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

see Her ringed finger mark your Tarot
spinster of the ancient arts- of alchemy

mystic moon, where art thou this eve?
seas of open space cast down the spires

my trippie hippie, gallows of purgatory await for this impish, mischievous game you play

neo-pagan divination, she conjures through the ethereal to the metaphysical

solar system of limitless neutrons
link my will, my soul, my mind to this delightful imaginarium

blackened mirror divine me an eternal wager
to ignite the passage through the veil of ether to reach the otherside (vapors child)

raven claws of convoluted desires pull me deeper
a burning gullet of fire, ethanol's dark, bidding wish

the solitary art of bending light, slowly- as helions, as cherubim, equally fade out

slowly the water ripples & bubbles
cool seance hands open medium's gates slowly

a cruel ballast of Hope hangs upon the raving skeleton breeze
frigid the Spirit that awakes in the Hollow from aeons of scrying

folded, Her woven world of the galaxies she evades, this of eventide mystery breeds

she behests the dark & the vision of light she illustrates by starlight of one thousand dancing sands

at midnight's door about to cross the threshold
upon this witching hour, the mind's eye opens by star-swollen passageways