"southampton" poems
Post person or whatever.
Always turning up.
Regardless of the weather
I feel for the postie upon this chilly day.
Relied upon to bring with him, all Christmas in his sack.
Bringing bills and festive notes from Southampton to John'O'Groats.
No suprise from Santa Claus.
Just a chilly postman going to the doors.
Through rain and snow the postman goes.
Trotting with his smile intact.
Waiting for Christmas to come around again.
His mailbag always laden, that's a fact for sure.
I wonder when the day of e-cards supercede.
The postman may redundant, not coming to my door!
Thank you post person,
You do a vital job.
(C) LIVVI
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 11:27 AM UTC
Champagne and cup cakes.
A Cornish beach with rippling swell.
Love be cultured as a precious pearl.
Where love be found with special girl.
Projects full of rich intention.
Health.
Wealth.
Happiness.
The air is filled with childhood squeals.
Summer flicks on the crown of her hair.
Children ride horses with the sea on their heels.
History steeped at the top of the hill.
Empty mines.
Cleared of tin.
In the county, where Poldark first made his mark.
Country delight?
Nah.
A county in England.
Better not tell the Cornish man.
Kernow man's birthright.
The sovereign state of Cornwall.
Not all of the Cornish men have seven wives.
Nor do they live in the land of St Ives.
One wife is enough for most.
Your spirit in Southampton, now merely a ghost.
(c) Livvi
Good luck.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 7:05 AM UTC
The Crow flies.
Along the 5th motorway car to car,
Past the French coast flying,
Flying.
The ***** black winds, worn and battered
From the ride, the constant ride.
Truck to truck, warm to cold, stranger to friend.
Friend to Comrade.
Preaching my Gospel of love and peace.
The time has come for love and peace.
But the Crow still flies,
His nest destroyed long ago
His brothers and sisters scattered amongst the wind.
The cool, harsh, stinging sea air wind
Of Portsmouth, Southampton, Bristol.
Goodbye, so long, see you soon.
The Crow flies again,
Protected and blessed by Elohim.
The meditating Crow,
Calm to fly once more.
Is this the last?
He promises yes but his heart
Says the opposite;
Fly Crow ‘till you find a better world,
A peaceful world,
A loving world,
A Crow’s world.
So fly Crow,
Fly away and fly safe,
Preaching in the wind,
Travelling in the wind,
Crowing in the wind.
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 5:57 AM UTC
Southampton Docks: October 1899
Here, where Vespasian’s legions struck the sands,
And Cendric with the Saxons entered in,
And Henry’s army lept afloat to win
Convincing triumphs over neighboring lands,
Vaster battalions press for further strands,
To argue in the selfsame ****** mode
Which this late age of thought, and pact, and code,
Still fails to mend.—Now deckward ***** the bands,
Yellow as autumn leaves, alive as spring;
And as each host draws out upon the sea
Beyond which lies the tragical To-be,
None dubious of the cause, none murmuring,
Wives, sisters, parents, wave white hands and smile,
As if they knew not that they weep the while.
1.7k
as one famous founder of a site
citing its demographic as:
poor girl seeks a sugar daddy
to get a university education:
'love is a concept invented by
poor people,'
i agree, and also invented by
the one who was crucified,
but i might add: insanity is a
concept invented by rich people...
esp. those people who's
children are ready to embark
on a career in intellectualising
stiff psychiatric nouns without
clear verb examples of behaviour,
and the public en masse dilute
"serious" psychiatric investigations
of mood swings et al. with
poetic elasticity of metaphor -
it's no longer: oh i'm so sad...
it's oh i feel so depressed... that would
make perfect sense in aviation
history - given the 80th anniversary
of the spitfire (spuckenfeuer) over
the skies in Southampton -
subtler and more positive expression
of alcoholism? just a different type
of metabolism, water (adam's tonic)
doesn't exist because it's all contaminated...
aviation depression compression,
high in the altitudes of 16,000 feet,
then looking down at ants on the pavement
with their labyrinth rivers of blindness
and then buckle **** it hits you,
the sea of humanity.
Mar 5, 2016
Mar 5, 2016 at 2:02 PM UTC
I got no strings
to keep me here
though born of earth
of mother brown and father white
bored I listen to music:
"you're so natural - you're so free" "I'm seeing red'
"thats when I reach for my revolver"
it happened in Southampton
("say you don't want it").
Later,
holed up in
brick and stucco prisons that last
a lifetime
there wasn't much to do
when there was time to do it
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
I ran across the car park as the train pulled away.
The wind blew into my face and made my eyes water
And with it came the smell of hot oil and metal
That stung my nose
And it lifted me.
It picked me up
And placed me on the platform at Southampton station
8 in long socks and a blazer.
Holding my mothers hand
The station master grinned and sweated,
Grime on his forehead
Smoke on his breath.
He pulled off the cap
And the cylinder gushed
A cloud of ***** steam across the concrete
And I hopped back as it touched my legs
All aboard! All aboard!
Pushed forward
I stepped up
Looked up
And eyes smiling he lifted me
Across the gap at Southampton station
Unsteady as the train shuddered
My hand clung to the rail
Through the door I faced a forest of legs
And black shoes
And briefcases
People were so much bigger then.
I turned
And through the doorway
She seemed so much further away
She waved and blew a kiss
And I just stared wide eyed
As the station slipped sideways
And the gaunt faces of the other passengers
Became a blur.
Oct 7, 2013
Oct 7, 2013 at 4:53 PM UTC
Southampton, Liverpool, Bournemouth and Hull
Places in England that give you the pull
going by ****** or National Express
Wherever you want it can cost you less
booking in 3 or more months in advance
lets you see scenery takes only a glance
from down south and London and places above
get into Scotland you'll need to wear glove
Cross the border and hear the sound of the pipes
or get into wales - a choir - ooh cripes
a sound that gives you goosebumps
a sound that makes you cringe
keep going north my friend
and watch the Edinburgh Fringe
Feb 4, 2018
Feb 4, 2018 at 4:31 PM UTC
Welcome to Southampton.
My home.
From the bowels of the ground.
Roman history found.
Bones of legions of soldiers, interred.
Trinkets, medieval of iron and brass.
Safely locked away undiscovered.
The city underground, now found.
An excavation of city life from ancient days.
Museums forgiven for Victorian remnants withheld.
Now set free for all to see.
Delivered Titanic in majesty unto evil seas.
Where devils of ice took a chew from her bow.
Reflect on what became of her now.
Where folks sang in harmony, as anchors raised.
Her magnificent glory, all beauty praised.
And children played on the quayside.
The future was locked and lost at first berth.
Monsters of seas snatched her from Earth.
My city my home.
Steeped in histories mysteries.
Kept safe in the diaries of time!
(C) Livvi
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 3:55 PM UTC
XV
God almighty,
Have you ever seen such
a gorgeous vessel?
Linin’ up before it makes
all us lads from Southampton
gleam like steel ourselves
--right, and westward we go
Maybe this’ll be my ticket,
men
to a life worth living above ground
wherever this miracle ship sails me
I’ll go
just the sea and I.
If I marry someday,
it’ll be a **** near sign from God.
I’ve got me a lassie back in
Donegal,
Pretty as they come;
Her hymns are as soft as angel
Wings
In a world too cruel.
Yes, I’ll tell her
soon as I reach shore
but for now, It’s westward
I go…
Mar 11, 2017
Mar 11, 2017 at 3:41 PM UTC
Today I took time out on my way home.
I sat on a pavement by Southampton Central Station.
I missed the bus home.
Talking to a homeless chap
I started talking to him
You guys all know me.
What are you like?
I hear you say.
He was straight, he said, "I am an alcoholic".
Good on him for honesty...and no.
To those of you who actually know me in the real world.
He is not, nor ever will be my boyfriend.
Had enough of those described as societal dregs.
We talked for about 20 minutes.
I told him I was a nurse and a poet.
He asked me to read to him, which me being me did.
I know it doesn't surprise you
I'm shockingly kind and just a little bit stupid.
He was mesmerized by my words.
I got to the last line.
He thanked me for making his day brighter.
And on that last line.
I hope you all had a great day.
I did.
I got a brand new granddaughter.
Welcome to the world.
It's a joy to be alive x
(C) LIVVI
I read FOREST OF ANGELS to him.
My new granddaughter is really sweet and my grandsons all blow my mind **
Jun 22, 2015
Jun 22, 2015 at 1:35 PM UTC
.*even the norsemen fathomed a disgust for encouraging **** and cannibalism, even if it was: christian metaphorical*...
the air has a whiff of soap in it,
unlike the casual association of bourbon
to a brothel...
the air... nearing the end of spring...
at night...
and it has the scent of soap...
scent of soap: a liquidated toll of melting,
butter...
but with perfumery additions...
like... once upon a time: squeezing
lavendar...
molotov chamomile?
seriously... a bottle of bourbon can remind
you of visiting a brothel...
but... the night...
remidning you of melting butter,
butter infused with chamomile?
night-time... and soap... soap...
no angelina jolie salt...
no salt: all, about... soap!
seriously, is it chamomile soap?
it's buttery glue sickly snort...
"doodle"...
and when all
the president's men...
oh when all the president's men...
go marching in...
oh when all the president's men...
go marching in...
oh when all the president's men...
oh when all the president's men...
go marching in...
the president's men,
the president's men...
go marching in...
i want to be, in that, tabloid spew!
oh when all the president's men go
tacky 'em 'selves in on in;
i want to be in that "'umber"...
because otherwise
the sun would never...
try being smart...
contra the tabloid press...
i want to be... in that header...
oh when all the president's men
grovel, at ever, having marched in.
you either learn the flute:
or you learn to play the tongue -
the equivalence of music here
and the equivalence of music
throughout...
i had to toy with
diacritical marks because
i wanted to be less jealous of
people able to read music
script;
it's not that poetry became a lesson
in elocution:
but being able to make
the distinction,
in that english has
dyslexia while polish has
orthography...
and there's always
a democratic complexity of god
to return to.
then again i do slur when it
comes to practice:
but that comes from
having observed:
the eyes read more than
the tongue bothers to recite.
yet the crow is
persistently consistent with
its croaking:
as i will be: adding accents...
not for a reason
to agree with a uniformity
as the end results:
it's just that i don't like eating
food cooked by other people,
a friday night's fish & chips
cooked by turks?
Jan 15, 2020
Jan 15, 2020 at 5:53 PM UTC
as they say: greater the ***** bigger the morion;
yep, i'll napoleon that,
half a hoof in the cobblestone trot
with the horses crab walking in the sidelines;
oi ref! oi! yellow card! offside! ah no bother,
he's the general of the insolent crowd anyway:
in song: southampton - oh went the saints,
oh when the saints go marching in...
be in that number, be in that first eleven i'll be
leather globe kicking i'll be.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 9:16 AM UTC