Haunted by the image.
My brother?
Not mine...
Her brother's not innocuous.
Sings songs of strange lusting for blood.
Half-dressed man seeking blood of humans.
Dressed, half- dressed in a way that's  disturbing.
Dark haired immortal.
Stuck in a coil.
Unrelenting spring.
Whatever evil doth it bring.
A vile of disguise hiding in the catacombs.
Waiting for the free.
He's hungry.
Lustful soul.
Where are you walking tonight?
(C) LIVVI

Suicide's not painful for the wearer or the bearer, those ones left behind.
I found him crying, dying of broken hearts such twisted lies.
Darkening skies and diamond eyes.
A piercing infatuation,sweet greetings, insincerity hanging from the cherry tree.
Now free.
Hurting with sheer human pain.
Once before, never again.
Last words be spoken unto me.
Suicide,pesticide, devils' fodder.
Daddy, sad no retribution, love long lost without emotion.
The candles burn they really blaze, lighting the archway.
The entrance to hell.
Suicide's not painful for the bearer or the wearer, or any of the victims friends.
Depend on friendship as a favour, friends of victims of disenchanted by a visit to the one and only, last chance saloon.
(c) Livvi

Thought maybe growing up, would mean tumbling down the slippery hill.
Lose my goals beneath my feet.
But I didn't.
Keen to be an adult.
Do what the big girls do.

Maybe I did, maybe I didn't.
Sought out controversy.
From the land of fools.
What I got I did not want.
Thought I did .
I didn't want it really.

And did those feet from ancient times lead me in the wrong direction?
Maybe they did, maybe they didn't.
Finally at the juicy age of fifty.
Am not stumbling or tumbling.
Nor tripping the light fantastic.
Found a pile of discarded *******.
Finally threw it in the bin.
Once missing, now recouped.
My long lost self-esteem!
(C) LIVVI X 2014

Mom I think we want ourselves.
To be left alone to proudly fight.
We have love, we have life.
We have shadows, but they're kept behind our private veils.
Slugs leave trails in the minds of the deceived.
Life is deception.
A declaration.
Maybe true  love exists but only once.
We were created from a tapestry of ancient stitches tightly sworn.
We are held upright.
We are searching through the tunnels of our gorgeous minds.

I wonder, if we search whatever can be found.
And now I eat.
(c) Livvi

My poems,
well sometimes they cry,
they argue with each other about today's poetic topic,
sometimes they shout at me,
write no more dark,
I smile back at them,
saying, sorry nicer poems,
but dark's my trade mark!
I'll try to do sweet stuff but I find it hard,
sometimes they're crazy,
sometimes they're not,
I know as many big words as the rest of you,
but I love simplistic,
people who don't write poetry,
understand my basic simple lingo.
I can paint a picture of a million complexities,
what's the point I say out loud,
you just like reading me,
I do short poems normally,
on a mish mash of weird topics,
If I wrote buckets of fancy words,
Guess I'd just get bored!
(C) Livvi

My life is flashing away, rapidly before my eyes.
Scheduled for an operation tomorrow.
I have to hope that I don't die.
Shaking like the lava trapped, bubbling beneath the volcano.
I guess I'm fit to burst.
Oh dear.
I'm scared.
Never the same when the nurse is the scaredy cat person.
(C) Livvi

The clam in his shell wedged shut.
Receptive to nothing but saline flow.
The flow of hidden tears.
Been building for years.
He shivers and hides in the gloom of the depths of the poisined mind.
The clam locked up in his unthinking mind.
What does he find.
Nothing and nobody cares!

Strands of ridged ribbons,
Neat bows on nightcaps.
Slippers on floor placed neatly at bedside.
Bed socks and nightgowns,
Laced up to the collar.
The man says we're in for a chill this winter.

Covers pulled tight up round their neck.
Bed lost it's *** appeal.
So cold.
Still trying to feel.
(c) Livvi

This morning,
I watched a moth,
a tatty brown moth,
struggling to be free,
it's wings were sodden,
it couldn't fly.
From that,
I drew the equation of struggling to work in a fast food joint.
Struggling to prosper,
to be set free,
to relax.

Poor creature,
It was fighting hard,
beyond redemption.
It was lured into the death trap of light,
as it buzzed into my kitchen overnight.

The moth was drowning,
so were the restaurant workers.
the workers have no breathing space,
they can leave at the end of their shift,
it's not the end of their tired lives.

Both struggling to break free,
Inevitably, the moth will expire,
The staff at the drive- through,
might get second chances,
unlike the moth from the night light,
they continue to dance,
at the end of the day,
as they flit away,
an honest days wages,
bought a few pennies pay,
they can scrawl in their journals,
tales of the days,
not lazy days,
The days, when they worked at the fast food joint.
(C) Livvi

The father, the son and the holy ghost.
Burning bread which Satan bakes.
Three sit together,united as one, making most wonderful holy toast.
Demonic one, in his dominion,always baking, making cakes.
Spreading their toast with salted butter.
Devil bakes cakes, for a society wedding.
This poet is a freaking ******.
Last major cake that Satan made, was for the wedding of Otis Redding.
With qualifications, in cake making,a master baker, so I'm told.
Heats up his red hot fiery oven.
Melts down pieces of eight and gold.
Always makes a baker's dozen.
Cooks meals for his minions, down in hell.
Satan the baker, hey dig that smell.
(c)Livvi

They come in their droves, hundreds everyday,
Grinning as ***** cats, chattering, aching, moaning,
Some they just grumble and mumble, with tempers exploding,
Complaining of parking, fed up with waiting,
What are you doing here Sir?
Sort yourself out,
Pick up thy bed and walk,
I can't he says with tears in his eyes, it hurts too much.
Come and visit us, get stabbed in the nicest possible way,
Perhaps, just perhaps, being needled will help to take your pain away,
Round the department, full of smiles,
Smiling nurses, smiling docs, moaning nurses, moaning docs,
We love them all, the sore patients, the chirpy ones.
The rough diamonds, the posh ones too,
Some go and shoot their mouths loud, about the service, they had got.
Most are grateful, some are not!
(C) Livvi

The bushes are blushing Blackberry.
Means one thing for sure.
Summer's nearly over.
Autumnal colours are scratching at the door.
Ready for a bramble crumble.
Apples for cooking,
Crumble mix.
Summer is going.
Can we call it back again.
As seasons flick from change to change.
Shocking, they're turning round again.
Muggy like a criminal, laying on your chest.
Choking, holding back from moving on.
Autumn coming, summer's gone.
Sullen clouds, of black and white.
Salt and pepper sunlight.
Grey at times, then shiny white.
August the first.
Cloud burst.
Once again it's flaming hot.
(c) Livvi

Pain of such hunger.
Craving with wild desire.
Crying desperately with clowns tears.
Smudged make-up blacks the eyes of needy lovers.
The lovers crumble.
A tangled heap upon the deck.
The waves flip out on the crazy ship.
Their dreams thrill.
Laughter floods the images.
The image of such hunger filled.
Hunger so cruel must be satisfied.
Chastity must be relinquished.
She hunts.
As the hunger for passion slowly eats her alive.
(C) Livvi

North!

The north east wind doth blow up my sleeves.
As a wicked witch reveling in an invisible incognito.
Nipping my ******* in loves lost regret.
Always love a decent breeze.
Wind biting my nose, prompting an impromptu sneeze.
Cradles my body, but not tenderly.
Nothing lasts forever thank heavens.
Soon the wind will die today.
Having ripped at moments past.
Momentous in memories.
Glory banners promote a once lost issue in chilled delight.
Rain and snow.
Kith and kin of chill.
All hail the suns return in spring!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Of voices and choices.
Of fears and tears.
There are too many years, but never enough.
In bodies of evidence all pure pretence.
In fighting and smiting, in magic delighting.
So says the witch with the crippling grip.
And the magical fingertips that spark.
Abracadabra, let the music play on.
(C) LIVVI

Believing!

I wear your ring a token of the love we share.
Placed on my finger while I slept.
A blessing of infinite love we shared.
I bathe within your wealth of knowledge.
A treasured prize for thee and me.
This precious gift from thee to me.

Me.
I believe in this thing called love.
An epic tale of love that's true.
Love is a deluge of drowning emotions.
Sometimes frowning emotions.

I know within this heart of sorrow.
That your love is true.
Too true.
Despite your protestations.

Our love will ride the time of sorrow.
Cruise tsunami into morrow.
Cannot break these bonds.

Believe,
For they are not mine to break.
My heart, my soul.
My love you take
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Tickling the sky in sunlight, the blossom's breaking on my Hawthorn tree!
(C) LIVVI

APPLICATION FORM
Once I was in love.
I loved love.
Wanted to serve it.
Loved it when it functioned good.
Then it fell apart.
My heart is merely cardiac.

If you heat it slowly,
Give it a gentle simmer
Somewhere in the future,
may dwell a subtle glimmer.

If I look in the mirror,
I see no future love,
The mirror may be my security.
Can only visualise it,
from own imperfect point of view.

I am not a pessimist,
my glass, always half full.
Looking at the situation, as I stand,
I am nobodies loving fool.
On top of that I'm lonely,
but, I stash that as my secret,
I'm such a stubborn ****** ***.
A ****** *** all full of class.
I jest, In fact
I'm just a very loving,
poetry writing pest.
(c) Livvi

Once upon a dream.
There was a brightly shining star,
Hanging in the heavens.
Above Adelphi's garden.
In the garden was a tree.
Upon which hung a golden ring.
Caught the eye of scavenger.
A bird who snatched the ring away.
Dropped it in her nest.

Those baby birds they wriggled.
The nest fell to the floor.
Ring of gold and diamonds,
It landed on the deck.

There came a thief in disbelief.
Could not believe his luck.
Picked brilliant gem up,
Wandered to the pawn shop.
What did he spy with his little eye.

It was really a **** shop.
He gave the ring to ****** sweet.
Just for a bit of fun.
She sold it to a friend
So she could buy another fix.
The fix she got was pure.
Her ****** her lure.
Got her trapped.
Stuck in the mix.
Death,
It stopped her turning tricks.

The dealer discarded the ring from his pocket.
Maybe feeling guilty.
Came back the magpie bird.
The bird of vengeful scavenging.
Picked trinket up in her beak.
Took back to her tree.
There you found it.
Stole it back.
That brilliant gold was really black!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

At the end of the world there's hole with a door.
The door has a key, should you want to break free.
If your smiles have died, if you don't want to live.
To find the key to door.
At the end of the world.
If you really, don't want to live any more.

You must firstly, climb up the purple mountains and steal some eagles wings,
Maybe a brood of eggs as well and clutch them to you heart.
Initially, the idea is really rather strange.
Of climbing mountains just to die.
When you have your eagles wings,
When all the tiny birdies sing.
You may, yes you may.
Fly down the edge to the parapet of much regret, upon which you must sit a while.

Analyse your thoughts of death, write them on your mini-pad, the one all poets hold at heart and always keep stuffed in their satchel.
I'm sure you know it.
Leave them on the cliff edge, for a.n.other to read.
Spread the message of what you did.

Pop your wings back in place.
Soar through the sky with perfect grace.

Go to the shop at the end of the world and ask the proprietor for the key.
So you can get out, cause you want to break free!
The shopkeeper, said with a sad and sorry face, "I'm sorry love, the last one took it with them, and didn't bring it back".
Locksmiths, don't keep spare keys for the door at the end of the world.
"So, I 'm sorry I can't help you, would you like a cup of Rosy Lee.
You can unburden your issues, shift them to me".
After the wild flight from the top of the mountain.

A cup of tea from his cheerful fountain, was just she needed.
All that flying and writing had cleared her mind.
She flew back home.
When you hear the calls of eagles in flight, remember the fact the end is in sight,
Not in the cafe at the end of the world.
But, a good conversation and a stroke of pen and poetry.
Release your mind, a true catharsis!
(C) Livvi

I wasn't there for your first kiss,
Too self absorbed maybe,
I don't know, what the hell I missed,
Now you are grown with children of your own,
and now,
I love you,
more than time and tide doth turn,
I should burn for selfishness,
In the annals of much regret,
in the ennui of parenthood,
Now annus mirabilis has dawned,
as a lost prophet with a cause; however, not  as the word of the Lord.
(C) Livvi

My ***** are killing me today.
They're really sore.
Abused too much.
Been using them all day and night.
Just a little callous.
Worked thirteen hours on the go
The ***** are those on the soles of my feet!
(c) Livvi

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

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

God grant me the serenity to deal with that I cannot change.
Jesus please help me.
I'm torn to shreds.
In so much pain.
Every time I close my eyes to sleep into my freakin head you seep.
Lord take away my misery please let me go to sleep again.
God bless the one who gives me pain!,

A lived in land.
Where things are changed and rearranged.
Where the papers portents for tomorrows news.
In account of them,the magnificent commoners and all that they choose.

This lived in land.
An experience of worlds and making merriment
Full of memory triggers, where everyone sniggers,
discussing the times that are gone.

Existed in the land of experience a mirror.
It's broken now.
A million broken shards of heart.
They're shattered all around the flowers.

So how does your garden grow?
Perfection?
Not mine.
A recollection of flowers.
Battling springtime showers.
You hope they won't be washed away.
The memories,
The transgressions,
The diversionary tactics, from the path you once trod.
The one from which you stumbled blinded.
You stupid sod.
Piles of sods as the mound grew.
Blinded by the hair in your eye.
The winds somehow chewing your cheeks.
The self you acquired, caught hold of today.
(C) Livvi

Tuesday morning.
Sounds of New Orleans.
Cafe bars are rocking.
Velvety buzzing jazz.
Diana sings her luscious tones,
Piano sings along.
Trumpets sound.
She sports a dress of pure azure.
Matches her eyes the people say.
They're right I'm sure.
Down the street by the voodoo store.
The lights are low
Burning incense.
Image immense.
A magic feline creeps out of the alley.
Been scavenging.
Smelly old fish.
No airs and graces.
Not even a dish.
Further down the alleyway,
a carcass of chicken laid bare.
Ripped to bits by townsfolk who care.
The wishbone hangs in there,
All out for dreaming,
Wishing and kissing.
Young folk and tinkers all up for a share.
A musical cortège.
Passing transport for a one who once was there.
Victim of life.
Heading underground right now.
They're off to the old town crypt.
Finale.
Exit stage left.
(c)LIVVI

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

Sketches depicted in common words.
Paint almost Godly photographs.
Describes in words.
The fire of chill.
And heat alike.
Colours and hues.
The wind of force and the controlling pain.
Vibrancy and dismal dull.

Words that give us thoughts to mull over.
Singing the blues.
All the nib of a pen gives.
The pen that lives.
Those words of scribes.
Passionate pens make love and battle.
Of rampant *** and magic hex.

Power of the simple word.
Build mountains and magnificent fountains.
All by description.
Love fires out from an exploding pen.
Memories written.
Never wasted.
Not ever forgotten.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Her scarlet dress is blowing all around his knees.
He's smiling as he's tripping.
Skipping.
Straight into a love affair.
That he doesn't want.
And he doesn't care.

She's love's lonely widow.
An open window on the world.
Heart cold.
Rich feelings.
She's really different to most.
Differences too many to count on one hand.
She's never revealing.

His issues flow to the street side beat.
His metronome rocks fancifully.
His pendulum's swings in the wrong direction.
A direction that nobody ever dares mention.

He's kicking at kerb-stones with dancing feet.
He borrowed her dress, it looked good on him.
Probably would have been better in blue.
It blew up in the wind, as you kicked off your shoes.
Love's lonely widow and the gay guy met.
They thought each other sweet.
(C) LIVVI

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

A tissue box,
a perfect packet,
full with broken heart catchers,
nose wipers,
window wipers too,
make up snatchers,
put one up your sleeve,
leave one on the table top,
to grab a sloppy drop,
when your coffee dribbles over the edge,
when your cup runneth over,
caresless chick,
always needs her tissues!
(C) Livvi

Blood is thicker than water.
Boy oh boy it's drowning me.
Loss of son's immense.
Games of misinterpreted disrespect.
Maligned as sugar dumplings.
Bearing weight.
This silence is forever killing me mate.
It's much to late.
Demons passed.
Stupid teenage blast.
Went out with a bang.
Knew you not.
Never did,
Crazy lonely mother was just a stupid freaking kid.
Felt love was gained by having ***.
Left a son.
I was blessed.
I gone and messed it up.
I'm so sorry.
Really gone and done it now.
God, I'm such a sorry silly cow.
Don't know how to fix it.
F's sake I really mixed it up.
And I love you.
(c) Mum MMCV

Walking through raindrops.
Autumn raindrops.
Heading for the river.
Car flies past it splashes me.
I wave my fist in anger.
Grr, hearing those expletives.
The pretty lady shouts.

Get to the river bank.
Walking almost alone.
The company of bobbing ducks and a solo floating cob swan.
Watching them drifting for a moment or two.
One quick look.
Now they're gone.

A walk in the rain.
Obscurer of pain.
Love walking.
Fighting drops.
Hope the rain never stops.
Walking for Sunday.
Beating Sorrow.
Hoping it rains again in the morrow.
Normally loathsome rain.
(c) Livvi

Forgiven and forgotten.
Poor chap.
A misfit in a memory.
Wearing just a jester's hat.

Playing with his tickle stick.
Thinks he is lacking a memory card.
At such great cost.
Upon the knees of bees.
He doth crouch.

Waiting for the axe to fall.
To lighten his burden.
'Off with his head', the queen of red said.
To respond to natures' call.
Waiting for a dismal end.

Where hanging out the let's pretends.
To blow away and make amends.
Says goodbye to his beautiful friends.
On his journey into the unknown.
Flying away in his star propelled craft.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Truly the son of your mother you are.
Up front and truly vicious.
At times.
Demanding annoying and totally dear.
Always wants his mummy near.
A provocative wind up.
Never ever needs a key.
It's his job of work you see.
Spring loaded.
An infernal bungee.
Livvi x
A sly and wry smile you possess.
Utterly  the expression he wears best.
Lives in a heap not fit for sweet lover.
Fit not for any other to inhabit.
The bedroom in the land of mess!

The cold is biting through the sun today.
Great big invisible tooth marks.
Nibbling away at my fingers and toes.
The cold held me tight.
Gone right through my clothes.
Morning sparkles pleasantly.
Damp shiny grass.
For all to see.
The glistening deceptive sunny bright trees.
Today they're cuddled by the chilly breeze.
Went and bought myself some ready cooked morning oats.
Not much warmer still.
The caramel flavoured coffee warmed my heart a little bit.
Glad I'm inside.
I'm playing hide and seek with the sunlight outside.
At least I have got no snow, as yet.
Be coming soon, of that that I'll bet.
(C) Livvi

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

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

She's wanting *** with sinners.
She wants it now.
The devil is an angel and she's a ***** cow.
The angel, she's dressed in black and white in techni-colour dreams.
In giving *** she reconstructs, their deep darkest hour.
The power, that power that she's giving feeds their security, no lies.
Picks up their sorry moments and chucks them at back stormy skies.
They're riding on the hormones in wild moments captured, as they bump and grind.
A little piece of wild ***, it sure doth soothe the broken mind.
Cathartic release, as poetry she is to me!
(c) Livvi

The Bank!

Late spring sunshine tickles my back.
Shoulders bared without a care.
Rested on the river bank.
Pad and pen in hand.

A trumpeting siren stands on the path.
Up front screeching.
Before mine eyes.
Am I scared like hell I am.
Screaming loud and proud.

Fallen angel with wings unfurled and venom in his eyes.
Unsettled by screaming children.
Yelping hounds of hell disturb.
This creature makes one final stand.

A frightened cob.
Wanted peace and freedom.
To go pick up his pen.
To drift back down the river's flow.
To once more breathe again.

Freedom granted.
Here and now.
For I avoid this noisy bird.
Who causes pain to those who meet.
The fallen angel with the orange beak.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

On a dreary day it dawned,
When the sky turned black,
You were gone in the silence of an April *****,
Their April fool was done,
The silly old man so lacking in humour,
Had caught the last boat home,
The morning creaked open with tears in it's eyes,
Not his or theirs,
The sky just cried in a river of a daddy's goodbye!

This is for my father, we never really got on.....
He was diagnosed with Alzheimer's about two weeks before he died.
He had a heart attack and died instantly....absolute relief I think....
He wasn't really a *****...he was just controlled by all around him **
All I can say now is Rest In Peace!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

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

Walking down the mottled shiny steps.
The pavement coated in icy slime.
Kind and careful.
Considering where I tread.
Angels fear to tread here.
Fear to touch and feel.
The distaste given by their entrance.
Totally unreal.
These slugs are not bullets fired from a maniacs gun.
Out with the  salt.
An evaporation of body.
Cruel way to pass.
Wonder if slugs feel pain.
(C) LIVVI

Apocalyptic pockets, emptying their sorrow,
Careful pockets filled with love abound.
Selfless pockets, astounding,
Pockets, fragile pockets.
Hiding indoors, make not a sound.
Advice falling on ears that hear now.
No street walking.
Stay out of the shop.
Reduction in numbers soon,
Maybe tomorrow,
Or the day after.
These darkened moments will stop.
They must,
Fill up your metaphoric pockets, with unreal angel dust.
As only you must!
(C)LIVVI

Dragons danced through nostrils to hell.
A sick date with vulnerability.
Hit with luscious toxins.
Toxins clout, beat their heads about.
Push pure source abusers in.
Urging a voyage into the depths of happy hell.
Being sent to heaven in a vacant dream.
Black bubbles of rabid, rapid utopia.
In dreams collapsed,  slumped in a heap as night and day converge.
Creating ugly imagery.
Lured into dark hallows where dwell the land of sunken eyes.
You can try to escape, but hell it's futile.
Your life now belonging forever, coldly captured by the beast.
(c) Livvi

Son I miss you.
Daughter you left.

You sailed across the sea.
Maybe you flew.
Magnetic pull.
Left blue mama.

Never coming home to me
The government said you ain't coming in.
Where you been son?

Unseen force.
Wrapped in black.
Probably not coming back.
Clickety clack.
666 war is the devil.
Devil's a beast.

Said you were leaving.
Some where out there.
Fighting unseen sin.

Sin is war.
War that destroys.
Your guns ain't plastic.
Not big boys toys.

Is wicked.
You know.
War is spreading like butter on bread.
Bang bang you're dead.

The bombs.
The rockets.
Warrior force.
The cause of the war.
Religion of course.
Religion combined with oil and money.


Wrong wrong wrong.
War portrayed in a beautiful song.
Bang bang you're dead.
Crashing words.
Explosions.
Lightning flashes.
Dots and dashes.
All In  code.
War sporting the mask.
One ugly toad.
(c)Livvi MMXV

The wind is tapping my window.
With fingers almost breaking through.
Put my fingers on the pane.
Leaves finger dabs in situ.
This wind's a violent *******.
Trying to beat it's way indoors.
When it should really reside outside.

It's rattling and cackling,
Liken to a wailing witch.
This foul weather such a *****.
The trains are cancelled.
Nearly blowing over.
Bus wobbled like a top.
If this wind it not stop.
Think I'll find my house in Oz.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

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