Crux Ansata.(Ankh)

Fruitful union.
A gift from the Gods from days long gone.
The days of Greece and Egypt.
From past a Present,
For eternal life of love was given.
Belt buckle of Isis.
A symbol of stability.
Bidding given of true love.
Amulet charming,
Magical magnetism.
Giving strength and health.
Eternal love,
Eternal life.
Never to be eternal wife.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

The princess isn't really dark.
The light bulb it exploded.
Left  the poetic princess ,
with nothing but a spark.
The princess, she loves nature,
Flowers and fresh air,
Somehow that sister's twisted when she doesn't need to be.
Ahead the road is widening as she's heading to the light.
Walking slowly in autumn,
Seeking fresh daylight.
As the autumn brings with it winter chills,
The setting sun will fall,
From winter hanging icicles,
New snowdrops peep through the chilly crunchy grass.
The heart no longer breaking as crystal shining glass.
Perpetual changing moments, she is a jewel in one mans crown.
Her beauty sparkles wholly a fizz of lemonade.
With kisses soft as summer fudge,
Strawberry cheesecake and custard ****,
Remember when you next see her,
This pretty lady has a heart.
(c) Livvi

She shined at me,
through ample crowded skies.
She threw me a platinum smile.
She exuded a heart that shone like a stone,
a brilliant quartz crystal,
A purplish glow.
She seemed so wholly fully to pop.
A plane passed  her by with lights flying like a wild crazy kaleidoscope top.
A sparkling disco ball.
What an equation to be hold,
tonight,
my moon's not solid gold.
My eyes were transfixed on her so shining glow,
With her all seeing eyes,
how much does she know?
What's to become of civilization?
As her beautiful eyes,
May bear witness to such desecration.
I love her,
The lady Diana,
Entrancing.
Beautiful.
The queen of the skies.
My dear lady moon,
Oh to see through your eyes.
(c) Livvi

God Awful Row!

The night sky.
Illuminated bright, almost daylight at nine.
Restful feel hovers in the air.
Until the moment when Apollo arrived.
Delivered his prophecy.
Peace may reign the Earth again.
A lunatic smiles.
Grinning,
Who are you trying to kid.
Chuckling raucously.
The huntress arrives.
Diana chases Apollo through sky at night.
God and Goddess hitting the heavens.
Having a family spat.
About the state of planet Earth.
Diana being Artemis.
The sister of Apollo.
United they threw the lunatic back to Earth.
To cause chaos once again.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Kiss of Poetry

You tickled my fancy,
With poetic tongue outstanding,
Non compliant,
So demanding,
While your pen stood up,
Bleeding ,as she stroked me,

In classic rhythm,
Sung along in time,
Your words span wildly,
Out of control,
As mischievous child,
While diving deep in passion's hole!

Finding darkness in my light,
You paint it black,
I paint it white,
In unison,
We fight in muse,
A battle royal,
Stand strong against those who decimate our joy,

Poetic smiles in humour,
She makes us laugh,
Flirting hearts out of control,
Poetry, from glory hole,
She makes us fight without delight!
She keeps me sane,
She strokes my pain,
She never asks me questions!

Never ever questions angels,
We are blessed, with such treasures shared!
Dark side of the moon surprised,
While on poetic bike we ride,
Through created aura fantastic,
Feigning madness made in brains,
As warrior queen, Bodica, masquerading,
Escapading in dark trenches,
Met Iceni tribal folk,
In magical heroic mystery,
Unified declaration of victory,
Declaration that our lady lives in burning hearts!
Where only truth and trust remain!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

The loony chap struts in a mania of hurry,
So dashing,
Not as fairy tale prince,
His catatonic stance enhanced when standing static in panic mode,
Paranoid eyes cut like steel,
Quick and clean, untarnished though he's rather old,
The stranger passing down the street has a love affair with his can,
For they will never part......,
Another poor sod lives deep inside his pickled head!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
No I'm not insensitive very caring!
Just made a great poetic topic!

Diamonds lay upon the grass.
Catching sparkling lilac dew.
Emeralds strung on mighty trees, someone left them there for me.
They hung on threads of gossamer deposited by worms of silk.
The tiger hid under the tree, he's looking at someone.
I hope it's not me.
Then I noticed the mahout with his toy.
Hunters on an elephant, playing at being boys.
I thought to myself that I'd help that lovely tiger out.
They're very rare you know.

So, I made an awful lot of noise to scare the Heffalumps to bits.
My god the huntsmen were so ******.
The mighty beasts freaked out and ran like weighty bolts of thunder.
My tiger friend he walked away or maybe I  should say stalked away,
For I became the tiger's tea.
Silly me fancy trying to save a hungry tiger.
(C) Livvi

ODE TO BEING A BUNNY GIRL

Was born in 1963.
Chinese year of the rabbit.
Perhaps their horoscopes are right.
That old adage of breeding like rabbits.
In my case whole-heartedly true.

Maybe being a mouse, could be a little better.
Breed as much as rabbits do.
Tendency to live indoors.
A warmer abode.
Than living down a rabbit hole.
No household bills if you’re a mouse.

Me, the lady of the house.
Wants no contact with a house mouse.
Called out the team of pest control.
Poet lady real cold, wants a mouse eviction.
Mice still running round the house.
Causing family friction.

Secret agent.
Agent provocateur.
She's got herself a boyfriend now.
A human sacrifice to free.
Taken yet another lover.

Life chucked her on a rolling ball.
A downhill rat,she's running.
Cunning hits and crazy fits.
My God, that girl is stunning.

Thought she had it all and more.
Said cornflowers just ain't like like that, twiddling on the Bachelors Buttons.

Life chucked her on a rolling ball.
A down hill rat,she's running.
Cunning hits and crazy fits.
My God, that girl is stunning.

She makes no broken promises.
Stormy seas are for riding,
Forbidden to be free.
You who were perfection.
Crazy notion, love devotion.
Riding on a carousel.
For she's the lady Moriarty.
She's willing for the ****.
(c) Livvi

My World!

Welcome to my world.
My heart.
My brain.
'Tis a house of fun.
Where sunshine reigns.
Wind bubbles.
Grown children play.

So what do I do with my gift of life.
Have one lovely lover.
My heart him adores.
He too writes poems.
Scores and scores
Won't be his wife.
Never at least till the twelfth of never.
My precious time.
Hours upon hours spent at work.
Gee ****, mind numbing.
Probably makes me a ****.

When In my land of sanctuary.
My pen comes out to play.
Have an imagination.
Somewhat sublime.
Sublimate perhaps.
Very surreal.
Subsumed as poet.

Sometimes drift down Dante's way.
Poeish at times.
'Fraid God doesn't feature in my life.
Am spiritual, bit of a hippie chick.
The queen of love's emotions.
Enters my world as dozy notions.
Nothing else would I choose.
I paint pictures in oils and words.
The words are a little better.

Insular is my real world.
At work I'm so exuberant.
Indoors tranquil.
Give me pen.
Feed an me idea.
I will present.

As varied as the weather.
I am indeed.
Like my writings.
Feel free to read.
Now I open my world to you.
Come and seek my strange point of view.



By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Behind the smile lurks insecurity,
Within the eyes hid pain,
All living there insidiously,
Within the heart lay dreams,
Visual images that in head space dwell,
Seen when the body is awake,

When the clock ticks magic moments,
Resounding tick tock echoes,
Sounds all rattle through my brain,
Somewhat irrepressible,
The clock reminds me I'm alive,
Hearing all it's comments,

One thing I have noticed,
The clocks all sing in perfect time,
They start to sing so loudly,
Still in their perfect harmony,
When all alarms invade,
Announcing in their irksome serenade,
In unison screaming out in not so dulcet tones
Get up and make your tea....,
Very abruptly, very soon,
Another work day's calling thee!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Soldier of peace are you waiting in white.
With a soul that will not surrender.
A lost lonely being.
Not holy just right.
Do you stand brave in the face of adversity.
Fighting the cruelest of worlds.

Would you write for me.
Write with me perchance.
Construct words from crumbled dust.
Build a jigsaw.
More if you could.
Paint an image in words.
Acrylic or oils.
Sculpt me a statue.
Grand in wood.

Pen me a lyrical love song.
Compose me a honey ballad.
Without a bee to sting.
Rock my world with power loud.
Serenade me with guitar acoustic.
Send me up on a shooting star.
I'll do the same for you.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

For a few short months the in-vitro whale  swam.
Watched and felt from a distance.
He is her newborn, Moby **** broke free.
Left behind only bravery stripes and a little blubber.
Sometimes, more than blubber, wailing extremely.
Telling mummy, he's hungry.
(c) Livvi

Wheelers.
Dealers.
Back street concealing.
Double dealing.
Number's up by insane gear.
Killed by fear.
See those tears.
Rolling and falling.
Calling and teasing to those who use.
T.v dealers look ever so neat.
Smart suit.
Tidy hair.
Not like the scruffy skanky fella who deals on the street.
(c)LIVVI

Under The Bed!

Where shadows creep.
Nightmares lurk.
A child cries.
Fear not dispelled.
Sandman will not venture here.
For he too.
Is filled with fear.
In the secret land under the bunk.
A trunk.
What nastiness concealed therein.
If you're brave enough to move it.
Below it is a hole.

The hole descends deeper and deeper.
At the base of the hole.
Lives the Grim Reaper.
What could be unleashed.

Better put it back quick.
He won't miss a trick.
To put pay to all life on this magic planet.
That would give him such fun.

Should shove it back.
It is very heavy.
The trunk made of wood.
Padlock in situ.
Wrought iron in black.
With eerie designs engraved with strange runes.
Decipher the code.
You can't understand.
Perhaps they said 'leave well alone'.

Being a hero, an intrepid explorer.
Decided he wouldn't be able.
Dragged it out left it by the old table.
No desire to open the box.
Got his caving gear out.
Searchlight on a miner's cap.

Down he went,
Down down down.
Was dark and damp smelled of mould.

Rustling in the ether.
A sound he heard.
Fear set in.
Adrenaline rush.
Rushed faster than he.
Scrambled up the side out of the pit.
A lucky escape I am sure.

Dragged the chest back under the bed.
Shaking he fled back out through the door.
Surveyed the situation.
All was quiet.
Crept back into bed.

Covers over his ears.
Still shaking a little.
Never had a dream as thus.
What it is to be brave in dreams!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

And did those sorry feet bleed as you left.
Walking slowly.
Charismatic in their wake.
As oblivion so obvious calls.
Cherished dream of kindness died.
Not sorry nor sad.

A special kind.
Door closed locked tight.
Charitable ways disembowelled.
As vultures chew flesh from beautiful bones.
Discarded in sorrow's wake.
Pray not become forsaken.
For she shall not.

She will not wallow in lost dreams.
Woman will create anew.
Adam's apple choked him.
Drowned in saliva.
One long acidic flow.
Tongue twisted.
Virtually removed.

She wants no whisky nor no wine.
To live no more a silly lie.
Believing in nothing more or less.
Than wait and see.

When at seventy I reflect upon the love we felt.
The tragic wasted hands were dealt.
Without regret.
Be it alone or as one of two.
Poet man I shan't forget you!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

The Queue for the E.R.

The queue for the mortuary just waits and waits!
Building up the static line,
Consisting  of you and yours and me and mine!
May be static but, the queue space decreases erratically, rapidly!
Off we go, we have a crash,
Resus' in full play,
Screens erected, so no-one can see, a person who's losing their life,
To join the deceased in potential debauchery, be in heaven or hell,
Unable to tell,
Time controls destiny...dreams forsaken... maybe,
While waiting in line....time dashes, flashes...initial first births, creep in like rashes!
Growing and spreading all red and infected,
The nurses work hard, seeing no-one's neglected,
So might you make it,....will you recover, to spend the rest of your life with family or lover,
Whether the spirit runs free pleasant and fresh...,
or whether it remains ensnared in it's mesh....between heaven and hell if you're not getting well,
it's a terrible place so they say......purgatory!
The vomiting chick all covered in sick...makes all around feel ill,
The ***** old drunk who smells like a skunk, not had a bath in a month,or more,
The sad person indeed, did not not have a clue if they really wanted to carry it through,were they down,
didn't care in their hospital gown!
the gnarled up old dear, in her eye there's a tear, she doesn't even know why she's here,
the kid with a cut won't get off his ****, full of rage, irate,
In A+E some lives becomes extinguished,
while others make it through.....thank goodness,
Well it is said the queue for E.R, is truly pure hell!
Copyright, Olivia Kent 22/03/2013.

Candy drips from lips of sin.
Causes terror lurks within.
A masquerade of misery screams round once silent streets.
Lonesome spirits impaled by pain.
Noisy spirits cruise again.
Catacombs unlocked.

The dead on go unholy march.
For it is all hallows eve.
Where holiness hides under cover of dark.
Evil shadows leave their mark.
Imprinted on the sidewalk.
Paper chase of discarded dreams.
Strewn into the gutter.

Trick or treat they say on this most unholy day.
For this night will soon be done.
All good souls they shall.
Remember remember.
All souls day is the first of November!

Happy Halloween my friends. **
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

The Truth of the Matter! (Eye Surgery!)

Sparkling peepers.
Window to the soul.
Something wrong with eyes of green.
Blue or brown.

Got a problem.
Visit your medic man or lady.
Need a little surgery.
Get your pretty peepers fixed.

Go into the clinic room.
Feeling scared.
What will the medic do.
How will it be proceed.

In the gloomy room afraid.
Docs going to scoop your eye out.
Operate with it laying on your cheek.

Have no fear my dear.
It's all pure fantasy.

It is a physical impossibility.
The nerve controlling vision.
Is really much too short.

Indeed your gorgeous eyes of passion.
Can certainly be removed.

In a process that's ' enucleation.'
The actual name for it.
Truth of the matter when eye removed.
Will pop like soggy gel.

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

I am human.
Such a sad state of affairs.
Where in the world of dawning spring, the cuckoo calls and no-one cares.
Or maybe chooses not to hear.
Last year's bulbs are struggling out.
Seeking freedom.
Kingdom come.
Listen really closely, you may hear them shouting.

Death is tragedy in satirical French magazines.
Ice cold death, in local stores.
Offices and dodgy precipices.
Now in superlative support, the whole world screamed.
Praises be.
Four million people truly free.
Vive la France !
(c) Livvi

And the Ayes Have it!

Glance across near vacant room.
Elicit kind response.
Silent soul sits in the corner.
Twiddling with a skein of scarlet embroidery thread.
Elderly lady rocks on her wooden chair.
Muttering to herself.
Her nose in the air.
Small brindle puppy.
Curled up in front of the open hearth.
Sleeping peacefully.
Two people and a dog.
Sat in near silence.
The rockers on the rocking chair.
Swinging back and forth as if a metronome.
In a world of their own.
Taps time near silently.
Click clack.
Occupants look up.
Eyes of starlight.
Sudden sparkle.
Life apparent again.
Time moved fast.
A grey afternoon.
Sudden thought.
Said she, with nose in the air.
Like she didn't care.
Think there's a job to be done.
Need to walk the dog.
'Aye,' said the near silent one.
The heather called loudly in a blaze of mauve.
Aged lady.
Silent tear trickled down her cheek.
'Aye,' you have to in sorry retort.

Misses days walking the dog.
In the good the old days.
When she could still walk!
By ladylivvi1
Something different for a change!

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

The boys brigade are out on the lash.
Chucked away buckets of hard earned cash.
The missus she still sits sat home,
Insignificant as garden gnome.
Slides the bevvies.
Down their throats.
Lost somewhere between here and there and John 'O'Groats.
While little Miss Muppet's locked  safe up at home.
(c) Livvi

A Meeting of Great Minds

First vision of creature strange ,
In chill,
Iced day,
Pillar box nose,
Snow on his lips,

Primordial instincts all cried 'caution'
Loud at first,
Then the bubble burst,
Coffee, my cure all,
Answered natures glory call,
Calmed fears intrepidity,

Felt touch strange about this fellow,
This wicked poet's really mellow,
Swept me off my poets feet,
Jumped the train,
Hit his street,
This is all simplicity,
In truth filled with complexity!

Met a friend,
Encountered lover,
The ultimate one,
I did discover,
In continual writes,
We meet and greet,
Find it hard to be discreet!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

In the gutter she sits.
It's raining again.
The drain is calling to the bobbing twig.
The twig that she snapped from the sapling.

She's so bored,mummy's at work again.
Now she's sitting in the rain.
Ripples at the flow with her cheap laced up shoes.
Her shoes all stained with salty water residue.
Kicking at the water.
She truly is her mother's daughter.
Stubborn to the rotten core.
Mother's job is not too pleasant.
She's a pheasant plucker.
She always works on rainy days.
Her daughter knows not what she does.
Mummy says it won't be long.
You know she needs the money.

She oughts go home.
But she'll still be alone.
The owl in the tree at roadside suggests she finds a towel.
Great notion, but little lassie can't speak owl.

The sky's wide open now.
It's pouring frown.
Releasing it's stress.
Wet shoes, wet skirt.
Sodden hair, soggy vest.
Supposes she really should go home.
Her hair's just a dripping mess.
Soggy tresses.

Time to go home little girl.
Mummy may be worried.
(c) Livvi

Contradiction lies
Career dies
Lifes blasted hyperspace.
Voided rejection
Too tough arsed to mention
Lies of inventions, investigations.
***** flowers die.
They always do.
Fandangles and banners.
Crazy announcements.
Star chasing
Emaciated.
Emancipated.
Free dreaming with schemers.
Salmon wrapped with lemon juice.
Sprinkles loss lime peel feel.
Ambivalent flipping fish with slices.
Switching twisting blowing steam from elevators.
Temporary internet files.
Smiles through shut lips spitting orange pips.
Broken promises made from chamomile,
Silent Sunday mornings, should be for having fun.
Happy fell where sorry left, sorry is never enough.
(c) Livvi

Bomber command all set for a mission.
Reconnaissance and rendezvous, somewhere around half past two.
The sun beats down at half past twelve.
Fuelled up, all set to fly.
First command flew earlier.
All back safe and well.

Yesterday they lost a chap.
Jasper got nobbled by an English fella with a smoking gun.
A right good shot he got.
Got him from the blind side.
Crashed straight into a passing car.
Should've seen the wreckage.
Car crashed into another.

Sodding seagulls, real pests.
Tried to grab a  poor boys pasty.
Things got really really nasty!
English seagulls by the coast.
The father of the son, made the pasty stealing seagull another wholly ghost!
(C) LIVVI

It was getting late.
In a rush the customers flooded.
Desperate to make one last deposit.
Before the bank was shut!

The tellers waited patiently.
For all of them to leave.
Shuffled off in virtual silence to catch the last bus.
They were are rather knackered.
Did not want to fuss.

All feeling rather drained.
Looking rather pale and stressed.
Nearly all dying for a rest.

The bank was shut.
Fridge switched on.
One and one along they come.

Heigh ** (A/O )
Positive,negative.
What's your fix.
Or maybe a cocktail.
I'm sure I can mix.

Said the waiter in black tight tuxedo.
Crisp in white shirt.
I can see him you know.
Behind the bar.
Stood in the corner.
They tell me his name is Jack Warner.

Offers a warning to all the girls.
When running his fingers though their curls!

Gets those bags out.
Filled bursting with claret.
Passes one to the ******* the left.
She smiled fangs bared.
Audacious enough to believe he cared.
The emotionless creep in the immortal sleep.

Waiter turned round and smiled at me.
Fangs glinting in the light.
Obviously only electric.

The vampire bar became a tad hectic.
'Well me darlin', what's your poison'
I smiled real cute with a mischievous grin.
Reciprocal comment came out mighty quick.
Mine's a coke.
I was 'avin a joke,
Don't like them ****** weird folk!

'You ****** vampires make me real sick!'
Left the blood bank.
Like a bat out of hell!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Who.
Is this being alone and alive.
Not posh.
A usual female.
That she is not.
An idiots' brain,
That she has not .
Just unaware.
Who she is.
Or what she's meant to be.
She finds drunks, skunks and rampant punks.

A few with words in common.
So,
Just where does she fit.
In a world of made up pleasantries.
Generally full of it.
Her real life full of imbeciles.

She is really down to earth.
Dug them up.
Hell she is no snob.
Needs another with a brain.
Not just another flipping ****!

Converges with the low life's.
Making them believe they matter.
Increasing being snooty if needed.
Looking down her snotty nose.
In truth she is the same.

Heavens be praised.
They fell back in the mire.
Where all the dreams fell.
Enough time spent with drunks and skunks.
Don't know where I'm supposed to fit.
Guess no-one knows.
The crux of it.
Hell who gives a f**k!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

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

Swear that today a struggling, dripping bluebell was trying to pull itself from my sodden garden.
Could almost hear it crying out, maybe gasping for breath or struggling to reach the light.
Praying not for a landslip, to bury it before it's birth, the showing of it's dainty face not withheld.
You see, I live at the top of a *****, where water runs back to the sea.
So you see my home's secure it can't catch me.
Hold hope close at heart, that soon their bells of blue will ring.
Welcoming the spring.
(c) LIVVI x

I remember the ink you stuck under my skin.
You loved me you left me, so did it begin.
Your name is tattooed, lying under my skin.

You were the prince of ink.
A cuttlefish they said.
I have your name strung up my arm, but you and I are dead.

You drew pictures of love hearts and flowers.
Added your name,.
I sat in the parlour for hours and hours.
While you, the artist worked.
Weaving magic.
Sadly tragic.
Scars across my open heart.
When we left hand in hand.
The heavens poured their meagre scorn.
Those heart marks wouldn't wash away.
Never in a million would I ever be set free.
A Friday afternoon alcohol session,
My consort was the prince of ink.
He captured my arm, a permanent tag.
Labelled like a superstore, an advertisement upon his bag.
All the world, look where she's been.
Tattooed lady looks obscene.
(C) LIVVI

Have you seen what hides in shadows, so very very dark.
What is scratching away at the lies.
Leaving but a mere mark.
A flash of light in darkness lies.

What there lurks.
Illuminated only by the stroke of solo firefly.
Maybe just a speck of sparkle.
Lighting just one minute spot
Wants to dance a minuet but, dances all alone.

In advance of dancing goes to play.
Within fields of corrupted virgins.
Who only want their wicked way.

A lovely witch.
Entombed below the freezing  heart of winter moon.
Where winter roses dare not go.
For there will be no more tomorrows.
In pain of all  ex-virgins sorrows.

Upon a shelf was left such love.
Dropped in an acid bath.
To melt.
Watch it fizz.
The poor heart.
Love lurks in last years shroud.
That's what hides in the shadows dark.
(C) Livvi x

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

Bundles of circles, strung up in a ball.
In the fireplace close to the hall.
Ethnic and beautiful.
Really groovy.
A fear of grouped together circles and holes.
Distress in a ball by design.
Take that ball of trypophobia.
Throw it back me.
(c)Livvi

Anonymous!

Tell me what's her name my friend.
The one who stole your heart away.
Noisy siren, snatched your beautiful heart.
Entrapped in words ideal.
She powered by a pen.
Ignited by war my child.

Sometimes fired from summer sun.
Winter rain.
Hailstones biting.
Causing pain.
Sometimes cruel and vile.
Human love discarded.
Dumped on the pile

Words strung on a harpsichord score.
Lost love has a date with destiny.
Destiny wholly untrue.
Two anonymous writers.
Write day and night.
Sort of seeking recognition.

Potential footsteps lead to perdition.
Hope and pray not.
Their only prey is words.
My soliloquy she cries in solitude.
Solipsist by choice.
In her sophistication!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Wearing beauty of piercing blue.
Mingled with green.
From the corner of the eye appeared new life.
Into the arms of the new mother.
The protective all consumed arms of the new father.
Born early, a diminutive child.
All things bright and beautiful, a beautiful hymn.
A poem for you, for a beautiful him.
(c) Livvi

Wet Cheeks!

The ab dabs they screamed.
When she was leaving.
Walked out of the door.
Expecting much more.
Crying, dying in river deep.
Believed there would be tomorrow,
Tomorrow came not.
Only past a present.
Unpleasant gift of sorrow.

A million and one candid kisses.
Given away by the fool on the hill.
A legacy not left by free will.
Was not pursuant,
Not breaching the lore.
A total surprise.
In a ****** disguise.
Wait so strong.
For the sun more to rise.

Dying sunrise.
Flickered out.
Lava bubbles, as this witch she cuddled.
Her sorry heart as it sits alone.
She is a free bird.
As free as is he.

Last words uttered'I love you',
He states nearly silently.
' I know you do'.
Used vanishing cream to smooth out his wrinkles.
Disappeared.
Left only tears!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

TABLE DANCING

The family were sat at the table.
Dinner was served.
They picked up their knives,
they were coated with honey.
Picked up their peas,
Flicked them over the trees.
It was alfresco,
And they sat in the sun.
Naturally having bundles of fun.

The wasps invaded the honey clad knives,
Drove the men crazy,
as well as their wives.
Piles of sarnies, gracing the table,
With lettuce, tomatoes, and thin sliced cucumber.
Complete with slices of fresh cream cake.
Thought they'd try dancing,
"Bring on Swan Lake".

They all wriggled and jiggled upon the green grass,
the ballet got boring,
so they changed the beat,
now they're doing the rumba instead.
It wasn't the dance they hoped it would be.
So it turned into romance under the tree.

They sent the youngsters off to the shop,
so the time was theirs to bunny hop.
(c)Livvi

Take my coffee with sugar, teaspoon and a bit.
Have tea with no sugar at all, cos I'm a funny *****.
Don't eat very often,although I love my food.
Work  much too much.
Must be cos I love it.

Live in dress of royalish blue.
Which comes off as I hit my bed
Enjoying life only way that I know how.
With my pen in hand.
Me,myself and I are very rarely rude.
My persona unraveled, so now you read me ****.
(c) Livvi

Growth

From the dying firelight I stand ,
Burning embers fry my feet where I stood!
I stand in your honour,
Proud as love lives!
Life will thrive,
Nourished and nutured,
As natures' own dreams intended!

As crippled soul,
I am restrained,
Without you,
I don't love,
I want no love,
I know no love,
Other than your proviso,

Love could ****,
If I'd let her,
Hell,
I won't she has no holds,
She has no boundaries,
Strength in my honour,

No others have these causal effects,
Nobody could,
Tragic, nonetheless magic,
My claws rip at the tide of flowing love,
Scratching myself on the way!
Life is deathly in dark hallows!
Light will prevail ...no qualms!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
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In syncope she quivers.
Shaken up.
Lost all her fizz.
She's known all along.
All that glitters is not gold.
The silversmith came.
Forged a blade of silver.
For her to slip into her purse.
The blade in shape of crescent moon.

Ripped her heart to shreds too soon.
Wanted to keep it close at hand.
To breach no promises.
Not to demand.
Princess pushy.
Has regrets.
Would have a whole lot less.

If he should answer messages sent.
Then requests would be received.
Wouldn't be pushy.
No pushiness would e'er be shown.
There'd be no need at all.
Ignorance is bliss they say.
If only she had known.
She wouldn't have to moan!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Saw the man coming.
Bringer of warmth in a tatty old wagon.
Scruffy old horse with tangled once flowing mane,
Deteriorated into a matted mess.
Coal man's direction in perfection.
Old bay gelding standing patient at the road edge.
Waiting on the coal man to ducking into our yard.
Heard the cellar lid lifting,
He tipped the coal inside.
Asked him when I went to the gate.
Can I trot along for the ride.
Coal fella said "no time today".
Another day maybe.
Said "I'll see".
Never got to ride on top.
Times changed, bought coal from the shop
Many folk switched fuel to gas.
The coalman's assistant put out to grass.
It was the other day.
Sky shone brightly without warning.
A black shiny horse in funeral regalia.
Glass coach with a casket within.
Sign on the side easy to see.
Informed me that the coalman was free.
Driven away in a hearse,
By a friend.
Dependable horse.
Finale for he,
The coalman.
His end.
Reminded me of my childhood.
When life was peaceful and times were good.
"Tara coalman!"
(c)Livvi

Once there was Brighton rock, sent with love from Graeme Green.
My early life bore sticks of rock in candy stripes or perfect pink.
My young days were blessed by gift shops and cold cafe winters and buckets of sand.
Paignton, one of several beach fronts that I had encountered.
Another  beach I met when I was wee.
Was lovely Weymouth, stocked with historical regency.
Upon the sands was to be found a perfect sculptor played with sand.
A maker of  the sphinx,and of cars and crowns.
Stole all the little children's tears and frowns.
Built Neptune complete with his chariot and maybe just another modest castle.
Almost fit to suit a modern day queen.
Mr Punch and Mrs Judy.
The puppeteer's hand shoved up both their bottoms at once.
Poor knackered donkeys plodded.
Their bridles labelled with their names.
All gone now.
Think the animal rights brigade may have stepped in there.
Punch and Judy deemed inappropriate and the sandman left.
Guess they put him to sleep or maybe they're just taxing his sand.
(C) Livvi

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