Have you felt the tug on your nerves
Felt the constant ringing in your ears
Your hands jerking like a jelly bowl
And your forehead twisted like a wet rope
The feeling is immense
Its so deep its raw and intense
Those nagging tounges and blabbering lips
Can make you proclaim the right to ****
You twitch to maim and destory
That lingering itch to crack open a skull and enjoy

The cribber party is one of a kind
They are a mouthful and one ******* mind
Cute little dolls can be pin poked
But can the trolls ever be roped?
Hung by a nooze so tight
Given a chance you might even enjoy the sight.

Your friends out of devil's pocket may ignore you
The blueticks on your messages may avoid you
The boss will pick on you like a cheese *******
And the world will conspire and deride and jack you up.

Dont lose calm
Coz sanity once gone will give you a ****..
Your tallest of the four fingers
May be your motto for forever
You might pull of a crazy mind coup
On those pestering sons of cockroach

In the end
Its your nerves of steel that soldier on
Like an overloaded bridge under strain they hold on
Like an airship in turbulence you will ride it through
Some days are gloomy, some mornings can be sweet
Dont you let go, march on...
For there's a right to obey and a right to ****

A long trailer
In a sombre forest
Two young boys creep
Through a long corridor

One blond and fair
The other is sometimes mistaken
For an immigrant from India

The floor is sticky and smells
From spilt pink lemondae

****** Doo cries out from the TV
"Jeepers Creepers it's the Creeper!"
The two boys watch wide eyed
******'s antics and Shaggy's
Immense appetite

They giggle and scream
In delight
As a ghostly axe misses ******
By a hair

The movie is over and it's time to go
It's dark out, scarily dark
They laugh nervously
But jump into the large truck

Both clad in the trappings
Of young explorers:
***** sweat pants
T shirts with wolves
Hair bleached by the sun
Skin dark and freckled
Finger nails ***** from building forts
And muddy shoes from testing
If river banks are as solid as they look.

Prudence tumbled out of bed, straight into a dream.
The grass, so tall it was brushing her ears.
Verdant dancing through the scene.
Imagine it.
Her hay fever troubled her, 'twas mighty obscene.
A king sized snake went slithering by.
She  saw him.
Frightened stiff.
Was petrified.
She closed her eyes.
Dive bombed by a bumblebee.
Panic set in before her peepers.
Just on a pollen hunt.
Jeepers' creepers.
Sat down between the massive blades.
Heads in hands.
Really scared.
Panic burned.
Snatched her breath.
Tears of panic gushed down her cheeks.
Heard a noise.
A mighty roar.
Her daughter beating on the door.
"Mummy mummy,
you alright?"
Heard you crying  overnight.
Door clicked open,
Still her nose dripped.
And her eyes, still itched like hell.
(C) Livvi

Is there a reason

is there an aisle, for the pile, for just a while
a box, that holds rocks, and room for my socks
  a clamp, to put on my cramp, hold my stamp
   a day, when I can say, it's gone my way
    an eye, made for a fly, without a sty
     a flag, or a paper bag, to cover the drag queen  
      a goat, that you know will float, without a boat
       a house, for my mouse, a lacy blouse
        an imagination, for a nation, needing salvation
         a jeepers, without a creepers, and no peepers
          a kite, that flies alnight, until it's right
           a lesson, learned from confesson, without guessin
            a mole, in every hole, who likes rock and roll
           a nerd, who looks like a bird, that's what I heard
          an oil, our waters will boil, you've ruined the soil  
           a potion, or a lotion, that enhances the motion
          a queen, whos really keen, on old James Dean
         a reason, for commiting treason, in any season  
        a space, in this place, to put my face
       a time, to do my rhyme, is it a crime
      an Ull, unknown to Krull, whose blade is dull  
     a vacuum, in every room, or just a broom
    a way, to ever say, you need not pray
   a Xe, to strong for me, a trace I see
  a yak, the color black, behind my back
a zama, in Alabama, Phi Slamma Jamma

Gomer LePoet...

right now it can goo any direction thts the latest i can  tell

Jeepers Creepers
heading your way
I may not drive
but i'll hunt your soul anyway
a delicious treat
worth the run
can't wait for the rush
it's going to be so fun
darlin you're not prepared
for what I'm going to do
It will be worth not making it out
Alive at least
cuz I know you'll be missing something
and it's going to be mine
so what will you give up
what will you trade for me
because honey I'm going to take it all
last thing you'll remember is the fall
surrounded by feeling
surrounded by something
why don't you come find out
cuz I'm going to leave you guessing
the suspense almost palatable
you will know what you truly desire
but who knows if I'll give it
but I will take something
whether you like it or not
the question is
are you brave enough
to face the unknown

Terry Maguire was fond of a fire.
He was a kilnman in days of yore.
But not he's changed to drawing cream
To Tugmans of Teemore.  

When Terry gets up in the morn'
he eats his crumbs.
He tackles the mare,
There's no time to spare
Till he reaches Doonans and Gunns

And when he reaches Tugmans
He's in an awful plight.  
He says "Be jeepers the horse is mad,
I'll not get home tonight."

There were ***** carts and horses carts
And carts from all around
But none to compare with Terry Maguire
The pride of sweet Milltown
(author Gerry/Shem Gunn)

Close to "around the bend"
Proud to call a wall a friend
Posting letters others wouldn't send
Caring too much about the triple word score.

The trend or what's trending
What the be jeepers are you befriending
Could it be any more condescending
I guess peacocks are misunderstood

Remember when you had a list
You know,  when you were not ******
When we were all Swedish "tyst"
Drums, glitter,  blood and filo fax

How did it come to this?
Writing words on a padded wall
With ****...

STARTING OUT
Time is of the essence.
Egg timer sand broke free.
Feeling muddled up.
A bloodshot mix of me.
Like a storm cloud in bright sunshine.
A sandstorm in a hurricane.
A gift tag on the side.
It's labelled lots of love to me.
Missing the moments with everyone once there.
Feeling so broken.
Laid totally bare.
Fresh beginnings and frosty rose hips.
Mondays coming,bring it on .
A serenade of trumpets.
With flares and fireworks.
Accompanied by a xylophone.
Noisily.
Justly celebrating jitters.
Jeepers creepers.
My bricks aren't made of clay.
They're actually filled with dynamite.
Hold tight.
Tomorrow morning's coming.
Let's go.
Break on through,
I introduce the ride of my life.
(C) Livvi

Asteroid O’Belt Sydney Junction (Beer in Bar-Alley)
With the right words, you can make music on any planet of spatial arrangement. Dark matter keeps the balance of eccentric space, where a blue-suited handsome man, shines; however blackholes lurk to turn Spike Spiegel into a dream where he lives. Is it a dream or has he ever felt more alive than being back in the action with the moral courage that threatens his very existence Don’t forget he has a gun strictly for assurance. With warships, there lurks a year in 4050. 2000 years in progress, we may have evolved in terms of interactions. Fast forward, there are different people in whole new worlds. Like epiphanies, these characters take their place in the chatter of a celestial crowded cinema in downtown Shinichiro street.
The doctors chatter with dark undertones and hushed intentions:
“Well, it’s not like the phones are cheaper. Ever since we got their first. The phones have come sooner than virtual intelligence take place in this ghost.”
“The ghost seems to work actively.”
“Seems to be shutting down in fact.”
Shadows cast on the processes of entropy there many optimistic pursuits for the present.
But, in this modern civilization, what do we have the battles and gambles among the bounty hunters interested in staying in the loop of where the money flows. But, the real artists are the creators in this desert of opportunity.

“Woah, Spike.” – Spike hynogogically resuscitates from his cybernetic sphere
“Wake Up.”- Jet
Presentation matters but, the old technology rumbles in the cosmos among the old cosmopolitans you’ve had in your fruitful day at a casino of blackjack and bounty hunting. Somehow, Faye Valentine comes with a bang and a bad gun in the back. Holstered but focused on the game.
“Fold the chips, for you?”- bent slightly over the steep end of gambling. Mrs Valentine can’t seem to get out her mind her job as dealer for Table 2 in a hexagonal room of full-scale gambling operations.
Clearly, absorbed in the rattling crowds of these snakes in the rabble. Or maybe there are actually snakes. ***** it.
“Raise.”- Dewey Striker
“See that’s a million.”- Faye Valentine
“Let’s hand it to the strong gentleman for his courage, but, exciting game of Woolong and Woes or simply Poker”- Table 1
“Nowhere as good as these drinks are in Jupiter. If I win, I’ll write it all down in my journal.”- Table 2
“Probably, better to put myself out there at the right time. You raise too.”
“Earth’s building itself. Well, people are the same.” – Table 1
“Oh imagine, if we had more planets to destroy.” – Dewey Striker
“With that, money? Yeah, baby. Write down a cheque next time.” – Faye on Table 2
“To **** the one among us, who has whereabouts about a notebook that had all the people who have been linked to the death of Spike Spiegel killed would take us years.” - Faye
“What!” – Table 2, someone wins
“Nice try, but, that book’s all the history remaining of someone I knew.” – Faye Valentine says daringly.
“The notebook stays with me, until you have enough to buy off the notebook. I’ll start with 100,000 woolongs. How about that, missey? You know the notebook of all the accomplices that ever worked with a Doohan.”
“Do right honey, you’re lucky you’re in the right room. I need the information and I’m a rich gal.” - Faye
Spike and Jet in Discussion:
“Apparently, Vicious had barely managed to finish him off.”
“Do the others know?”
“Faye remembered, but, let it go.”
Recluse in Exclusive Reminiscences (Part I)
Jet & Spike completely lost in the intricateness of the bounty-hunting. Might be a terrible idea to eat bell peppers and beef. But, if you’ve got an aching stomach from ton of drinking and stairwell trips, you’re gonna have a hangover. If the Prairie Oysters were still not his thing, only thing that changed is that the more he drank, the less he liked the planet. For his favorite there had to be a special occasion like a bottle of the finest whiskey that the joint would serve from the golden days of heart-warming company in the heart of this Japanese place.
“Oh but there was one time. When I ate…”
“That was long back 4001,
Commandeer and imagine my surprise when the ole Siren, Jet. That’s his name; there was a need to rename Spike Spiegel to the old school be-bop that pretty much enriched the video star. There was a bomb, I don’t know what happened; there are piles of rubble and pretty much every bounty hunter missed it.
“Says, he wants to destroy a planet. Somehow, there’s some secret stone interwoven with the need of the hydrogen-powered machinery to change the deuterium in the accelerator.”
“Well, we could use the quantized possibilities and run an algorithm with the specific plasma type.”
“But, that would mean we would have to bypass the gravity field blockers.”
Simply put, there was some riff-raff about the bags in the first place. Kept them off the scheme of people who were idiomatic in their habits, and that seemed to do the trick.
“Well, the Francium is resonant with the cell rejuvenation heuristics.”
"So, go to Pluto. Where do I find the little kid? After since I got to you. The dog."
"Spike, Faye's not welcome. Leave her out of this business."
"We made it clear, but, no parting ways unless we find the guy who erased her memories."
"Yeah, maybe you could contact her. But, let's keep it straight."
"Fade into the television; before the victory is yours. Television is on an old couple of people who have coffee and beans; saying them both remind me of all the people I owed at the hot-dog store we just passed by."
"Might be a good idea, right?"
"You think so?"
"Yeah."
"What about Faye and the little kid."
"One of the most annoying kids. He'll find us if we surface on this awful map of nowhere."
"Well, we are on Jupiter. Everywhere is nowhere here."
"You've been here a while."
"The days get longer, each time."
"Yeah, what about the weather? Always turbulence in the skies. ****, it’s cold."
“We’re on the moons, Spike. We have air-heaters in our lousy, ******* spaceship.”
Jet, do you ever maybe wonder giving us a visit, here on Pluto. It was the farthest planet I could think of. Changing my life was great. I won't meet, and I'll remember you as a person, a stranger now in my own paralyzed heart beat. I can't feel my jobs get any more exciting. Vicious happened long back. God knows. Now, we steal back from society."
"God only knows." - Jet, baffled by no name of the planet
No name was given; however, that made Spike rather elated with the heightened discussions happening on Mars. There the assumption they made about their friend had concluded on Pluto. Here on Jupiter, you are always working with the better people to make a living. Too many moons, and further than the Asteroid Belt still lies the interstellar galaxy all beyond our amazing stipends. All of them, owe it to themselves, bounties are perfect to fill your midnight blues. And nothing to snack gives you the existential jeepers. Better smoke before evening kung fu time before you flow like water into the background of the Bounty-Hunting business. Once you're dead, you can't come back alive, but, freedom is a specious young kid floating in space and hacking your whereabouts. He’s about 19 years old.
“Your friends would be proud of you.” – Edward seems to have beat a chess grandmaster. The same old adversary from the blues of the old loss. Edward, you’re smart. Figure out, where’s Spike.
“Spike, where are you?” – Dewey Striker
“Can I help you?”- Faye Valentine
I suppose we must have misread the situation, but, the cross and frowning kid is not your f
Holding up a picture of Spike at the beahc.
“I wonder I should go back.” – Faye hurrying to her Casino table
Pack your bags and umph
You’re leaning into yourself, and the legs feel fine and the peak of my appeal seems to be, my whole package. But, even a gun couldn’t save him from someone she thought she lost forever. Spike was the only person in the galaxy who she knew was dead for sure. You can never tell in such a large galaxy, but, there are better views of sunsets in Venus. Did I want to die? When I knew he died in the fire of bullets and completely riddled by a long series of hovering flashbacks.
Story Part II (Continued Clueless And Moving)
The windows must open to a better life. Spike’s hungry.
“Well, your smokes are in the bag you carried. Didn’t bother stealing a single one of those Macintoshes you got from that place on Earth.”
“Jesus, man what part not touching other people’s stuff, don’t you get?”
“The part where it concerns us paying for the food stamps.”
Spike quizzically asks “Do they still do that?”
“Jet, don’t tell me we’re living off the previous million we had in woolongs. Not some ****’s mushrooms this time.”
“By the way, forgot to tell you. The recorder is on, I decided to get one of those VHS tapes.”
“Yeah, about that?”
“Hmm.” –Jet
“Faye got kind of emotional on the “day.”” – Spike
Government data shows that you two are bounty hunters. Those passing wormhole customs need to pay a price. See the sign.”Await your turn. Or pay up your woolongs.”
Jet yells at Spike, and seemingly hastened,” Seems like we have to pay up.You guys charge a grand for this?”
“You mean we didn’t come for more questioning?”- Spike
“Well, Spike we have to stick to what the customs say. And sure every single woolong counts as a bit of developed product. How about Mr. Agent? Do we get a free pass for a good ole’ blues gig?”
“Mr. Spiegel, please explain to your friend over here. You cannot go without the code for the customs department.”
“Spike, Faye gave us some sort of code in the back of the letters.”
“Seriously?”
“How did she know I was alive at the time?”
“Well, I told her you wouldn’t have survived the bullets. But, you could escape from the bloodiest gunfights in the history of this team.”
“Mr. Spiegel, I wonder if you would be caring to ask the services of our executives at your cryogenic storage?”
“How do they know, Jet?”- Spike
Turns out, the cryogenic patients are monitored. This is a sacred bond of servility to a life beyond the mortality of humanity and immorality of society. IN the end the immortality and the authenticity of your identity lives on. They called it the “Ghost.”
“Do they know about G.H.O.S.T?”
“Mr. Spiegel, we are getting late. Can we please finish this easily without involving organizations of vast power and affluence.”
“Growth of Hyper Oscillating Specimen Testing”
“Wait, what?”
“I mean we have to get out of here fast and we do not have time before Vicious comes and kills us.”
How We Escaped?
Basically, we turned to our best instincts as to whether a secret lurked behind the planet’s corrupt system. Jupiter had become a place of leisure, but, the alcohol was getting to our minds.
“Yeah, we checked names.”
“We checked faces, and no sign of those doctors.”
“The dream doctors seem like real nightmares.” – Jet
“Good one, Jet. But, having the nerve to ask the customs agent about Vicious really put him off.” - Spike
“Oh, man. That scared him.” - Jet
A cold beer was opened, and what happened afterwards is unreal; and as we approach our planet Pluto. We follow the invite, and the code is some sort of invite. If it was going down, me and Spike were gonna be there for sure.

I drove a Lincoln into the park
So I could bleed it out
Filling six chambers, this isn't roulette
Every shot is firing, I don't need the doubt.
You wouldn't like to see my perspective
Manipulating minds without even incepting
Repeating just for repetition,
Check the mission log, we were made to burn out.
Etching average into our blood since day one
Fighting for the chance to pick a different route.

This isn't social poetry, we don't socialize.
To see in my head, I need to perform a procedure
Then jeepers creepers, have new peepers.
Stopped following a preacher in every church
Each one had sins that outweighed my worth
Only to hold onto few, it's true, but for those I do
It's womb to tomb and birth to earth.
Who would take a shot for your being?
A nearly empty room fills the head
Of everyone who thought they had everyone
Still disillusioned, Courtney, get my gun!

Dead house felt like the realest thing I wrote
Only to still feel like I'm blowing smoke.
I judge myself harder than any critic
So if you want a pound of my flesh,
You're welcome to come and get it.

One garden variety generic male - the
very writer of these words feels akin
to an anachronism, whereby his being
alive at this juncture within the space/
time continuum (July 29th, 2022 – an
ordinary day) finds me mismatched

with the fast paced civilization – ink comp
passing the greater part of webbed wide
world, where premium placed upon
inherent strengths such as: supreme
abilities in artistry, athleticism, comedy
computers, horse whispering

(nay-saying patriarchal system -
particularly wrought courtesy
White Anglo Saxon Protestants,
whereby codas, dogma, edicts...
crafted to benefit mortals who
usurped land occupied by natives.)

I don't belong with any earthly age,
creed, denomination, nationality,
race, religion, et cetera, but consider
myself an outlier hiding in dark shadows
cast courtesy outer limits of the
twilight zone, a foreigner among strangers.

Aghast at explosive industrialization/
urbanization once sacred wild woodland
whittled away overlain bumper crops
comprising trappings green lighted
supposedly signaling progress unwittingly
overrides avast enclave (teeming with

diverse flora and fauna passively cleared,
dominated, expropriated by dictate of
commercialization, exploitation, fabrication
fueling amalgamation, fabrication, lubrication
oiling cogs and wheels sustaining, murdering
guaranteeing production trumpeted at

expense native flora and fauna acquisition,
cooptation, extermination, gratification
decreed ******* **** sapiens usurped
law of land i.e. eminent domain foisted
upon unsullied "new world" defining
European age of exploration, whereby

pristine undulating immense acres
indiscriminately partitioned, (despite
indigenous peoples unrecognized precedence
to remain holistic caretakers of Mother
Earth tendered, predicated, linkedin with
generations worth of sacredness, which

spiritual reverence meant naught to
unwelcome trespassers solely hell bent
to force acquiescence, compliance,
obeisance,... to warlords, whose cruel,
diabolical gall lee jeepers libidinal
incursions sought extinction toward

defenceless native inhabitants subject
to machinations spelling extermination,
yet their restless spirits infiltrate occupants
of once happy hunting grounds devoid
without a trace, when this bucolic tract
devoid of present schlocky vinyl zoned

abodes, whereby fast disappearing vestige
alluding to pastoral vista spurs overactive
imagination regarding yours truly, who
chiefly hankers he got born during
sparse population versus pell mell hustle.

Happy Halloween!
Happy trick or treating and go fetch some treats or tricks.
What is your favorite scary movie?
Mine is Jeepers Creepers 1,2,3.
Whats yours

Hard knocks Methacton school alum
ofttimes finds ruining his fate
while squarely planted on me ***
nevertheless felt rightly triangulated
flashed mobbed by disheveled and unshaven,
foo fighting beastie boys
whereby their gray stubble encrusted
wayward synonymous days old crumb -

after getting wolfed (re: gang lions)
as delectable entitled treat
buttered fingers drubbing upon tabletop
analogous to playing a drum
oy vey, yours truly cannot believe
he ate the whole thing -
thus feeling bloated and glum
giving way (rather succumbing)
to Sir Isaac Newton's
first law of motion first law
a body at rest stays oh so ** hum
inclined to remain supine
and comfortably numb
able, eager, and ready (reddit)
to down tumblr full of ***
argh go sum... my poor tum.

ALDI GIANT supermarkets
(within small radius of miles
from me Schwenksville, Penna abode)
sell delicious delectable treat
goading, inspiring, and spurring me
to craft poem essentially
patronizing manufacturer,
whose skilled food technicians
engineered absolute winning dessert

courtesy their natural born talent
schooled (most likely at culinary institute)
possibly supplemented insync
with advanced degrees
at other institutions of higher learning
after various and sundry
trials and error with plus or minus
marginal limits of tolerance
concocting mouthwatering secret recipe.

Lemme use hypothetical situation
to accent chew ate,
how alluded dessert tastes great,
especially when rumble in tumbly
clamors for glorious goody
regarding appetite to satiate
unfortunately circumstances
force your truly to wait.

If (the following
constitutes far fetched scenario)
stranded on a desert island,
I after falling to Earth
when parachute fails to open,
weighed down by an excess of
Daiya vegan non dairy cheesecakes,
would finagle an empty pie tin
flashing aluminum dish higgledy piggledy
to signal an oinking porcine SOS
think jeepers creepers
knowing my luck being abducted
by an alien cannibalistic, gnostic,
narcissistic life forms,
who quickly abandoned me

subsequently left to my own devices,
(where you dear reader
would discover one humbug),
I would be forced to scrounge around
rubbing two sticks together
to create warmth
plus distilling oils -
derived from edible herbaceous plants,
whence I would *******
(not prematurely) - olé
to sauté said collard greens
with wild mushrooms.

Why all these poems?
Quiet desperation.
I am a troubled soul
Silent meditation

Hair handed monks
******* peepers
Disappointed Platonists
Hey now jeepers creepers

Gotta work today
Didn't get much sleep
Maybe later take a nap
Dreaming of the Deep

Dumbfuckistan
America goes down
In Dublin meant to be
When Love Comes to Town