tragically free.
The mystery is solved, after worldwide stress.
May the pilot , passengers and crew be at rest.
Let all the relations receive peace to grieve.
May the lord smile on them and let them breathe.
While their families, peacefully sleep now they have their answers.
Hope and pray the victims knew nothing as their plane tragically, became a drowning boat.
The only thing these poor souls knew, was sent by text, how very cruel!
(c) Livvi
Sharing sorrow in memory of Flight 370
Mar 2014 · 349
A Dark Look at Life!
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Ageing is pursuing youth.
My age, it's feeling just a touch fatigued.
Sure as hell it will catch up with me  soon.
Caught age as the stars in a curtain of net,
Captured them there, to keep them precious hostage.
The sunshine, it chases the youth dew away.
Evasion is impossible, impertinent to try.
Make the most of  precious life, before in flaming fire,  life becomes exhausted.
(c) Livvi
And no I'm not depressed, just feeling achy after a stressful day ** :-)
Mar 2014 · 265
Feeling Sorry for Herself!
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Medusa played with her crazy head.
Three snakes bit her, so she said.
Said "I'm having a crisis", with a cigarette, as yet unlit taking up lodging between her yellow fingers so very stained.
It grabbed at her neck, she said it was sore,the beast of madness, opened  his mouth and roared.
Wanted free bed and board, two ladies from security escorted her out.
Over the bus stop could still hear her shout!
(c) Livvi
I was at work tonight and a woman with raggedy hair came in causing psychotic chaos, she reported having all sorts of bizarre accidents. Just wanted a bed for the night I believe!
Mar 2014 · 2.1k
A Daft look at Childbirth!
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Sat here, awaiting the arrival of grandson number four.
The darling daughter rests downstairs, as I wait for the stork to call.
A posing question, is he a Maribou?
Hope he's not a Maribou; for they are carnivores.
Got to hope he isn't hungry, as he lands outside my door.
Think he's just a cartoon character escaped from world of myth.
I'm just taking the pith (with a lisp).
Does he attend with infant in beak, wrapped in a ***** at the end of next week.
I think not!
Hope he doesn't sling him down my chimney, because it's all blocked off.
Can  you ever imagine an infant **** in the chimney ***?
Oops I forgot, how could I ever?
Poor Laura has to do hard labour before her chap is born.
(C) Livvi
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Typically British, rather insane.
English men do walk on water.
Ha ha, jolly hockey sticks, snooty noses up in the air.
A game of jolly cricket, in the middle of the sea.
Just an annual event; as  tide resides and holds up a bank.
Supporting stumps and a scoreboard.
The water got scared and bailed out.
A gang of weird cricketers stroll across the Solent.
In between the smiling waves.
A quick match indeed, for after the sea recedes, the tide creeps in, the pitch is gone.
Jolly funny posh folk, trot home for a scone and a bubbly fizz as stags and hens, they head off to the shore.
In their cruisers of pleasure, hey **, off they go!
As when the tide is in they cannot walk on water.
To hold posh debate on the final score.
To muse of experience just left at sea.
Guess no groundsman needed and pitch never weeded.
(c) Livvi
Yes it's true annually they hold a cricket match in the middle of a sandbank. Not far from my home ! English eccentricity eh x
Mar 2014 · 252
Last Post Sonnet
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Hear the voice under the door.
Somebody saw a little sense.
We need this crap no more.
May the curtain not be iron, just a wooden fence.
Pray the barriers are broken down.
Politics with barren face.
Wipe away life's frown.
Mongers of war, a flaming disgrace.
Let the world be blessed with the joy of peace,
Men of power let us no more fret,
Life from threat of war release.
Think before thy doth regret.
The world is a beautiful, but troubled place,
Save us all, the human race.
(c) Livvi
Mar 2014 · 382
Mind your own Business
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Fear the clicks of a million minds worldwide.
All working overtime.
As the clocks tick tock ,the winds of war blow.
Passions blasts from east to west.
The guns throw fire in anticipation of aggression from the heart of a world missing sunlit dawn.
Destroyed in the smash of a meteoric catastrophe.
Brainless bundles of blundering brawn, hold the world to hostage.
(C) Livvi
Mar 2014 · 440
Mental Capacity
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Why, if we are humans with capacity to think, are we dragging our planet to the brink?
When Putin, the jester is spraying his magic.
His magic is black, spawned from the devil.
A megalomaniac, cruises the streets of the countries he's dying to defeat.
This jester's not funny.
He's killing the block.
(c) Livvi
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Take away thy words of war,keep them far away.
Bring back to us pure words of peace.
Let the world be safe another day.
We must secure the doves release.
Buckets of bad feeling.
Bring us not chaos.
Thoughts of war doth leave us reeling.
Governments don't give a toss.
No, more world fate sealing.
Take away all that's evil.
Our planet in danger.
Actions prompted by the devil.
Eastern block becoming stranger.
Remove the sadness, cure the sorrow,
Promising a bright tomorrow.
(c) Livvi
Mar 2014 · 3.5k
Daddy, I want a puppy
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Daddy, I want a puppy she said.
Eyes sparkled as wild diamonds.
Daddy obeyed precious daughters wishes.
Bought a her dog and gave her kisses.
Once he was an adorable puppy, with sloppy tongue and burst of nature.
Then poor sloppy, soppy puppy changed.
Well he didn't if  only you knew, his only offence was that he grew.
Suddenly wasn't a cuddly pup anymore.
Shoved alone in the garden.
He ate too much and bought with him  bills, needed walking over the hills.
Daddy was tired, and daughter grew too.
Daughter left home the lonely once puppy feels blue.
(C) Livvi
Mar 2014 · 522
In anticipation.
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
She walks parading her lump.
A whale with full frontal ****.
Her child is breech.
She is so concerned.
He is due to enter with grace, so shortly.
In anticipation, she sits and waits and waits and sits.
Complaints of a niggling back and full wriggling belly.
She thinks she's understanding childbirth, as she's seen it on the telly.
Hate to leave her distorted by her own beliefs, in a crystal palace, sparkling sweetly in baby scented fluffy dreams.
(c) Livvi
My fourth grandson is due on April 4th, this is addressed to the not knowing from the knowing!
Mar 2014 · 695
Words of War.
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Stubborn as a stupid mule.
No flexibility.
Like playing games, with worldwide fools.
As a malevolent spirit, games of control ongoing.
Words of politicians, grating on eardrums.
Becoming noisy to extremes, let noise and hot air be all it brings.
Hurting mentally, tormenting with concern.
Let these dreadful threats recede!
(C) Livvi
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
The bucket got in the way,
Brushed it with a clumsy foot,
Over it went.
A whirlwind created.
Exploding flashing lights.
Several past love memories struggled out, somewhat bedraggled, slightly soggy.
Not a smile to be seen, but never begrudged.
The noise, it was unbearable, as a mighty fight broke out.
Extracted from that bucket, memories, a combination, good and bad, arguing with each other, trying to prove a point.
Those good memories flew out as satin butterflies, delicate and dainty.
The bad, as vicious angry wasps, getting in my hair.
They're annoying the butterflies, stinging them, making them really sore, tainting them with toxins, in a full on war of inflammation leaving feelers numbed.
The good memories outstanding, trying hard to tip the scales, still the bad  stole the equilibrium.
(C) Livvi
Mar 2014 · 230
SENSE
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
My books are on Kindle finally x
Livvi x
Mar 2014 · 501
Aargh!
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Good God I'm getting so *******.
I'm trying to pen an e-book or two.
Every time I think it's right, a comment comes my way.
I'm tearing my hair out and going berserk.
Not much time, left till I go back to work.
It shouts at me,hmm, you've got too many chapters.
What on earth am I to do.
Creating tragic e-books,  is making me real blue.
Looked really simple,but it's got like a pimple,
Irritating, annoying really irksome.
Think I'll stick to paper copies that way, at least I shall succeed with my hobbies!
(c) Livvi
Mar 2014 · 809
A Sonnet for a Lost Love
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Pray tell, what is this thing called blessed love?
Is it a gift to be cosseted in bright red felt?
A gift to be given from powers above?
Skin all wrapped in floral pelt,
Can we all find it ******* with a smile?
Between us n'er  let love drive a rift,
Only once in a beautiful while,
A present, a total gift,
Giving true pleasure,
Carried upon a waft of joy,
Love given at leisure,
For a beautiful woman, from an angelic boy,
As the tears created, caused their own puddle
Love got lost, she's all in a muddle,
The boy is 51!
Mar 2014 · 814
The Black Boy
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
The fire burned in the hearth upon a summer's day, in the land of  blazing abnormality.
The wire haired dog laid silently in his basket, without reaction.
Two other friendly dogs attended, but still he laid.
A silent half giraffe was stroked, he or she, was also still.
Herring gull swung in a cage, motionless and the peacock perched in reticence,  as he was strutted on the cabinet no more.
Half a seal poked its head out from the wall, while the antelope looked on.
And still they sat and chatted, not an eyelid was batted, as they sat and supped their ale, while the air took on the stale scent of musty beings.
The atmosphere in the place was tranquil.
Death, so obvious within this amazing place
Ghastliness of death, was somehow so respectful.
As they gainfully employed the taxidermist, who did a magic job!
(c) Livvi
I visited a pub and became fascinated by a bar full of stuffed animals, hence this poem. The pub was called The Black Boy and it is Winchester, U.K.
The two dogs were well and truly alive, so there were two living animals in the pub.
Mar 2014 · 312
A SUNNY SONNET
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Morning of beauty,
Sky clear and blue,
The blessing of springtime, kisses my tree,
Pray have a great day, both me and you,
The flowers are blooming,
The grass is bright green,
Bring us a package of glorious spring,
So clearly seen,
Let the weather stay pleasant,
With no sign of snow,
Lets us bear not the brunt,
May the flowers still grow.
Give us the sunshine,
As basking in sunlight, is just truly fine!
(C) LIVVI
Mar 2014 · 403
A SILLY WORK SONNET!
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
She sits in the dark,
As the darkness of night fell once again,
Sleeps in silence till the call of the lark,
While she sleeps, she lets go of her pen,
With morning comes the joy of work,
When the sunrises, she ventures out from her cover,
Work the thing, she'll never shirk,
With head in a blur, she there leaves her lover,
Her alarm clock, charms her out of bed,
Then she can leave her cosy lair,
So she can go and earn her bread,
After combing her silken hair,
Got to earn her daily pay,
Makes her money, so she can play!
(c) LIVVI
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
She sits in her chair with life's light in her eyes,
Lower body unable but a heart that's alive.
Brain full of fire not so long ago,but where did her legs go?
They were taken out by the fierce force of enemy fire.

He sits in his chair, the one without wheels,
With a brain turning somersaults, head over heels.
He wasn't injured, but disturbance was deep, as he bore witness to memories deep.
He drowns in the images in his mind's eye.

She cries for him, as a gentleman lost.

He cries over her cos, he never stops crying.
They once were a couple, so loyal and true.
Remnants of war made both of them bleed.
© LIVVI
Mar 2014 · 352
SONNET OF LOVE IN ESSENCE
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Pure love,
Not lust,
From above,
So unjust,
Pure touch,
So unkind,
Too much,
Can’t find,
True feeling,
Honestly true,
Left reeling,
Totally blue,
‘Pon love reliant,
Emotions defiant.
© LIVVI
Okay, so I have got my soppy head on.
Mar 2014 · 304
SONNET OF SUMMER LOVE
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Love can be stashed in a fair maiden’s pocket,
Love it in kind,
Don’t ever lock it,
Always keep her close in mind.
Love is a touch, that she wants very much,
Love her with diamonds, love her with pearls,
For onto thine heart she needs to clutch,
When deep inside your arms she curls,
Remember her always, deep in thine heart,
In your arms she found paradise,
As Cupid’s arrows did her dart,
Darling be not cold as ice,
Bring forth the seer,
When in the summer’s meadows, at noon dost thou roll.
©Livvi
I think it's sorted John ! Never missed  out lines before must be getting tired! LOL
Mar 2014 · 1.2k
SLEEPY SONNET
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Tis the evening,light has faded,
Night creeps over the land,
The lights of the street, my world have invaded,
In need of the beauty of dreamland.
Need to find my lover,
The one that I call my lovely, lovely  sleep,
My lover  lives under my cover,
Carries me off so deep,
As into solo sleep I drift,
The place I rest my weary head,
Between me , myself and I, never a rift,
Best place in the world my bed,
The morning will soon find me, wake me with a morning kiss,
My last day off, Sunday, the one I can't miss.
(c) LIVVI
Mar 2014 · 366
A SPRING SONNET
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Sweet song of the morning,
Bring forth wishes,
Of sweetness of sunshine, forever be dawning,
As a day anew grants sunny kisses,
Sunlight greets thine eyes,
Aft  all stormy weather,
And the windy blast lies,
From thy wind safely tether,
Pray thy sun shines the morrow,
And the rain not more come,
Bring no more sorrow,
May the wind stay dumb,
Bring summer time in with warm touch,
Pray winter begone spring is needed so much.
(c) LIVVI
Mar 2014 · 819
PERCEIVED SILENCE
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
In a house full of silence, a cavern of whistling sand, a repetition of sonic echoes.
Running through the shiny conch shell of the sleeping eardrums.
A timpani of tinnitus, an obstacle to rest.
Insert a set of headphones, just to help you sleep.
May drown out the pure white noise, as voiceless silence so annoys.
(c) LIVVI
Mar 2014 · 240
WHY?
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
The sunset lodges behind his eyes.
The antique man of quality, who once lived down my street.
Now, he stipulates a will to stay inside, his dying eyes still open wide.
No tears are left to cry.
He already cried an ocean, from the depths of his lagoon.
Shed as falling leaves, just after his sweetheart died.
His wife was a wizened old soul, who'd stooped as she moved.
Her inefficient stiffness apparent just before she she died.
He wishes that morning would arrive.
So he could maybe join her for another sun-drenched day.
His body lives on, in defiance of death.
He wants to fight no more, but his body, he feels unjustly, is caught in the puzzle of life.
He sees the reaper call on his friends, almost daily, but his turn always seems neglected.
He reminisced, once it was said "only the good die young."
He didn't believe he'd been that bad.
"Missus must've been an angel", he muttered under his breath.
And still he waits.
(c)LIVVI
Mar 2014 · 701
MORNING MOOD
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Sparkling birdsong christens morning, noisy, but not annoying.
Bringing with them a sprinkling of  effervescent light , applauding the day.
An electric spark, chases dying night away.
Reintroduction a brand new day, the prize of life, a fizzing Friday.
(c) LIVVI
Mar 2014 · 481
?
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
?
She, she is a ******* of the spoken word.
Words of reassurance are given with a smile.
She does prostitution, when she sells her words for wages.
She's really a misanthropist, she likes no human beings.
At work, she sparkles and grins, all  day,a staged act.
Until her pen can play again.
She says,"there, there, it will be alright, but there are no guarantees".
Compassion pays her wages, its such a sad affair.
She rather likes her job, but wants to stay at home.
She's paid for care eternally, but her love is given free.
Livvi
Mar 2014 · 542
A FUTURE
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Sunset of lace, clothed in burning red,  much cherished purveyor of spring.
Alluding sunshine's glowing grin bowing in attendance to springtime's morning glee.
The leaving winter shed no tears today, still the breeze, it was but a gentle stroke, chided cheeks with rose thorn scratch.
A white dove perched tentatively awaiting in potential peace,  it seemed to be in a bit of a tizzy.
It tangled itself in the hawthorn in bloom,  seeking escape from infernal gloom.
(C) LIVVI
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Stuck rigid in a land of aching knees.
"Cracking legs," twas once reported, in a manner of  flirting flattery.
Now fully aware that they're contorted.
Sensation of eggshell cracking.
In ridicule of youth these joints scream, in blazing pain.
Don't hurt when I'm moving, perhaps the voice of pain is shouting out,
"For God's sake don't sit down!"
Maybe, just maybe someone will pass me a joint!
(C) LIVVI
Mar 2014 · 617
CRIME OF CRIMEA
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
A feeling of fear engulfs the world, as the clash of the titans builds.
Who knows what's going on, while these supermen clash.
What is to be done?
The parental solution of nations as punishment for stroppy children,is taking all their toys away, with-holding their allowance.
Vlad, turned on his heels, as he poked out his tongue, at the powers that be.
Cameron,  acted like his usual snotty ****, hiding under posh boys hat,oh my God what a prat.
Obama thinks he's got it right, ready up and raring for a fight, a stallion whose got the bit between his teeth.
A situation of ridicule, based upon controlling fools.
What fear hides behind the spoken word on the world of  dashing Crimea?
(C) LIVVI
Mar 2014 · 401
NEAR SILENT NIGHT
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Sailing towards suburban station, on the evening train again.
The train gets caught on the evening breeze, as the sky wells up to cry.
That station, desolate and unsafe at night.
In the morning,  part my daily trudge, toward my day of drudgery.
A visit on a weekday; just past dawn, buzzing hub-bub, outside the raging city lights; where students irritate and  working people congregate, before embarking on the day.
The morning station with no service, save for a solo ticket machine and two phantom trains that come together; three minutes between them, once in an hour.
The city station,  has all amenities, mean ticket barriers, you can't escape those barriers, never chance a ride for free.
Suburbia, after day of toil, not a toilet or a coffee to be found.
The evening station's nearly dead, resting, waiting for the morrow.
(c) Livvi
Mar 2014 · 272
MY E-BOOKS
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Finally up and running ** On Lulu Market place.
www.lulu.com
Funny Bones,
Purgatory,
Enter the Darkness
Livvi **
Mar 2014 · 1.1k
BAD COMPANY
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
And the question is, what would have transpired between Sandy and Danny?
Should their paths maybe  not have wandered back into each other.
One hell of a collision, met face to face.
Sandy; cute Sandy, would she have settled with ****** Jo Bloggs?
Manic Danny, a soppy dude with heart of gold, around his revolution of teenage mates.
Did his life revolve?
Must of been his age.
Would Sandy still have been quaint, perhaps sickly sweet?
Whoever knows; after all Grease was just a movie full of teenage dreams and raging teenage angst.
Sandy;  would she still have been a corrupted wild child?
What would mom and poppa think?
Gee whizz, if this were real; perhaps her parents , well they might have flipped their lids.
They rode out of the movie on a flying fairground ride, did they stay together, or was it never ever?
We never found out, the faithful audience.
For in Grease two, no mention of Sandy or Danny.
(C) LIVVI
A silly notion of teenage love x LOL
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
An abundance of bluebells,they're painting my lawn.
A garden, a blaze with such lush vegetation.
At the moment, just a mere sea of green, not burst into bud yet.
When they do my garden will be wearing purity; freshness, dressed in a flash mauve overcoat.
My garden's more wild than my child, a daughter, near busting. Soon to oust the  fresh piece of life growing inside her; he the infant soon due to be born.
The bud of her belly is blooming, as like the bluebells he's soon to break free.
(C) OLIVIA
Mar 2014 · 827
Chasing
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
It's Sunday morning.
There's a crazy chase, it's dashing around the morning homestead.
The son, well not the son of God, although I think, he thinks he is, lays prone across his Sunday bed.
A silent home, so still.
The daughter, my beautiful beast of burden, rests awaiting her fruitful event.
My mucky pup is bundled under my daughter's cosy covers.
As both are a pair of bed lovers.
Puppy, her name is "Blue", reminds me of a bundle of rags.
She moves now and then but, only when her ears detect unfamiliar sound.
No-one can hear the crazy chase, it's just Sunday chasing onward into Monday.
Only the clocks are aware what they pursue, as they storm through the house, quiet as mice; catching only moments and using them up.
And so there went another one!
(C) LIVVI 2014
Mar 2014 · 1.6k
INTO THE MORNING WILDERNESS
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
The garden of remembrance sprung into life.
Yesterday's pleasant silence has died.
Today, the puffed up, speckled sky contains a breeze, makes all things bend.
They bend not or fall, nor doth the rain drop.
The breeze today tickles with touch of a child and the trees all seem to laugh.
A fox breached the morning at the break of dawn, almost rubbing his eyes and starting to yawn.
Back to his den through the long grass he ran, under the fence and through next door, looked up again and saw him no more.
Nipped up the garden a little bit wet; went out to seek his route of escape, followed his paw prints right up to the last, but with the daybreak there came a dead end; makes me wonder if I'll see him again.
Perhaps, just perhaps, he heard my dog, coming huffing and puffing off out for release of this morning river.
(C) LIVVI 2014
Mar 2014 · 906
THE HILL OF SAINT CATHERINE
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
A speechless hill enthused with history, stands tall.
Breathtaking,gracing the skyline of Winchester.
From the morning train, I see Lady Catherine in all her glory.
A toupee of trees on the top, discard leaf litter, as it tumbles.
Body of  plague victims interred deep in the hill.
An iron-age hill fort, a barrow minus wheels.
Teeming.
This hill’s alive with wildlife.
Steeped with history.
Stagger to the top of the beautiful beast, peep at the miz maze, a weird design.
Rest awhile, realise how beautiful it is.
Let peace be the only thing up there, to come and invade your space.
Well worth the climb, now to get down;  she's not far off perpendicular.
Gratefully wander down the man-made rickety steps.
Touch base, look up, further survey the climb you just made.
Relish those charms of St Catherine.
OLIVIA 2014
Saint Catherine's Hill is an iron age hill fort.  I go past it every morning on my way to work.
I walked up it once, but it is so steep, so I'm not in a hurry to do it again!
Mar 2014 · 578
BLOOMING TREE
Olivia Kent Mar 2014
Gleaming bloom on springtime tree.
Pure annual vision my lovely tree; showered only with precious sunlight.
For today, the rain and chill have vanished.
First vision of this year’s bee, bumbling over on the blossom tree.
The trees are rescued from harsh wind, now just a rippling breeze.
That beautiful tree is now set free,to bask in sunlight's touch.

OLIVIA 2014
Feb 2014 · 1.5k
PAYDAY
Olivia Kent Feb 2014
Waiting in anticipation for tomorrow to arrive.
Currently, tomorrow hides, it's lying sultry in the shadows, behind my cobweb eyes.
Tomorrow a day of bounty, falls from money tree.
Yipee!
(c)LIVVI 2014
Feb 2014 · 340
MORNING SLAUGHTER
Olivia Kent Feb 2014
Those bells of six tickled my ears, gently at first as the morning drifts.
Didn't turn them, off so they're throwing a tantrum.
Tantrum ongoing, my ears abused.
The noise is murdered, with a finger, euthanised, by the push of a button.
And now again, I rise.
(C) LIVVI
Feb 2014 · 528
SOLAR POWERED
Olivia Kent Feb 2014
"Paint it black", said the sun to the sky, as she faded away and started to die.
Today, no tears will be shed, as  the resting sun gets tucked up snugly, all ready for bed.
Termination of daylight, blacks all the windows out, at the end of the day.
Morning comes.
Bringing  with it the sunlight, reincarnated,magnifying the details of the new daffodils glow.
Blossom of hawthorn, almost ignites, as the morning echoes repeat  yesterday.
The world sees a beautiful dawn, again a true delight.
The Sun again, warms the atmosphere as the seasons change
Pursuing a romance, as winter, courts spring.
Sun has a temper, tempestuous, she bites back.
An angry sun, she turns her back on springtime flowers.
When thorns of winter, feed more icy vile storms.
(c) LIVVI
Feb 2014 · 727
MY ENGLAND
Olivia Kent Feb 2014
"England, ah."
Green and pleasant;  full of pleasant trees.
Cottages of chocolate looks, from story books.
Scribes from days gone by, using erstwhile language ,The Baird and Marlowe, E.A.Poe, to name but a few.
Poesy of poets, all rhyming in time, in sonnets and linnets, that tweet from the trees.
Towers of history, subliminal mystery.
Queens and kings and royal things, of palaces and promenades.
Our nation of knights, dames, ladies and gents.
Tatty old flats with extortionate rents, stately, homes and messy houses.
Farms of smells and beasts of burden.
Of pantomime horses, and grassy race courses.
Seashore and see moor.
(C) LIVVI
Feb 2014 · 659
Watching
Olivia Kent Feb 2014
In-vitro lumps and bumps.
The **** of the unborn mammal, rolls through amniotic sea.
Son unborn; procured, of Eve's daughter, rides the belly swelled.
Scratches of purple, stretch they engrave my honeys tummy.
Face of the unseen as yet, expectant in excitement.
Eager in anticipation.
By ladylivvi1

© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
My youngest daughter is pregnant, this was inspired after watching her bump in action.  He is due in April.
Feb 2014 · 571
WHAT WAS ONCE?
Olivia Kent Feb 2014
Once, my life I would have given, for the man of driven snow.
Purity in heart and crying soul, laced only with pure lunacy.
Provided by distillery.

He was beautiful, a gentle man, but, truly is a mental man.
My glasses misted with dripping love and body heat, bi-laterally
What a silly little girl I was, old and nearly grey, a wild child still wanting play.
In need of taming, but never whipping.
(C) LIVVI
Feb 2014 · 599
Tart
Olivia Kent Feb 2014
My words hang on a lemon tree, bitter and sweet, but swinging free.
A crust of pie, sat in a dish, tempting all to try.
Egg white and sugar, sickly sweet all fluffed up with air.
A combination of sharpness, a ****, just a little icky, but veritably sticky.
Shove them  in the oven, watch them puffing up, with peaks all glowing brown.
(C) LIVVI
Feb 2014 · 870
GAME PLAY
Olivia Kent Feb 2014
This fat British fellow.
His much inflated ego, rolls across the grass masked ground.
Eternally on the level, never obese, just jolly rotund.
Always gets given a present, the noble order of the boot.
Out for rough and tumble, very thick skinned always full of hot air.
Jolly good sport, a **** good catch.
Goes up in a volley or down on the beach.
Amend his waist, change his shape, abuse him for rugger.
After the match, can be a right ***** ******.
Anyone for tennis, a game for two on the court.
Snooker or a maybe good game of pool,
Silly poet lady, she talks a load of *****,can't get enough of playing the fool.
(c) LIVVI
A little nonsense for you x
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