The grass is always greener
As far as you can see
but you always sit there whining
Why him and why not me?

A better job a better life
A better house and car
You know just what you have to do
If you're gonna get that far

If you want to make an omlette
You have to break an egg or two
You have to work to earn it
Not just sit there feeling blue

Nothing is a given
You rarely move on up by chance
You've got to get a handhold
Go grab life by the pants

Just sitting waiting idly
Never gets the job done well
You can not sit and listen
You have to ring that bell

If you want to make an omlette
You have to break an egg or two
You have to work to earn it
Not just sit there feeling blue

One who sits and wonders
Why someone else gets all the fame
Has never tried to leave the bench
And get into the game

Stay hungry, do your damndest
Do not strive for second place
But, if you don't move at the starters gun
You're not even in the race

If you want to make an omlette
You have to break an egg or two
You have to work to earn it
Not just sit there feeling blue

A conspiracy of co-existence.
Belittled in buckets of disaster.
A house full of twisted intelligence.
Decry the mind that writes for fun.
Fun and release.
No peace.
Demanding gang of children.
Sought explanations of the words that poets use.
Today's one was ominous.
The poet took it as a warning.
A threat of things to come.
And they both smiled and said..,
"You don't know what your on about."
A bucket of words this poet spills.
A mishmash of nouns.
Verbs with just a bit of adjective.
An adverb from time to time.
Occasional omnipresent onomatopoeia.
As if the poet doesn't know!
An awful lot of fun.
(C) LIVVI

Lost between here and there
A roadless road
Some cactus whiplash sun juice dry hope heaved onto an omlette of cow brains and mothers stale toast warnings. A gingham curtain on a beat up pickup truck / home shakes its dust in the desert wind where nothing runs only lives

The taste of Cloves on
Cloven hoofed delicacies
Entice the Palette's elan
Often served with Yams
First smoked then slow roasted
At Holidays its often Toasted
And it makes one heck of
An Omlette with Cheese
Its certain to please

i'll come over at 3:27 am when you call me
your voice shaking
and i'll know you've been crying
even though you'll try to camouflage it
with a smile.
i'll drink with you and then
i'll let you bury your face in my thighs
and scream, scream it all out
and even though you'll dig your fingers into my flesh
until i'm bruised,
i'll still run mine through your hair,
i'll hold on to you as you scream,
scream until you're blue,
until your knuckles are white
and your lips are numb --
and the rain will be pouring,
thunder and lightning tearing the sky apart,
and nothing will hurt as much as
seeing you broken.
i will hold your hand
as you dive into morpheus's realm
and watch your purple eyelids flutter:
you are a ship and i'm the one supposed to gather the wreckage.

i'll wake up at 8, stiff and worn out,
and i'll let you sleep, and i'll go buy eggs and milk
because you will have, as always, forgotten,
and i'll come back soaked to the skin;
you'll push back a wet lock, then give me a dry shirt;
we'll make pancakes and omlette
and your hand
will wrap around my hand
and your face
will fit in the crevice of my neck
and darling, we won't be okay -
but sunrises after storms are always the brightest -
and we'll be as close as can be.