('I' refers to God.)
In dolour, he descried the leafless pine
And under its shade of dearth lay supine,
Cerebrating how not e'en grains of sand
Pay heed to him nor his woe understand.
I thus deigned to limn Myself on his sky
To consume its vacuity strewn so high
That I painted a canopy of stars
And shaded him from the plots of scheming Mars.
I then, in all literality, blanketed him
In the fabric of the welkin, and seraphim
Watered his lifeless pine with lullabies
And read him tales and cosmic alibis.
And ere scarcely closed his eyne and sleep's kiss,
I restored the sky; on it drew a marvel of bliss.
Then after the cosmos fondled his heart to peace and reverie,
I turned it all into a dream and dissolved it in his memory.
A door made from the haphazard weaving
of wood, rust, and ivy.
Smudged newspapers flap their wings
in a wayward wind. Bird feathers
emerge from wet claw prints. Faded condoms
spill to feed the mouths of empty cans.
The garden has no house,
rubble and broken verges limn a floorplan.
Weeds grapple, roots maul residual slabs of concrete.
Black bags regurgitate desiccated bacon rinds.
A boy finds treasures,
a nickel can opener,
a pen with a lady, whose clothes fall off
when turned upside-down,
a dog-chewed superman doll.
That night with dreaming eyes
he flew over the city with a half-naked lady.
while a can-opener
slowly opened up his adulthood.
A door made from the haphazard weaving
of wood, rust, and ivy.
Smudged newspapers flap wings
in a heaving wind. Dead birds
emerge from wet print. Once full condoms
spilled now to feed the mouths of empty cans.
The garden has no house.
Rubble and verge limn a floor-plan.
Weeds grapple, roots maul concrete.
Black bags regurgitate
bacon rinds.
A boy finds treasures; a nickel can-opener,
a pen with a lady, whose clothes fall off
when turned upside-down,
a chewed Superman doll.
That night his closed eyes
fly over the city with a naked lady.
while a can-opener
slowly opens up his young mind
into puberty.
Poetry is a gift and a labor of love.
Beautifully inspired words of
Gentleness. Composing words
Of Kindness. Chasing the
Blues far far away!
Poetry is a gift and a labor of love.
Heavenly angels joyfully singing
Words of Wisdom and words of
Love. Flowing freely!
Poetry is a gift and a labor of love.
Heavenly saints join in their
Chorus of inspirational love.
Rejoicing for all eternity.
Poetry is a gift and a labor of love.
Freely flowing from my mind.
Continually all of the time.
Wonderful words! Beautiful words!
Poetry is a gift and a labor of love.
Dancing queens in bright colors.
Swirling around in circles.
It's their limn! It's their limn!
Love in Christ Jesus!
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
May 24, 2020
She dances in bright colors.
Her limn's diamond tierra
completely adorns her hair.
Making her lighter than air.
Causing a limn's whirlwind.
She keeps swirling around,
surrounded by her limn's swirling
colors. Sweeping her off of her
feet. Causing her to go
fearlessly flying into the sky.
She is swirling through the
sky in bright colors. Her limn's
completely engulfs her.
She swirls into the her limn.
She becomes one with the
sun, the moon, and the sky.
You can see her limn in
rainbow colors after rainy showers.
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
May 11, 2020
A door made from the haphazard weaving
of wood, rust, and ivy.
Smudged newspapers flap wings
in a heaving wind. Drowned birds
emerge from wet print. Barren condoms
spill to feed the mouths of empty cans.
The garden has no house.
Rubble and verge limn a floor-plan.
Weeds grapple, roots maul concrete.
Black bags regurgitate
bacon rinds.
A boy's found-treasure: a nickel can-opener,
a pen with a lady, whose clothes fall off
when turned upside-down,
a chewed Superman doll.
That night his closed eyes
fly over the city with a half-naked lady.
while a can-opener
slowly opens up adulthood.
Skull and Crossbones alumni)
passed along ancestral line when
cock sure rooster spent
however long with a hen
guaranteed supply grunt workers
oxymorons helpless to get even.
“Bosses” male ordure
trained as prospective
male pecking wives,
who with Robbie
didst rig the game to win
endemic nepotism deeply entwined
from one to the next kith and/or kin,
rode shotgun, viz nemesis
resorting to: “silent treatment”
against protesting lumpenproletariat
boot gnome hatch
against hardy thrive
off crene della creme limn
back before thyme
bred from for
gotten slight, min
us school Kudzu, gone
now and agin
gastronomically ferociously carniverous
selected and enveloped
postal stamping brutes
rampant suffocating nin
come poops figurative
thorn in side of aristocracy
heavy-duty industrial strength
pesky original pin
sir blithely festered,
nursed, and stewed
from unforgotten
perceived or actual slight
engendering infinite yawning voids
defying aid of Patch Adams
or Doctor Quinn.
Feeling lost in twilight schemes through glowing lights of starlit dreams,
raw, my thoughts, like frozen streams, soon melt as mist in iced moonbeams,
and you, your eyes, so grey and grim, yet lips that curl with smiling gleams,
gasping heart cries out and screams through growing cracks and broken seams.
In you I've found my everything, my life, my soul you make them sing,
lost in all the love you bring with gentle breath on soft hushed wing.
Enthralled in dulcet voice I limn with painted words of love I cling.
Held close to breast your voice will ring surcease of pain from burst heart string.
Envisioned aura in my head encircles all my thoughts with dread
as with your words my soul is fed and withers slow from things you've said.
Reduced as if by simple whim, your gentle deeds I've left unread.
Touch me not in days ahead, with your caress I'll be mislead,
so, leave me now with eyes blood red, alone and cold and left for dead.
01-01-17
Limn of Ballerina Feet
Slaving, aching in separate rooms of satin palace,
Two haggard maids make faces wry while weeping sweat,
Their ten sore daughters with bloodshot i’s, callused
Wince upon each light of high strides leapt.
Never more shall their soles be new sculpture pure,
As once when marble babes of stiffer stance,
Before piano keys unlocked their gaits with gore—
Wrought them damage as prize for performance.
The bank thorns had pierced their heels to tearing,
Limping river-long to learn the liquid bearing:
Mimic nature’s motion, her seamless stream,
Through tempest & temperance
That then they may perfect the sacrificial dance.
After getting a world class education
and a promise of renewed life
We supposedly enter a life of endless opporunity
A high salaried job becomes the life's expectation
add to it a beautiful wife
We spiritedly look for the endless opportunity
Birth of a new born infuses a new blood relation
another addition creates espousal strife
We crib for the endless opportunity
Diminished blacks and enhanced greys signify comprehension
a mirror's reflection cuts like a knife
We still wait for the endless opportunity
Death angel releases our trapped cognition
accepting fate with a last fife
We whisper adieu to the endless opportunity
Should a thousand expression limn the courage in you?
Never! not a word, not a crude
Not in a way that's true.
Should it bend your body but not your spirit?
Forever valiant, forever bold even so the ail
Your temple tardily buried.
Should you cry, not making crying your daily rhythm?
Despite crawling, despite wriggling pass
This life's cruel riddle.
Should victory be measured with breath and not death?
When life concludes, concluded breath matters not
For winning is not determined by breath.
A fawn was ousted into light
At Moira’s playful whim;
Its mother’s keening birthed delight
Too rapturous to limn.
If Circe were to steer your craft
To her Olympian shore,
Into your hair the wind she’d graft
Your favor to restore.
Into that fawn you’d then be turned
To quell her jealous lust,
Which never has so brightly burned
Nor risen quite so fast.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Brunneous look of your eyes
Limn your angle in any place I sight
Maybe the aura of your character is hard to find
Nor the answer is you and I collide?
I am not sure about you
If we meant to be or so..
The last thing to happen way back two years ago
You taught the spark of flames and oersted fairytales
Well hoping the next chapter, It's real another
Story of us unpuzzled
Direct and not twisted, nor debris are not existing
Myriad of thoughts lasting like mistletoes of dreams
Late at night I am still dreaming
If lies and goodbyes are the same thing?
Maybe then after we've broken
Exchequer of notions are not ending.
Now, you heard me?
Am I capable of your love already?
Say to me and you'll be free
Then, leave those to the trees...
Shower Thee!Thy wealth,
to the greens that are black,
illuminating them,
heralding rejoice amidst dark.
Oh!rotund illusion,
how can I limn thy brilliance
through pen,for it
may disgrace Thy charm.
Maidens wake to sip the
sweetness of Thy milky nectar,
their eyes, fixed on Thee,
scoff the scorching Sun.
Thy short life,too transient,
engraves an eternal impression
deep in mind's obscure depths,
like a cascade of enamouring milk.
Thee,the solitary sailor,
plunge back to the horizon-
leaving a drop of tear in the eyes
and poignance in the heart.
DATE OF SUBMISSION:27/04/2011.
INSPIRATION:The beautiful moon has always been a constant source of inspiration to me and i'm a great lover of beauty.
I ogled through the open Atelier,
And chance into a spacious grotto,
Wanting to carry out an exploration of voodoo kingdom,
I made a pact with my kinetic limbs,
On they ride and halt at interval
Introducing to the eccentric phantasmagoria sheen;
The jaunty strokes dance on sheet nondescript,
A splash here fund a dash there, presenting views
Of nucleus of venerable attenuation of skeletons,
Damp dark commingle with laser flavour colours in a bout,
The power in waves transformed curves alive,
In practice of the occult, evergreen vision on screens;
The spirit-fay on the bark of Iroko,
Entangling themselves in limn haphazard liquid manner,
Chorusing in their parasitic wail:
You won't go until you bless me.
The wizard tore deep into the belly of denizen,
And offer sacks of intestine, pancreas and spleen,
Liver and heart on thorns of kernels,
Including a farrago of feeze, symbolism of shaggy
figures,
The ragged cupboard of labourer’s model,
Hole infested trusted rusted metals bind tight with
arteries,
And rope of twirling circles,
Tin filled up to shed.
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