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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: winter
The future is a truck barrelling down a snowy road. We follow its vague shape through the speeding cloud, never gaining, unable to pass. One way to see clearer is to pull over, stop chasing, listen to ravens, talk to … 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
Listening to Townes sing about growing old as I drive back north into the last of winter, a battlefield strewn with old snow corpses in the ditches, under the black-eyed aspen and between the stoic pines. We’re hard on the … Continue reading
Wet pavement glistens an unnatural rainbow of indigo, ultramarine, emerald and gold, an oily borealis shimmering in dull light. Clouds hang low, a heavy poultice on a bruised world. Thin pink strata presage the night, flaring to orange like the … Continue reading
blue jay at suet –peaked blue toque, thin black chin strap– dressed for the weather
Startling silence after a three-day storm – minus-five and everything settled and smooth, snow resting like a kind of truce or like the moment of sleep-slipping after hard loving on silken-white skin.