Category: Writ Limbic

  • Treads beneath the Willow Trees

    Ankle deep she treads beneath the willow treesFeet deep into water brown with mud and wine And now she turns to me her feet still pointed straightShe calls out in a tragic voice, but tells me that she’ll wait The voice is drenched in honey and I know she will be mineMy boots thrown off, […]

  • It’s Finally Over And… (poem)

    It’s finally over  And I’m on my way home  I would say it’s like the first time,Except that truly, it is not.‘Cause life is not a cliche, Rather it’s like back in those days  when I worked in a place  where I came home before shops closed  And before the sun set  and the work […]

  • Freezing

    She had returned, I thought, and even danced with me.But now once more she has wandered away, alone in the dark. A vast frozen lake.I wanted to leave the little ones home, but they wouldn’t have it.But the storm has been here for hours.I put them in my coat for safety.I hope you’re not out […]

  • Moments

    I have shared precious moments from so far afar;And I hope to share so much more for sure…. Shaking weavingDucking, heaving… Can I hope for love;Can I ask for you…. And yet…Rupture, repair Devotion, though less intense,Can revive and resurrectAny lost love, in some respect. So welcome home,My Kingdom below,Down here on earth,Because I have […]

  • Corrupt-adness: Fragmented Depression

    Fragments 1 StoneCage Heart Lock down the heart,Sealed in a cold stone cage.Fully enclosed, airtight and waterproof,Never open again, never feel the shame.Seed withinThe seed of strife,Locked in as well,A touch of insanity,Airtight and waterproof,Locked in the stone cage.In the smile, the eyes,The madness burns,Straight from the heartand into the head.It will never escape,It keeps […]

  • Purgèd Youthful Earth

    She was nocturnal, feminine;She came only at night. I cut my fingers off.¹It was upon confession that the joy left us, And instead she became the night woman. Only at nightLoving at night,And cooling the day. Chilled the day, summer passed in frigid bipolarity, My heart burned out to compensate.And in the cool cold winter,She […]

  • “The Old Ball and Chain”

    “The old ball and chain…” “Do you mean a morningstar? Or a medieval flail?” “…You could call her that.”

  • Refathomable Flashbacking

    1 (Saccharine Sweet) Alexandre,Truly a teeth-first woman,Not quite sharp tongued,Sharp toothed.Black metal teeth, perhaps,The source for that. Put past her teeth,Not sharp tonged,Almost quick witted,Her mouth,Like sugared, overripe fruit,Warm and saccharine. — Anselm Siren 2 (Meditations on Sight) II And I saw her near the shore,And she hadn’t followed me, but there was she,Knees d(ee)amp […]

  • Of the New Religions

    Let us define religion as any philosophy or theory that affects a person’s beliefs and actions. You must think, after the 20th century religion changed with Modernism. Modernism spelled the end of traditional religions in the west, in part thanks to Nietzsche. We had all sorts of strange new movements claiming to be ancient. Theosophy, […]

  • The Path of August

    Written the day before my birthday. Before you was set the path,  What you were supposed to do,    What they said you were supposed to do?But you didn’t like being told what to do,So you wandered off the path.And years went byAnd you never stopped wanderingYou never found your own way.And before it was too late you […]

  • Scrap 2

    If someone called out to you in pain, would you listen? Because that’s what I do to you and you don’t. What the dead men teach That anger is a form of cry And it is all I know. Alexandre Dirge.

  • Further Leftovers

    1 The call is too strong. And where it isn’t strong, it’s loud. And where it isn’t loud, it’s subtle. 2 The Book They studied the item for decades. A sacred order formed to explore its secrets. And then one day, an exile returned to the city, revealed a key, and unlocked it. No one […]

  • Of Commonplaces: An Essai for Montaigne

    As the ancients said, “Possessed with hellish torment, I master magics five” Mustaine 1990 Are there Commonplaces in my generation? That universal, perhaps conversational, well of references and information. Is it gone? I could call it culture, but if Commonplaces are gone, then that would imply we have no culture, and it seems we do. […]

  • Writings 0010

    I want to breathe in the cold autumn air, The grey skies, patches of snow in the forests, Stand in the rough trail, stare straight ahead and Wait for the winter. Daniel Triumph.