Ex Libris NC (aka Lynn Roundtree)
@exlibrisnc.bsky.social
Posts about poetry, history, antiquarian books, spirituality, and wordplay. Louisiana native, longtime North Carolina resident.
The vineyard country, russet, reddish, carmine-brown in this season.
A blue outline of hills above a fertile valley.
It’s warm as long as the sun does not set, in the shade cold returns.
A strong sauna and then swimming in a pool surrounded by trees...
poetrying.wordpress.com/2019/02/18/d... #Poems
A blue outline of hills above a fertile valley.
It’s warm as long as the sun does not set, in the shade cold returns.
A strong sauna and then swimming in a pool surrounded by trees...
poetrying.wordpress.com/2019/02/18/d... #Poems
December 1, 2025 at 12:45 PM
The vineyard country, russet, reddish, carmine-brown in this season.
A blue outline of hills above a fertile valley.
It’s warm as long as the sun does not set, in the shade cold returns.
A strong sauna and then swimming in a pool surrounded by trees...
poetrying.wordpress.com/2019/02/18/d... #Poems
A blue outline of hills above a fertile valley.
It’s warm as long as the sun does not set, in the shade cold returns.
A strong sauna and then swimming in a pool surrounded by trees...
poetrying.wordpress.com/2019/02/18/d... #Poems
How did someone come at last to the word for patience
and know that it was the right word or patience
the sounds had come such a distance from the will to give pain
which that person kept like a word for patience...
#Patience #Poetry #Poems
www.theparisreview.org/poetry/1270/...
and know that it was the right word or patience
the sounds had come such a distance from the will to give pain
which that person kept like a word for patience...
#Patience #Poetry #Poems
www.theparisreview.org/poetry/1270/...
November 30, 2025 at 1:26 PM
How did someone come at last to the word for patience
and know that it was the right word or patience
the sounds had come such a distance from the will to give pain
which that person kept like a word for patience...
#Patience #Poetry #Poems
www.theparisreview.org/poetry/1270/...
and know that it was the right word or patience
the sounds had come such a distance from the will to give pain
which that person kept like a word for patience...
#Patience #Poetry #Poems
www.theparisreview.org/poetry/1270/...
The loved ones we call the dead
depart from us and for a while
are absent. And then as if
called back by our love, they come
near us again. They enter our dreams.
We feel they have been near us
when we have not thought of them.
They are simply here, simply waiting..
www.instagram.com/p/DRjiPeBiE-u/
depart from us and for a while
are absent. And then as if
called back by our love, they come
near us again. They enter our dreams.
We feel they have been near us
when we have not thought of them.
They are simply here, simply waiting..
www.instagram.com/p/DRjiPeBiE-u/
November 29, 2025 at 1:04 AM
The loved ones we call the dead
depart from us and for a while
are absent. And then as if
called back by our love, they come
near us again. They enter our dreams.
We feel they have been near us
when we have not thought of them.
They are simply here, simply waiting..
www.instagram.com/p/DRjiPeBiE-u/
depart from us and for a while
are absent. And then as if
called back by our love, they come
near us again. They enter our dreams.
We feel they have been near us
when we have not thought of them.
They are simply here, simply waiting..
www.instagram.com/p/DRjiPeBiE-u/
Joy Harjo, "Perhaps the World Ends Here"
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
#Thanksgiving #Poetry #Poems
www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49622/...
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
#Thanksgiving #Poetry #Poems
www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49622/...
November 26, 2025 at 1:08 PM
Joy Harjo, "Perhaps the World Ends Here"
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
#Thanksgiving #Poetry #Poems
www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49622/...
The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.
The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.
#Thanksgiving #Poetry #Poems
www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49622/...
You will never be alone, you hear so deep
a sound when autumn comes. Yellow
pulls across the hills & thrums
or the silence after lightning before it says
its names - and then the clouds’ wide-mouthed
apologies. You were aimed from birth:
you will never be alone
voetica.com/poem/6732 #Poetry #Poems
a sound when autumn comes. Yellow
pulls across the hills & thrums
or the silence after lightning before it says
its names - and then the clouds’ wide-mouthed
apologies. You were aimed from birth:
you will never be alone
voetica.com/poem/6732 #Poetry #Poems
November 25, 2025 at 4:05 PM
You will never be alone, you hear so deep
a sound when autumn comes. Yellow
pulls across the hills & thrums
or the silence after lightning before it says
its names - and then the clouds’ wide-mouthed
apologies. You were aimed from birth:
you will never be alone
voetica.com/poem/6732 #Poetry #Poems
a sound when autumn comes. Yellow
pulls across the hills & thrums
or the silence after lightning before it says
its names - and then the clouds’ wide-mouthed
apologies. You were aimed from birth:
you will never be alone
voetica.com/poem/6732 #Poetry #Poems
Your yet-to-be-dismantled elms are few,
and by the time you read this may be gone.
In my own childhood we had one or two
that framed the lawn before the hurricane
trees that were far too noble to survive
a time like ours, too slender or sublime.
www.theparisreview.org/poetry/3238/... #Poetry #Poems
and by the time you read this may be gone.
In my own childhood we had one or two
that framed the lawn before the hurricane
trees that were far too noble to survive
a time like ours, too slender or sublime.
www.theparisreview.org/poetry/3238/... #Poetry #Poems
November 23, 2025 at 4:32 PM
Your yet-to-be-dismantled elms are few,
and by the time you read this may be gone.
In my own childhood we had one or two
that framed the lawn before the hurricane
trees that were far too noble to survive
a time like ours, too slender or sublime.
www.theparisreview.org/poetry/3238/... #Poetry #Poems
and by the time you read this may be gone.
In my own childhood we had one or two
that framed the lawn before the hurricane
trees that were far too noble to survive
a time like ours, too slender or sublime.
www.theparisreview.org/poetry/3238/... #Poetry #Poems
William Blake, "To the Evening Star"
Thou fair-haired angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves...
#Poetry #Poems #Venus #Blake
allpoetry.com/To-the-Eveni...
Thou fair-haired angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves...
#Poetry #Poems #Venus #Blake
allpoetry.com/To-the-Eveni...
November 21, 2025 at 12:02 PM
William Blake, "To the Evening Star"
Thou fair-haired angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves...
#Poetry #Poems #Venus #Blake
allpoetry.com/To-the-Eveni...
Thou fair-haired angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves...
#Poetry #Poems #Venus #Blake
allpoetry.com/To-the-Eveni...
It has been carefully painted
with the outlines of tools
to show us which belongs where,
auger and drawknife,
claw hammer and crosscut saw,
like the outlines of hands on the walls
of ancient caves in France,
painted with soot mixed with spit
ten thousand years ago
www.staging.voetica.com/poem/10695
with the outlines of tools
to show us which belongs where,
auger and drawknife,
claw hammer and crosscut saw,
like the outlines of hands on the walls
of ancient caves in France,
painted with soot mixed with spit
ten thousand years ago
www.staging.voetica.com/poem/10695
November 20, 2025 at 11:24 AM
It has been carefully painted
with the outlines of tools
to show us which belongs where,
auger and drawknife,
claw hammer and crosscut saw,
like the outlines of hands on the walls
of ancient caves in France,
painted with soot mixed with spit
ten thousand years ago
www.staging.voetica.com/poem/10695
with the outlines of tools
to show us which belongs where,
auger and drawknife,
claw hammer and crosscut saw,
like the outlines of hands on the walls
of ancient caves in France,
painted with soot mixed with spit
ten thousand years ago
www.staging.voetica.com/poem/10695
"A Jar of Buttons"
This is a core sample
from the floor of the Sea of Mending,
a cylinder packed with shells
that over many years
sank through fathoms of shirts —
pearl buttons, blue buttons —
and settled together
beneath waves of perseverance...
voetica.com/poem/10487 #Poetry #Poems #Sewing
This is a core sample
from the floor of the Sea of Mending,
a cylinder packed with shells
that over many years
sank through fathoms of shirts —
pearl buttons, blue buttons —
and settled together
beneath waves of perseverance...
voetica.com/poem/10487 #Poetry #Poems #Sewing
November 19, 2025 at 11:33 AM
"A Jar of Buttons"
This is a core sample
from the floor of the Sea of Mending,
a cylinder packed with shells
that over many years
sank through fathoms of shirts —
pearl buttons, blue buttons —
and settled together
beneath waves of perseverance...
voetica.com/poem/10487 #Poetry #Poems #Sewing
This is a core sample
from the floor of the Sea of Mending,
a cylinder packed with shells
that over many years
sank through fathoms of shirts —
pearl buttons, blue buttons —
and settled together
beneath waves of perseverance...
voetica.com/poem/10487 #Poetry #Poems #Sewing
"November 18," by Ted Kooser
Walking by flashlight
at six in the morning,
my circle of light on the gravel
swinging side by side,
coyote, racoon, field mouse, sparrow,
each watching from darkness
this man with the moon on a leash.
#Poetry #Poems
davidkanigan.com/2014/09/20/a...
Walking by flashlight
at six in the morning,
my circle of light on the gravel
swinging side by side,
coyote, racoon, field mouse, sparrow,
each watching from darkness
this man with the moon on a leash.
#Poetry #Poems
davidkanigan.com/2014/09/20/a...
November 18, 2025 at 12:05 PM
"November 18," by Ted Kooser
Walking by flashlight
at six in the morning,
my circle of light on the gravel
swinging side by side,
coyote, racoon, field mouse, sparrow,
each watching from darkness
this man with the moon on a leash.
#Poetry #Poems
davidkanigan.com/2014/09/20/a...
Walking by flashlight
at six in the morning,
my circle of light on the gravel
swinging side by side,
coyote, racoon, field mouse, sparrow,
each watching from darkness
this man with the moon on a leash.
#Poetry #Poems
davidkanigan.com/2014/09/20/a...
The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun
that bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushion
whose flowers have faded, like those of summer
and a small brown spider has hung out her web
on a line between porch post and chain
so that no one may swing without breaking it.
poets.org/poet/ted-koo...
that bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushion
whose flowers have faded, like those of summer
and a small brown spider has hung out her web
on a line between porch post and chain
so that no one may swing without breaking it.
poets.org/poet/ted-koo...
November 16, 2025 at 1:54 PM
The porch swing hangs fixed in a morning sun
that bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushion
whose flowers have faded, like those of summer
and a small brown spider has hung out her web
on a line between porch post and chain
so that no one may swing without breaking it.
poets.org/poet/ted-koo...
that bleaches its gray slats, its flowered cushion
whose flowers have faded, like those of summer
and a small brown spider has hung out her web
on a line between porch post and chain
so that no one may swing without breaking it.
poets.org/poet/ted-koo...
Hugh MacDiarmid, "Island Funeral"
The procession winds like a little snake
Between the walls of irregular gray stones
Piled carelessly on one another.
Sometimes, on this winding track,
The leaders are doubled back
Quite near us...
#Poetry #Poems #Art #Funeral #WyethNC
www.jstor.org/stable/3848266
The procession winds like a little snake
Between the walls of irregular gray stones
Piled carelessly on one another.
Sometimes, on this winding track,
The leaders are doubled back
Quite near us...
#Poetry #Poems #Art #Funeral #WyethNC
www.jstor.org/stable/3848266
November 15, 2025 at 1:45 PM
Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
Our voices echo magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
poets.org/poem/morning...
The midwife slapped your footsoles and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
Our voices echo magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
poets.org/poem/morning...
November 14, 2025 at 12:07 PM
Love set you going like a fat gold watch.
The midwife slapped your footsoles and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
Our voices echo magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
poets.org/poem/morning...
The midwife slapped your footsoles and your bald cry
Took its place among the elements.
Our voices echo magnifying your arrival. New statue.
In a drafty museum, your nakedness
Shadows our safety. We stand round blankly as walls.
poets.org/poem/morning...
"People nowadays think that scientists exist to instruct them, poets, musicians, etc., to give them pleasure. The idea that these have something to teach them — that does not occur to them." (Ludwig Wittgenstein, "Culture and Value")
#Poetry #Poems #Arts #Music #Humanities #Science
#Poetry #Poems #Arts #Music #Humanities #Science
November 13, 2025 at 1:19 PM
Mary Oliver, "Mysteries, Yes"
Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.
How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising...
#Poetry #Poems
onbeing.org/blog/choosin...
Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.
How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising...
#Poetry #Poems
onbeing.org/blog/choosin...
November 12, 2025 at 1:53 AM
Mary Oliver, "Mysteries, Yes"
Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.
How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising...
#Poetry #Poems
onbeing.org/blog/choosin...
Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.
How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising...
#Poetry #Poems
onbeing.org/blog/choosin...
November 11, 2025 at 5:27 PM
John Berryman, "Eleven Addresses to the Lord (No. 3)"
Sole watchman of the flying stars, guard me
against my flicker of impulse lust: teach me
to see them as sisters & daughters. Sustain
my grand endeavours: husbandship & crafting...
#Poetry #Poems #Prayer
www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48948/...
Sole watchman of the flying stars, guard me
against my flicker of impulse lust: teach me
to see them as sisters & daughters. Sustain
my grand endeavours: husbandship & crafting...
#Poetry #Poems #Prayer
www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48948/...
November 11, 2025 at 12:50 PM
John Berryman, "Eleven Addresses to the Lord (No. 3)"
Sole watchman of the flying stars, guard me
against my flicker of impulse lust: teach me
to see them as sisters & daughters. Sustain
my grand endeavours: husbandship & crafting...
#Poetry #Poems #Prayer
www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48948/...
Sole watchman of the flying stars, guard me
against my flicker of impulse lust: teach me
to see them as sisters & daughters. Sustain
my grand endeavours: husbandship & crafting...
#Poetry #Poems #Prayer
www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48948/...
"The Way It Is"
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
#Poetry #Poems onbeing.org/blog/a-threa...
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
#Poetry #Poems onbeing.org/blog/a-threa...
November 10, 2025 at 1:23 PM
"The Way It Is"
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
#Poetry #Poems onbeing.org/blog/a-threa...
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
#Poetry #Poems onbeing.org/blog/a-threa...
"At the Equinox"
The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars.
I have no theory of radiance
but after rain evaporates
off pine needles, the needles glisten.
In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon
and at the equinox bathe in its gleam.
#Poetry #Poems poets.org/poet/arthur-...
The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars.
I have no theory of radiance
but after rain evaporates
off pine needles, the needles glisten.
In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon
and at the equinox bathe in its gleam.
#Poetry #Poems poets.org/poet/arthur-...
November 9, 2025 at 12:42 PM
"At the Equinox"
The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars.
I have no theory of radiance
but after rain evaporates
off pine needles, the needles glisten.
In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon
and at the equinox bathe in its gleam.
#Poetry #Poems poets.org/poet/arthur-...
The tide ebbs and reveals orange and purple sea stars.
I have no theory of radiance
but after rain evaporates
off pine needles, the needles glisten.
In the courtyard, we spot the rising shell of a moon
and at the equinox bathe in its gleam.
#Poetry #Poems poets.org/poet/arthur-...
"Prayer for Words"
Here is the wind bending the reeds westward,
The patchwork of morning on gray moraine:
Had I words I could tell of origin,
Of God’s hands bloody with birth at first light,
Of my thin squeals in the heat of his breath...
#Poetry #Poems #Words #Momaday
poets.org/poem/prayer-...
Here is the wind bending the reeds westward,
The patchwork of morning on gray moraine:
Had I words I could tell of origin,
Of God’s hands bloody with birth at first light,
Of my thin squeals in the heat of his breath...
#Poetry #Poems #Words #Momaday
poets.org/poem/prayer-...
November 7, 2025 at 1:01 PM
"Prayer for Words"
Here is the wind bending the reeds westward,
The patchwork of morning on gray moraine:
Had I words I could tell of origin,
Of God’s hands bloody with birth at first light,
Of my thin squeals in the heat of his breath...
#Poetry #Poems #Words #Momaday
poets.org/poem/prayer-...
Here is the wind bending the reeds westward,
The patchwork of morning on gray moraine:
Had I words I could tell of origin,
Of God’s hands bloody with birth at first light,
Of my thin squeals in the heat of his breath...
#Poetry #Poems #Words #Momaday
poets.org/poem/prayer-...
Each crisp autumn
there are fewer leaves, more clarity
light cycles of the haymound
odors of late roses
rivers rushing where we
once meandered
content in the casual chaos of each
season, plotting no espionage
because we did not know
the world as terror then.
poets.org/poet/rose-st... #Poetry #Poems
there are fewer leaves, more clarity
light cycles of the haymound
odors of late roses
rivers rushing where we
once meandered
content in the casual chaos of each
season, plotting no espionage
because we did not know
the world as terror then.
poets.org/poet/rose-st... #Poetry #Poems
November 6, 2025 at 12:53 PM
Each crisp autumn
there are fewer leaves, more clarity
light cycles of the haymound
odors of late roses
rivers rushing where we
once meandered
content in the casual chaos of each
season, plotting no espionage
because we did not know
the world as terror then.
poets.org/poet/rose-st... #Poetry #Poems
there are fewer leaves, more clarity
light cycles of the haymound
odors of late roses
rivers rushing where we
once meandered
content in the casual chaos of each
season, plotting no espionage
because we did not know
the world as terror then.
poets.org/poet/rose-st... #Poetry #Poems
Stripped
you're beginning to float free
up through the smoke of brushfires
and incinerators
the unleafed branches won't hold you
nor the radar aerials
You're what the autumn knew would happen
after the last collapse
of primary color...
#Poetry #Poems #Autumn
www.best-poems.net/adrienne_ric...
you're beginning to float free
up through the smoke of brushfires
and incinerators
the unleafed branches won't hold you
nor the radar aerials
You're what the autumn knew would happen
after the last collapse
of primary color...
#Poetry #Poems #Autumn
www.best-poems.net/adrienne_ric...
November 6, 2025 at 12:32 AM
Stripped
you're beginning to float free
up through the smoke of brushfires
and incinerators
the unleafed branches won't hold you
nor the radar aerials
You're what the autumn knew would happen
after the last collapse
of primary color...
#Poetry #Poems #Autumn
www.best-poems.net/adrienne_ric...
you're beginning to float free
up through the smoke of brushfires
and incinerators
the unleafed branches won't hold you
nor the radar aerials
You're what the autumn knew would happen
after the last collapse
of primary color...
#Poetry #Poems #Autumn
www.best-poems.net/adrienne_ric...
"Song of the Worms"
We have been underground too long,
we have done our work,
we are many and one,
we remember when we were human.
We have lived among roots and stones,
we have sung but no one has listened,
we come into the open air
at night only to love...
#Poetry #Poems #Worms margaretatwood.ca
We have been underground too long,
we have done our work,
we are many and one,
we remember when we were human.
We have lived among roots and stones,
we have sung but no one has listened,
we come into the open air
at night only to love...
#Poetry #Poems #Worms margaretatwood.ca
November 5, 2025 at 5:27 PM
"Song of the Worms"
We have been underground too long,
we have done our work,
we are many and one,
we remember when we were human.
We have lived among roots and stones,
we have sung but no one has listened,
we come into the open air
at night only to love...
#Poetry #Poems #Worms margaretatwood.ca
We have been underground too long,
we have done our work,
we are many and one,
we remember when we were human.
We have lived among roots and stones,
we have sung but no one has listened,
we come into the open air
at night only to love...
#Poetry #Poems #Worms margaretatwood.ca
Margaret Atwood, "The Moment"
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this...
#Poetry #Poems #Awareness
poetryarchive.org/poem/moment/
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this...
#Poetry #Poems #Awareness
poetryarchive.org/poem/moment/
November 4, 2025 at 12:04 PM
Margaret Atwood, "The Moment"
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this...
#Poetry #Poems #Awareness
poetryarchive.org/poem/moment/
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this...
#Poetry #Poems #Awareness
poetryarchive.org/poem/moment/