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Tag Cloud of Limingaars poetica Audio Poem autumn beauty bird birds Buddhism cat clouds cold crow crows death depression desire dogs dream dreams fall fire flash fiction grief haiku haikus heart home kiss life light loneliness lost love love love poem lovers lust moon morning naked nature night nude ocean poem poema poet poetry poets Post by Voice rain Ray Sharp river sadness sex short poem short story skin sky sleep snow song sonnet spring stars star tattoos summer sun sunset tanka tattoo tattoos of stars time trees water wind winter
Copyright Notice© Ray Sharp and Bard of Liminga, 2008 to Present. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without written permission of the author and web site owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ray Sharp, Bard of Liminga and raysharp.wordpress. com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
Tag Archives: desire
On the planet where we are lovers, the air is sweeter and we feel not weightless but just a little lighter, a little less freighted with the daily burden of gravity. May we never lose this sensation, the faint tingle inside as our organs flutter every … Continue reading
This is how I read — lips mouthing the words, fingers tracing the lines — the atlas of forbidden places. One time we made it there corporeally. Our island rose from the sea.
Purple stars with yellow hearts constellate across green skies. They turn to golden light beaux arts whene’re you close your eyes. They are fall’s flower, Greek for star, their rays burst forth and shine, And though I’m singing from afar, … Continue reading
These long winter nights when the world is enigmatized in snow, and the eerie moonglow makes me feel as though I am on the moon myself, a strange monochromatic sensation like x-rays of my past and future selves with all … Continue reading
Lust is a wave that shifts toward red as it races away. Taillights disappearing into fog. Wavy red hair turning for the train. Descending pitch of a lonely whistle.
Our Volition Was In Not Turning* Scraps of paper lifted on a careless wind, these are my verses tonight. You came to me so – the familiar face on the peeling wheat-paste poster blown across the square, come alive at my … Continue reading