- 87,990 hits
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: trees
aspen leaves flutter — two quaking hearts in the wind — and we are not trees sustained by deep clenching roots but ants at the grand picnic Advertisements
The pines hold their arms wide open to me, and never tire. The crows are better at living, and smarter, we both know this. The stream runs cold and clear, clearer than my head, not nearly as cold As the … Continue reading
Watch a bird gathering the smallest winterfallen twigs one by one to fly them to a crotch of limb and trunk high in a stillbare tree. Thus are the scatterlings interwoven in the very tree from whence they were blown, … Continue reading
The cobalt shadows of the poet trees stretch in last light, limbs entwining, across the snow to the russet alders that grow to the edge of the beaver pond.
Dirt path bent ’round alders standing in water under a wintery sky. Border collie and rusty wagon wheel. Pale green lichen on thin steel subsumed in aspens. Bare limbs in a lonely tangle scratch at the clouds. Two trees stand apart … Continue reading
Sometime between poems, when I was stuck in the shoebox of my workaday life, the heavy heat dropped through the bottom of the wet paper bag of summer, and by the time I had driven home and changed clothes and … Continue reading
I am no more than a stone or a tree and a grain of sand or a log I will be, though they say that when a redwood dies a humpback sings and a black bear cries.