Fragile as the morning crisp.
A stem of winter's chill.
The love of a friend.
All blistered and torn.
Fragility of a virgins beautiful kiss.

Washed away in early morn.
Laid on the grass for mornings glory.
Growing into the glory of day.

Fragile,
So fragile.
Was the time spent in dreams.
In dreams or so it seemed.

Virginal, taut.
So taut it shattered!
Washed away in a moment of rabid sorrow.
Goodbye my love until tomorrow!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Passion is a baby, always ravenous...in need of food...
Feed him regularly...from silver spoon.
If neglected passion becomes tragically dejected.
Lost in frozen mist, biting icicles on fingertips, fire guarded.
When fire's gone, eyes inferno dies,persona died inside.
Empty head, fractured heart smashed as broken mirror shards, full of memories, vile!
Hereby,  I do declare loss of passion's so unfair!
Copyright Livvi Kent 24/04/2013.

Poppy fields of Flanders, conceal a million tragedies.
A hundred thousand fallen soldiers, tainted the grass crimson.
And so they fell.
Not much grass left.
Mainly churned up mud.
Destroyed by the feet of the soldiers' in passing.
They are passing out forever.
Some were mere boys who pledged allegiance to the heavy crown.
And so they fell,almost children,
Without objections.
Marched as boys.
Buried as heroes.
An almighty salute.
(C) Livvi

She stood in the dock,
a ruddy gibbering wreck,
very flushed and very frightened,
The stern judge was a vulture,
dreams of chewing her flesh,
Counsel for the prosecution,
was a rather noisy crow,
In her defence,
an eagle stood,
Clutching close her feathered brood.
the courtroom clerk a budgerigar,
with yellow breast,
and mottled feathers,
chatting and typing litotes,
although not really listening.
The defendant for the trial today,
was a bright pink flamingo,
with googly legs and googly eyes,
that poured out such pink tears,
the way the case was going on,
well,
she could be locked away for years,
the jury consisted of mockingbirds,
who laughed at everything they heard,
the evidence was null and void,
not really heard above the noise.

Having heard what he could of the evidence,
the vulture judge got rather cross,
he called upon a dove,
"members of the jury,
we have to acquit  this pretty flamingo,
because I believe that I'm in love".
(c)Livvi

I was born in the spirited sixties,
When t.v was there but, the channels were few,
The skirts were super short, the boots rather *****,
made in crinkly wrinkly patent plastic,
The music was loud,
so my mother moaned,
as usual,
The quality was better,
The stones were ******,
The Beatles were trippie,
My mother so serious,
was no freakin' hippy,
She fed us malt extracted from teaspoons,
Okay, from jars really,
I remember it tasted pretty vile,
But she'd smile,
nagging inconsiderately,
that we needed to take it,
it would do us good!
Yuk, I wonder if my brother felt the same,
I will never know!
(C) Livvi

Stormy Sky!

Buttermilk stained sky.
Almost mackerel.
Scaly streaked.
Stripes in pile of cloudy sky.
Clouds tinged pink.
Textured in cream.
As standing brave sentinels.
Guarding heaven's gate.
Fearsome portent.
A warning to the lofty ships.
Sails lowered.
Make for shore for sure.
Cumbersome cumulus.
Expecting birth of storm to descend.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Can somebody please explain,
Why a lovely ice cold thick shake,
In a cup marked  large is gone,
Gone much too quickly,
Exquisitely delicious,
Trying to stay fresh and cool.
A rapidly empty cup,
Leaves me feeling a thirsty fool.
I hereby declare that I truly need another one.
To keep me feeling jolly cool,
while in the midday sun.
(C) LIVVI

The winter receded, the sun came out, the wind relaxed.
Alice went hunting for  dormice.
Curiously, she peaked into nest box.
To make sure he was safe and warm.
She was truly glad.
Free from harm.
She found him safe and well.
Escaped from floods and winter's hell.
Snuggled up in minute ball.
After hiding from malevolent winter storms.
In the dark corner at the back of the box, at last with spring he came forth.
Out he sprung, he ran away.
Alice thought she'd invite him round for tea
The wakeful dormouse went out to play.
Still he's running free.
(C) Livvi

Came home from a trek into town.
To buy so odds and sods.
Guess what smacked me in the eyes.
Memories generated by sweet pewter rocking horse.
I walked into the sitting room.
Found laid upon the deck.
Undamaged fortunately.
My little pewter rocking horse.
Initiated memories of us two in the pub.
Where we first met that rocking horse.
Not mine.
The one that lived on the shelf by the books.
Remember that day so clearly.
You were very funny.
You still are in your own sweet way.
You were drunkish and I was your dear lady.
Still am.
Everyone who approached us.
You greeted with one question are you a poet?
You told the world that proud you are to be one.
Me. Poetess also with poise and prowess.
I'm proud of you.
I will always remember that day.
Come what ever.
As poets and lovers we remain.
Livvi Kent Sept 2013

Can I not just doss in scruffy jeans?
With hair not brushed.
Nails not manicured, make-up left on, never washed off.
Never rushed.
Can I not scream and shout?
Can I not be allowed to verse my P.M.T?
May I not grump at my kid?
As other mums do.
Must I keep my temper under the lid;
Stashed below.
My placid fascinator.
When I feel snappy as an alligator.
May I not cuss?
It's just not me, you know
The rest of the family are used to all this.
I do my best, but sometimes  need to hiss.
I can't release my outburst,  in emotions spoken.
They'd tie me up in metaphorical knots.
The press hounds would rip me and chew me to bits.
Spit me out, leaving, nothing but spiteful gravel.
I'm the Duchess of Cambridge, would you be me?
(c) Livvi

Racehorses carrying......
Injured riders, dying horses
The shoot horses don't they.
The druid fell surprisingly.
All for the money.
Waiting for reports of any destruction.
Are these horses really having fun?
Roasting winner, he's unwell.
Toasted by the betters.
I'm glad I'm not jumping fences, falling trenches, breaking legs.
What's grand about the national?
If no horses get destroyed I will be shocked.
(c) Livvi

Blah Blah Blah!

In a blaze of anger I exploded.
His personal torment,
He created for himself.

I told the world a pack of truth.
About the sheep in lupine garb.
Dressed not in a sauce of mint.

Inedible,
Toxic to the end.

Darling, your good friends left.
Go curl up and die.

My friendship expelled at last.
My heart is fixed.

Go have a blast,
Poetic fantasist.

Straight from the heart of ex romantic.
For I am not to be destroyed.

Annoyed once by his drunken rants.
His narcissism.

The fairy tale he decried.
The one so truly self absorbed.

Stuck in syndrome,
Peter Pan.

Expelled his faeces.
Only way that I know how.

Wrote my heart out.
Demon exorcised.

Care not,
should I be cursed.

Now i'm gone.
Guess what,
I'm fine!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

The ginger Tom.
He started to wail.
As the winsome ***** willow swung on his tail.
The black lass became rather familiar.
Made friends with the witch who lived over the hill.
Gave moggy pal a sharp shot of contraceptive in her ***.
Didn't want familiar friend to become a mum.

Tom,
Well my dear friends,
Tom never wanted a wife.
Just be a player all of his life.

Thought all his queens were just trouble and strife.
He'd take what he could whenever chances arose.
The tom cat who wasn't wanting romance,
Just left an aroma wherever he went.
Perhaps all his queens need a peg on their nose!






By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Late breakfast in the cafe of sins,
The one where all the calories hang out,
Cholesterol climbs up the tasty mountain,
Counting the calories that pile onto her voluptuous waist,
Like hell she did.
A devious mischievous taste.
She nibbles at mushrooms,  just like Alice did,
The sliced up sausages chucked on to her plate,
Taste real great,
The beans as much too freaking hot.
The eggs are runny, just like snot, but that's how she likes them,
The bacon squealed, as it jumped from her plate, wrapped up in tissue,
Dog thought it great,
And the Turks, they sat with their wives,
******* like crazy on sweet Shisha pipes!
(C) Livvi

In deafening silence the clangers spilled their blue string soup!
While inTrumpton the boys in the fire station rang their fire bells.
The miller was windy in Camberwick Green.
And Bill and Ben.
Well they lived in a grass fuelled happy hippy scene.
With a sweet lady called ****!

Hector lived in his house of fun.
Where he enjoyed his little *****. Zsa Zsa her name,
Gabor perhaps.
Bonjour, one funny frog, amphibian named Kiki.
Hector well he was a dog!

In the garden of the herbs.
Lived a jolly friendly chap.
A lion called Parsley.
What a crazy name was that.
The owl,well he was a sage.
A seer of things to come.
Bourgeoisie in the garden.
Sir Basil and Lady Rosemary.
A pair of toffs with taste!

And they wonder why today.
We poets have a vivid imagination.
Wasn't due to taking drugs.
Was the influence of T.V. on our fair English nation!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Ben and Timmy went hunting for presents beneath the Christmas tree.
They picked up all the packages, all ******* with silky string.
They shook them and they rattled them.
They felt around all the shapes.
They couldn't work out what they were.
No matter how they tried.

Timmy wanted a cricket set, to go and play out on the green.
Ben wanted a games console, as he was nearly a teen.
One was an outdoors little chap, a sporty game and he'll be happy.
Ben would sit on the sofa, playing shooting games.
Not shooting with guns, he wasn't allowed to,
He didn't like them any way.

The boys sneaked into daddy's room,
Hoping they might find some more.
Surely the presents under the tree weren't all the gifts waiting there.
The opened the closet, all nice and neat,
Santa's costume was there, right in front of their feet.
Whoever would have guessed that daddy was Santa.
Daddy had lots and lots of talents, this one they never knew.

They wondered did their mother know.
Mum came in after work and Ben and Timmy said to her.
Mummy, " did you know  that daddy is Santa Claus?"
Mother didn't say a word.
Christmas eve it came around.
Daddy went out, nowhere to be found.
The boys went off to bed, pretending to sleep,
none the wiser.
Clattering and ringing, a sound of jingling bells.
The children peeped out of the window, to see their daddy Santa at work.
The Santa they saw, was not their cool daddy.
Just an annoying imposter.
They went to wake their mummy up.
The bed was empty, daddy was gone.
The chap on the rooftop, he wasn't their daddy.

Morning came.
At the breakfast table the children sat.
Daddy arrived a little late, looking somewhat disheveled.
His hair all out of place.
Still wearing his Santa suit.
Mum took daddy in to the kitchen.
Said to him, "where have you been?"
He grinned from ear to ear,
"He can't deliver to all the world,  all on his own my dear."
(C) Livvi

****** Mary, Laced with Celery Salt!

Assaulted by taste buds,
The queen of hearts,
Not lovely,
Dressed not as diamond queen,
Exchanged!
For celery,

Mary the first of England and Ireland,
Politically,
Religiously,
Not at all correct!

Her life's long gone,
Memories of her linger on,
Served in a drink,
Laced by vile dynasty,
Dynasty of celery,
In tomato juice suspended,
In animate,
Even the ***** is really offended!

Whether celery or salt,
Tales changed over many years,
Was named after actress,
Not the wicked queen first thought,
Mary Pickford,
Actress of note,
Drank in a bar,
Named 'The Bucket of Blood',
All I can chant from me to thee,
****** Mary,
Have this one on me!


By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Mother Dear,
She sat as she rocked in her chair,
Not a gift of age,
A gift of lunacy,
Hard life she had,
Always caught by conscience sparks,
Within a memory,
Fragmented windows left shards,
Dug into her heart,
A broken life of memories past,
Where no-one knew and never asked,
What left her there,
Just passed teenage intervention,
Much too vile to mention,
The fatherless child,
Fearless,
He bought up her kids,
Now brings up his own...,
While she sits and she rocks,
Talking to the clocks,
Sadly watching her life slip away,
Before her eyes,
No more to die for,
Even less to cry for she sighs!
Copywrite Livvi Kent 22/08/2013

Whole again.
The lady is entire.
Amazed by the skill of a fellow artist.
The art of  dentistry.
The morning crept in shakily.
She is a coward, the lady.
Petrified of dental work.
Dentist is a perfect ****.
It's what he does his field of work.
He, the dentist, a genius touch,
I bet he can't write a poem or line.
That position is mine.
For him, an exception maybe invoices.
A choice I made.
I'm glad I paid.
I made the most worthwhile choices.
It didn't hurt a bit.
I didn't feel a thing.
Thank you dentist, see you soon!
(c) Livvi

BONKERS FAMILY
I think the world is going bonkers today,
Eating two tubs of tiramisu for lunch,
Blow the savoury brunch.
Chased them down with two doughnuts,
And half a bucket of tea.
Women's roles just aren't what they used to be.
Never cooks,
prepares no food,
Cooks nothing to feed her hungry brood.
Daddies at home looking after the kids.
I think the world is going bonkers today.
When the gender divide remains undecided.
When the lovely lady in your life,
The one you once called your wonderful wife.
Disappears down the local to play snooker with her mates.
Every Sunday regular dates.
Always faithful,always true.
While you the dutiful husband is knocking out Sunday lunch.
The children are positioned very quietly ,sitting in front of the latest widescreen TV.
The only babysitting service, that's virtually free.
So, I think the world is definitely going bonkers today.
Mum smiles sweetly,
As she pulls on her boots,
She's off out to play.
Again.
(C) Livvi

In my house there is a huge black hole.
In said hole, hide a million toilet rolls and a few stray socks.
Search as high and low as I may,
the toilet rolls and socks are out to play.
The loo rolls have been eaten by a mega munch machine.
Half of all the household socks, mislaid when they are clean.
Or maybe when still grubby.
Perhaps they're dubstep socks.
With minds of their own and they just want to rock.
Maybe they're good looking socks.
Heading out to mate.
Did you ever hear such things.
Single socks out looking for a date.
They seem to just have vaporised,
before the household eyes.
Expensive business.
Loosing socks.
I need these toilet rolls.
Need to cry.
Must be off out partying together.
I really don't know why!
(c)LIVVI

Typically British, rather insane.
English men do walk on water.
Ha ha, jolly hockey sticks, snooty noses up in the air.
A game of jolly cricket, in the middle of the sea.
Just an annual event; as  tide resides and holds up a bank.
Supporting stumps and a scoreboard.
The water got scared and bailed out.
A gang of weird cricketers stroll across the Solent.
In between the smiling waves.
A quick match indeed, for after the sea recedes, the tide creeps in, the pitch is gone.
Jolly funny posh folk, trot home for a scone and a bubbly fizz as stags and hens, they head off to the shore.
In their cruisers of pleasure, hey **, off they go!
As when the tide is in they cannot walk on water.
To hold posh debate on the final score.
To muse of experience just left at sea.
Guess no groundsman needed and pitch never weeded.
(c) Livvi

Alley ways and alley cats all allies in the darkest nights.
Unsleeping children call to their mother's closest hand.
The alley cats are chorusing, looking for a lover.
Their kittens come their kittens go, in and out their pussycat minds.
The infant in the cradle cries out for mother's love.
A life long attachment borne.
Forever days and never nights, the lights go out the queen cat cries.
Another litter of kittens wanted so that queen cat yowls.
The husband laying in his bed, gets angry as he lays his head, calling cats and screaming kids, prevent the closing of his lids.
The child calls out as only he can, mother moved to sort him out, as only mother can.
(C) LIVVI

Chocolate Grit
Songs of sweet Rosie,
Love, honour and trust.
Songs of life flowing.
Deeply, through the city dust,
Josh's voice of perfect chocolate,
Smooth and soft as silk,
Two young men together,
A perfect combination,
Steve's guitar sings,when he plays,
As does his voice.
In mellow tones,
A little raspy,
A touch of gravel,
Sweet chocolate,
Bought together,
As the one and only,
"Chocolate Grit",
The poetess's choice,
Together a perfect blend,
The latest trending boy band,
Bring on "Chocolate Grit".
(C) Livvi
A duo that play where I do my spoken word asked me to do a poem for them, this is it. Their name is "Chocolate Grit".

Watching his playtime,
His fun's hot,
On fire,
Blazing,
Voracious, hungry,
Slides silk tongue into hearts while dancing,
Prancing on screens monopoly,
Only stage on which he plays,
Dancing in mind as he spins his yarn,
Distinguished,
Feeds fire with fire,
Fire on which the ladies dance,
Struts on stiletto heels,
Sharp and rapid,
Maybe rabid!
Toxic treats mistreated,
He has an honours' degree!
In misdemeanour's fun,
In trussing hearts embalmed!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Take the silken ribbon from my hair.
Wrap it tight around my neck.
For on cold nights of loneliness.
In darkness.
My cold body sits.
My neck bruised in compassion.
Once there in sight.
Was once there in mind.
There for company.
Seek and thou shall find my friend.

Embalmed behind a sullen smile.
Austere.
Such quiet company.
In dignified silence sat.
My mouth stitched shut.
Calling out is not aloud.

I feel you watching me.
While in eternity I sleep.
A presence around me.
I feel that you want me.
Caught by skeins of royal blue.
Oxygen depleted.
In a tapestry of captivity.

But I am not yours.
Only God can set me free.
(C) Livvi

Smoking fog.
Distant pictures.
Hilltop structures.
Emerald seas.
Golden beaches.
Out of reach.
City lights.
Overnighters.
Streaming music.
Threading textiles.
Suitcases.
Double faces.
Disgraceful.
Disgusting.
Fairies flutter by in fairy stories.
Masquerading as bright red butterflies.
(c)Livvi

Don't want to steal a being.
No desire to steal a soul.
Wishing not corruption.
Wanting world of joy.

Desiring true happiness.
To enter world at last.
Oh to tangle my feet in long grass as we dance.
Checkmate.
Game set and match.

Let the matches ignite hearts sparks.
Between two who match so much.
Seeking not forever.
Forever never comes.
Slow kindling.
Smouldering on a slow low lonely heat.

Hoping for tomorrow.
Tomorrow never ever comes.
Going to die trying.
Maybe die crying.
At least no fabrications.
No ****** stupid lying!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

He is a miracle,
a tiny creature,
laid in an incubator,
he struggles and fights,
better than Mohammed Ali,
he fights to keep the lights alive,
his body fits in his mothers hand,
but she cannot hold him,
just gently strokes his arm,
with a warm fingertip,
she wills him to survive,
a tube down his tiny nose,
supplies his nourishment,
his momma,
she sits and she waits,
and she waits and she sits,
he's too small to cry,
and he cannot look,
but they bonds,
more her, than he,
he is too small to know,
to feel to see,
an unbreakable bond,
she prays and she wishes,
she so wants to kiss him,
for the time being at least,
it's just daddy she kisses.
(C) Livvi

That Matriarch .
Supports her brood.
Provides them with food.
Disciples bow in her honour.
A Sergeant major on patrol.
She is, is she?
They are more in charge these days.

You must do that, you must do this.
You should do that.
Discipline feeds them with a mantra.
To run a life of strength.
In ivory towers.
In glorious pastures bathed with flowers.
Behave yourself.
Do as you're told.
Do as you would be done by.

T'will make you good as gold.
Rather than that discipline running permanently.
Teach them lovingly.
Give them kisses.
A listening ear.
Provide them with love abundant.
Keep them safe and giggle with them.
Maybe laugh at them, as they laugh loud at you.
This funny old female.
With greying hair.
Much too late to start to care.

On the bus I heard a fellow decrying Americans at war,
Said all were yellow bellied cowards,
I found this most distasteful,
Wanted to bite him , to lash him with my tongue,
To unwrap a box of disrespect,
Tell him not to generalise,
To speak out about causing such offence,
From discussion of cowardice,
He digressed to general sundry,
The price of fish and wages,
Along with the price of beer,
Felt sorry for the mousy wife,
Who never marked his card,
To get a word in edge ways would have been extremely hard!
I am an English woman thought this so unfair!
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Don't leave her alone in the cold.
Let not your haunting love, leave her bone marrow cold.
Visit her heart.
Cherish her.
Adore her with flowers of the sweet scented kind.
Love her on Monday at the start of the week
Keep her warm as Wednesday's child rises.
Make not her smile be full of woe.
Warm her up on Friday.
Let her weekend not be frigid.
Arrival of the weekend spread to her a mega grin.
Open your heart and let her in.
(C) Livvi

World wide.
War brewing.
Freaking out.
Freaking evil.
The ******* that burnt.
May they be burned in the forthright land of ******* hell.
A bubbling *** of discontent.
Chechen hell.
Iraq and Syria.
Cultivation a culture of fear.
Taken by the hand.
Led straight into war.
(c)Livvi

In the conservatory with the windows open wide I can still smell your pipe smoke.
I walk past and feel your oilskins' brush my hand.
I found some snippets of jet black hair left in my jewellery tray.
Your crash helmet  sits on the hallway table.
I swear it wasn't there yesterday.
A visiting spirit playing games with my memory.
I'm  guessing that's all it  can be.
Or maybe I haven't accepted you're gone.
Love lingering too long.
(C) LIVVI

An abundance of bluebells,they're painting my lawn.
A garden, a blaze with such lush vegetation.
At the moment, just a mere sea of green, not burst into bud yet.
When they do my garden will be wearing purity; freshness, dressed in a flash mauve overcoat.
My garden's more wild than my child, a daughter, near busting. Soon to oust the  fresh piece of life growing inside her; he the infant soon due to be born.
The bud of her belly is blooming, as like the bluebells he's soon to break free.
(C) OLIVIA

If i could drive,
I could visit my grandsons and sit them on my knee,
except of course the little chap,
he lives here with me,
I can hold him whenever I wish,

I could drive off up to London,
whenever I so wished,
or I could drive to Stonehenge,
to greet the breaking day,
but I'm too broke too start.

Maybe I could be convenient,
as the designated driver,
when everyone else gets drunk,
I don't,
driving's one of many skills I haven't mastered,
shame eh chaps,
so on that fair note.

I hereby declare for today at last,
my ridicule of poetry is getting rather boring,
In fact,
you,
you there,
in the yellow hat, my God I see you snoring!
(C) Livvi

His name was Ray.
A handsome chap was he.
He was a secretive fellow.
My God, he got around.
A fellow wearing water wings.
The devil fish.
Washed up on the dock,
Carnage in Marissa.
Fishermen make hell hit earth
Ray, this poor fellow's brainless now.
The devil fish now angel, heads closer to the sky.
Left drying upon rooftops.
Medicine without proven pharmacy.
From the fellow of the sea.
Really cruel, he should swim free!
(c) Livvi

Feelings are a fantasy,
Star studded,
Very stupid game,
Emotions are just power blessed,
Laced with blood and brain.

A rare exotic tiger,
Love,
She hides in long grass ,
As he dances,

On graves of darkness,
Crouches,
Ready to destroy.

She,
That's me,
A beautiful trinket,
Locked in encrusted jewel box,

Not playing for peals of wedding bells weals,
Wedding bells just give me hell,
In a hotchpotch mess of fools desires,

I am your weeping cross,
Laid by the wayside,
Please repent,
Hell,
I'm not begging you.

Weltschmerz,(world weary)
In this whisky bottle world,
Heart pain,
The fantasy in which you hang,
Not a real man,

Just mixed in with life's emotions,
Spilled over,

Stuck in spiders web,
A dream of online lies.
While indecision cries!
A fool I am,
A fool you are!
Adorned with mania's crown,
Wrapped up in satin dress!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Black Soul Baby!

Yesterday,
I played in blue,
Today,
I'm back in black,
He is a phantom,
Dashing delightful,
Skids down razor blades,
Rather risque,

It's believed!
In black,
Suited and booted,
******* in chains,
Remains of the day,
Call of the wild,

Echoes of everything,
A shadow passes,
Trapped in locked vaults,
Imprisoned in vague suffocation of breathlessness,
Everyday dawns,
More excitement he creates from his chasm,
As each day conspires in new writes,
Love is my black soul baby!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

They're stood on the station,
Full on armed,
with excitement and cameras,
not an anorak in sight,
they have better cameras than most do,
sit down beside them,
please do,
they'll make you so welcome,
just pull up a pew,
if it does it for you,

A wet Friday morning,
yet again the sky cries,
another desperate being dies,
the train got wet,
as yet another one died,
cried not enough perhaps,
inconsolable,

Not a thought for the driver,
and all the survivors,
when they ran out of time,
at the end of the line,
maybe another way could be better,
the sky cries some more,
as another one leaves,
painting the platform crimson,
again,
another one who kissed the train,
only way to cure their pain!
(C) Livvi

Flashes of silver darts.
Diminutive dancing.
Entrenched in youthful memories.
Mesmerizing the sea.
Seaside salty sailors.
Sand eels.
Summer seas.
Rock pools.
Summer fools.
Caught on the anglers line.
Reeled in, escorted on a day trip to the sea.
(c) Livvi

Good morning Muppet.
I saw you staggering out of bed.
After stretching over to turn off the alarm.
****** thing.
Left it snoozing and off it went again.
You're in the kitchen, cooking your coffee and porridge.
A mighty morning brew.
The alarm hangs out on the face of your phone.
You need to use it today.
So you dash upstairs to turn it off.
Tripping over the dog, who's dashing around your feet.
Porridge flies and coffee slops.
All over the carpet and one hot dog.
Morning's, don't you just love 'em.
P.s.the dog's okay.
Just the start of another fractious day.
(C) Livvi

Another new year is here.
Train pulled into the rain drenched station.
Where once stood a child of temperance mild.
The guard of the heart.
He shouted all change.
Squashed up at the window her nose.
Eyes looking sharply for new tomorrows.
As a wolf she howls.
Tis time to make amends.
Analysis of honest of friends and find at last reality.
A reality of normality perhaps.

Once was lost in blinding panic.
Takes in air and standing static.
Stock of situation.
Gives her some renewal.
The zany lady Livvi.
Once lived on rocket fuel.
Time to settle to maybe even become tranquil.
Time to settle and relax.
Life needs giving bit of slack.
Silly woman needs to breathe fresh ideas.
Perhaps a kiss on the cheek.
Is that maybe all that she could wish for?
To fill her lungs once more with trust.
She believes it is.
Before a wasted life turns into rust.
Before her eyes.
Unnoticed!
©Livvi 2014

Off into the van.
A jolly holiday.
The sun is shining pleasantly.
Hi **, hi **.
It's off to market we go.
Wearing yellow wellies on a summer day.
Must be ****** hot.
Feet are probably a little pongy.
Turn to my mates in the back of the van.
Grin at them,
Ha ha.
Look at that stupid man.
Wellies in midsummer.
The farmer opened the back of the truck.
They're all set free.
Jamie and Hubert.
And of course me.
Ushered into the hotel reception.
A terrible pong.
Overheard the farmer say we're going for a song.
Everywhere a riotous flipping racket.
Hit on the head.
A bolt right out of the blue.
The rest of this poem is up to you.
(c)Livvi