"limns" poems
The world's a bubble; and the life of man less than a span.
In his conception wretched; from the womb so to the tomb:
Curst from the cradle, and brought up to years, with cares and fears.
Who then to frail mortality shall trust,
But limns the water, or but writes in dust.
Yet, since with sorrow here we live oppress'd, what life is best?
Courts are but only superficial schools to dandle fools:
The rural parts are turn'd into a den of savage men:
And where's a city from all vice so free,
But may be term'd the worst of all the three?
Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, or pains his head:
Those that live single, take it for a curse, or do things worse:
Some would have children; those that have them none; or wish them gone.
What is it then to have no wife, but single thralldom or a double strife?
Our own affections still at home to please, is a disease:
To cross the sea to any foreign soil, perils and toil:
Wars with their noise affright us: when they cease,
We are worse in peace:
What then remains, but that we still should cry,
Not to be born, or being born, to die.
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The slenderness of the delicate letters
The softness of the deep-meaning words
Painted on a snow white paper.
The Silver Poet sits under the dim light
Of the mystic star-knitted universe.
Closing the eyes he feels a crystal tear
Rolling down like a raindrop on the glass
Falling into eternity, dropping on the snowy paper.
The Silver Poet is shivering but has no fear.
The words he limns flow like a pure river
Down the mountain slopes leaving its path
An everlasting mark which will never vanish
The poem comes alive when the Silver Poet breathes.
He takes out his Golden Heart to accomplish the poem
And gives his wondrous soul for the sake of the rhythm.
The poem is ready to become another bright star
Knitted carefully around the Silver Poet's Golden Heart.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 3:52 AM UTC
phasical circumlocutions of basic, embodied life..
i am an infant still i teethe and moan in lonely darknesses
solar revolutions
earthling orbits and spheroid whirls
an axis of worlds
adulterated limbs
my adulthood limns an architecture's disconnections
thin, the layers undulate
of elbow's sway and kneecap right
i am an adult still i teethe and moan alone in darkness, light
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
Breeze works it's way
under the hairs on my skin
your touch limns
like a bit of current
to my bones.
It's time to decide
how to continue
for everyone to be
where they belong
with whom they belong.
We weave the tapestry of us.
Check in with your wisdom.
It might feel a bit foolish.
Fools we are.
It's time to for pride and joy to be
where it belongs
for the next turn of the wheel.
Let the eyes have it.
Hear me now in measured verse not.
Bread of Demeter's hearth leads you
to find your way to life's nectar
before I forget how to dance
The angry scent of a cast off woman
is an assault to the senses.
So hurry, love.
Jul 22, 2013
Jul 22, 2013 at 7:22 PM UTC
these storms have turned the world all green
and sunlight limns the leaves in gold
no time today to chide or scold
we look and smile the birds all preen
while eager hunters become bold
these storms have turned the world all green
for beauty we have set the scene
a story known and often told
that hearts are broken and consoled
these storms have turned the world all green
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 6:40 AM UTC
The world
sparkles
like quartz,
a layer
of snowy white
reflecting
the
winter sunlight.
Festivity permeates the
air,
and all
of creation limns
Christmas.
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 12:26 AM UTC
Words and sounds are connected to the images seen
The eyes tell tales before tongue hisses
The December child walks bare to the unknown roads foreseen
The wit of the mind does not mind the matter
And what does, does not matter
Perception limns a breakage at intervals
Everything is blurred after a dream
Even family.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 8:27 AM UTC
My dearest love, smile once more. What I wouldn't give just to hear your voice. What I wouldn't do just to be in your arms..... What I wouldn't do to cut the lips off of your face and make sure they could never be unfaithful again. What I wouldn't do to rip out your voice box and make sure you never confess your love to another. What I wouldn't do to rip your limns off and make sure I was the only person in your arms. What I wouldn't do to watch you suffer the way you watched me...... What I would do to save you from me? I want to protect you, but I can't help from wanting to rip you apart..... My dearest love. My whole world. My life. I can ever so easily and take you down with me. Until we meet again. My dearest love.
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 1:10 AM UTC
Can you make a friend— like a craft project?
I know, I hear this parental voice, “just be yourself.”
All of my classes this semester will be in one building, but I’m a control freak, I wanted to walk my schedule, go class to class, like I will on my first day. I have a locker too—this is so high school—but I wanted to find it, try the combination and plan what I’ll carry. I have questions too, like how’s the wi-fi, are there charging outlets, and where can I get coffee?
Orientation is Tuesday—but who can wait until Tuesday? Classes start Wednesday. I’d never sleep this weekend with so many questions. I’m already having dreams where I’m lost, late and embarrassed.
So there I was, this morning, dressed for class with my green messenger bag—doing it—schedule in hand. I went into a small auditorium with cushioned, crimson, theater seating—where my first class will be—and there’s this other girl, dressed for class, schedule in hand.
We were like twins, except she’s tall and black and I’m not. Right off she commanded me, handing me her phone, no preamble, no “How do you do,” to “Take my picture.”
Of course, I obeyed, I’m not from outer space. I burst 50 quick frames, as she slightly varied her pose and she did likewise for me.
Her name is Chella and she graduated from Yale last week too, with a ‘Bachelor of Science in Global Affairs.’ I think I saw her on campus once or twice but our paths had never directly crossed.
“But IS "Global Affairs" a science degree?” I asked skeptically.
“Probably not,” she answered, “but some of us can live with ambiguity.”
Her first direct, commanding phrase limns her personality perfectly.
Yeah, we hit it right off.
.
.
Songs for this:
Cruel To Be Kind by Letters to Cleo
Perfect Day by Povo
Are You Trying to Be Funny? by Everything But the Girl
May 24, 2025
May 24, 2025 at 10:24 PM UTC