Long Limn Poems
Long Limn Poems. Below are the most popular long Limn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Limn poems by poem length and keyword.
I’ve been asked to explain the words ‘Never A Gain’!
So I’ll limn it here plain, all that’s ‘Never A Gain’:
Death, destruction and pain define Never A Gain,
like a pale hurricane, warfare’s Never A Gain,
often wars steal terrain, simply Never A Gain,
even wars on the wane, really Never A Gain,
over ten million slain, frankly Never A Gain.
Although diplomats feign (pretend’s Never A Gain)
and abuse might and main (yes, still Never A Gain),
trying tricks and chicane achieves Never A Gain.
Where the children have lain, holes are Never A Gain,
limber limbs torn in twain, doubly Never A Gain,
living famine, mundane, by God Never A Gain;
warriors say it’s humane though there’s Never A Gain.
Army hordes raising Cain bring back Never A Gain,
bloody battles, though vain, produce Never A Gain,
whether guns or cocaine, shots wreak Never A Gain;
though the dead don’t complain, dying’s Never A Gain.
Atom bombs from a plane bestow Never A Gain,
lethal neutrons a flame beget Never A Gain,
with a nuclear rain, all’s lost, Never A Gain.
In a sandy domain, victory’s Never A Gain.
Desert blood down the drain? A clot’s Never A Gain.
And though dunes will remain, a grave’s Never A Gain.
Global war, so insane, provides Never A Gain,
whether Gaza, Ukraine, death deals Never A Gain.
In that graveyard domain, regret’s Never A Gain
and a soul’s reddened stain also’s Never A Gain.
Can we learn from the slain that war’s Never A Gain?
YES!!!
Since it’s Never A Gain... well then, Never Again!
Ill-fated crowds neath unchained clouds: the Silent City braved
against a sudden flashing flood, unleashing lashing waves,
which stripped its stony structures, blown with neutron bursts that laved.
Its barren streets, although effete, resound of yesterday
with chit-chat words no longer heard (though having much to say)
since teeming life (at one time, rife), surceased and slipped away.
Within its walls? Whist buildings, tall... Outside the City? Dunes,
which limn its frail forgotten tales, in weird unworldly runes
with symbols strung like halos hung in lifeless, limp festoons.
Above! The dismal ditch of dusk reveals a velvet streak,
through which the winter’s wicked winds will sometimes weave and sneak,
and faraway a cable sways, a bridge clings hushed and bleak.
Thin shadows shift, like silver shafts, throughout the doomed domain
reflecting white, wee wisps of light in ebon beads of bane
which cast a crooked smile across a faceless windowpane.
Wan neon lights glow through the nights, through darkness sleek as slate,
while lanterns (hovered, high above, in silent swinging gait),
whelm ballrooms, bars, bereft bazaars, though no one’s left to fete.
Death's silhouettes show no regrets, 'twixt twilight’s ashen shrouds,
oblivious she always was to cries in dying crowds –
in foggy neap the spirits creep beyond the mushroom clouds.
No ghosts of ones with jagged tongues will sing a silent psalm
nor haunt pale lips with languid quips to pierce the deathly calm,
nor yet redress the emptiness that shifting shades embalm.
Continued in part 2
A fresh aroma of the winter roses bore upon
The break of the day light, the first ray hold upon
By the droplets beaded over the floral leaf
Mulled over by the sight so mimetic
The life glazed over the mist filled by the charismatic.
An ecstatic jubilation bided by the Christmas carol
The gala affair of the sunset, the last ray hold upon
By the beloved savored over the time cajole
Relived over by the chorus so balmy
The rendezvous solemnization blended by the carmine patty.
A warm welcome of the edging resolutions blessed upon
The solemnity of Mary, the first greet hold upon
By the wishes ordained over the coming élan
Pleased over by the time so worth
The time of the year met with the springtime growth.
Anew Sun brought upon the garden, bore upon
The green of the array, the first ray hold upon
By the moving moraine over the frost melted -
Drifted over by the season so pledged
The aroma suspired over the blue air, warmth blended.
Pooled by affections over the day choired by love, relived upon
Betrothals belonged forever, the first kiss hold upon
By the destiny manana over the time so limn -
Touched by the amity so dear
The warmth over the ardor met with sweetness so fair.
They held back for the bathe in the colour so motleyed, poured upon
The meme prevailed over decades across the east, the last ray hold upon
By the field blazed over the harvests so sear
Turned over by the air so brut
The time of the year met with the season so hot.
Note: Continued from Fragrance - II
My name is rain
But I have many faces.
I am the howling gale
That rattles your shutters
And sends the porch chairs
Skittering across the floor.
I whistle and scream
And drive cascades of water
Against your windows
And down the rain gutters,
Forcing tiny rivulets
Between the shingles
To drip tinnily into buckets
On the floor.
I am shy and quiet,
Misty and mysterious.
I cushion and muffle
The busy noise of life.
My voice is a whisper
Scarcely heard.
My tiny droplets
Fall like downy feathers,
Tickling the upturned faces
Of flowers and children
And lovers
Walking hand in hand.
I am the steady, drenching rain
That soaks the parched ground
And awakes the sleeping
Iris and daffodil,
Crocus and tulip.
I tend the farmer’s crops
And green the fields
And pastures.
I softly beat my drum
In rhythm on your roof
And lull you to sleep
And pleasant dreams.
I am the summer storm
Sweeping in suddenly
Without warning
From the West.
I bring the fireworks
Of crackling thunder
And lightning blazes
That limn the trees
In stark relief,
That send cats and children
Scurrying under beds
With eyes clenched shut.
I am as old as the earth
And as young as spring
I can be harsh and loud
Or so gentle that
Children cavort and splash
In my muddy puddles.
Farmers rejoice.
I send picnickers,
Laughing and wet,
To have their picnic
Under a river’s bridge.
I am both feared and loved.
My name is rain,
And I have many faces.
Luminous lids lift, languidly unveiling vistas of vibrant verse, as lavish laughter lines lips that lure with lyricism.
Sultry syllables swirl, a sweet serenade that saturates the senses, summoning sonnets that soar on solar winds.
Gentle gestures glide, a gracious gamut of elegance, as each delicate digit dances, dripping with dignified demeanor.
Fiery fervor flashes, a fervent fusion of fascination, as fervid fingers fan the flames of fantasy and fiction.
Ravishing radiance reigns, a resplendent rainbow of ravishing beauty, as rosy rouge revives and rejuvenates the senses.
Lissome limbs undulate, a languid latticework of loveliness, as lithe lines limn the landscape of the lovely dame.
Velvety vowels vibrate, a vibrant vocalization of vitality, as vivacious voice whispers sweet nothings to the willing heart.
Dazzling diamonds dazzle, a diadem of dazzling delight, as delicate digits decorate the divine with diaphanous drapery.
Svelte silhouettes sway, a sinuous serpentine of seduction, as supple skin shimmers, shedding shimmering shadows.
Gossamer garments glide, a gauzy gamut of gorgeousness, as gilded gowns glimmer, glowing with golden light.
Lustrous locks cascade, a lavish landslide of loveliness, as luxuriant tresses tumble, tumbling tenderly to the ground.
Ethereal essence emanates, an exquisite efflorescence of elegance, as the lovely dame embodies the essence of the divine.
Its fingerprint of astral trace
singles out sidereal face
amongst the heavenly array
of stellar orbs in star ballet
that dance in metamorphous space.
The light dispersals limn with grace
celestial body in its place
for earthly mortals, to portray
its fingerprint.
Yet nature’s flux persists in pace,
as death takes all in vast embrace
despite what star one’s cast to play,
plus humankind will fade away
and time shall by and by erase
its fingerprint…
~ Harley White
* * * * * * * * *
The poem is a rondeau ~ a short poem of fixed form, consisting of 13 lines (plus the phrase twice) on two rhymes and having the opening words or phrase used in two places as an unrhymed refrain.
Inspiration for poem and image from article ~ “Hubble and a Stellar Fingerprint”…
Showcased at the center of this NASA/ESA Hubble Space Telescope image is an emission-line star known as IRAS 12196-6300.
Located just under 2,300 light-years from Earth, this star displays prominent emission lines, meaning that the star’s light, dispersed into a spectrum, shows up as a rainbow of colors marked with a characteristic pattern of dark and bright lines. The characteristics of these lines, when compared to the “fingerprints” left by particular atoms and molecules, can be used to reveal IRAS 12196-6300’s chemical composition.
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.
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.
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
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