Bards Poems - Poems about Bards

Poets in motion

We're poetic wraiths,
Poets' souls in motion, bards,
Brainiacs, our muse,
Singing around our planet,
Nature, Love's dreams, far beyond.....

The Forgotten Bards: Song of the Classical Minstrels

Forever extinct seems the age of classical poetry,
With all its cheers from caves, cottages, marble domes and temples,

When now a country honors not classical bards:
O Hugh MacDiarmid, Petrarch, Ono No Komachi, Thomas Chatterton, Robert Browning, James Macpherson, Christina Rossetti, Theophile Gautier, Gavrila Romanovich Derzhavin,
 
Beside their essence and dignity, little gifts grow dim,
While their Fame

Bards of Solitude

My sleep evaded by the rabble running through my head,
I pull about my wrinkled sheets and scuttle out of bed.
I sign upon the secret line to enter Poetry Soup,
and once again, now wide awake, I’m back amongst the group.

I find a bunch of early birds or night owls if you please
that paint with words electric,

Screaming Bards of Mu Mu Land

life it seems
is not without its irony
for the screaming bards 
of Mu Mu Land

.. on lounging chairs
.. on deep-piled rugs
.. just laying round
.. reciting verse

.. my bards were still
.. and known to all
.. in whispered words
.. as mild as mauve 

and when they showed me to the door
I could sense within 
creativeness 
the un-ravelling of

Bards and Society

Bards and society 

Poets are gentle people who like to form a group for writers
with an eccentric title, “a thousand poets against war.”
Poetry is only useful for dictators and those who like to demonstrate how literal they are.
Dictators find them valuable if they extoll the regime
If not, you are exiled or jailed.
Poets are subjected to

Poems About Poems I

Poems about Poems (I)



What the Poet Sees
by Michael R. Burch

What the poet sees,
he sees as a swimmer
~~~underwater~~~
watching the shoreline blur
sees through his breath’s weightless bubbles...
Both worlds grow obscure.



Muse/Goddess
by Michael R. Burch

“What will you conceive in me?”
I asked her. But she
only smiled.

“Naked, I bore your child
when the wolf wind howled,
when the cold moon scowled...
naked, and gladly.”

“What

To Ye Bards of Past

Thanks bards fallen
For the inspiration given 
For the eyes are now opened
For in lines on paper inked,
Lessons were learned,insight was earned.

Thanks bards fallen
For in lines down written
Truth was spoken
Dreams were born.

Thanks bards fallen
For the many hearts mused.
In your lines and rhymes,
Emotions and feelings lucidly expressed,
Vividly felt.

Many a bard
Fly sky high
For because you flew.
And gates to

When Two Bards Do Meet

When two bards do meet...
           Their closed minds they discreetly disclose
Tho their versions differ- in a good rapport treat; 
            But see to that, no ones vanity loose.
As verses from both sides do flow

All the Little Bards

Albert Gannon Farquar-Lock, he sowed 
his peppered praise; his Shakespeare 
wandering love of  words, and hey!... 
distant, country, with me the pupil fifteen 
and a day, he my teacher:
keen to learn my pen, his way;

and through the nightly, writing of his sprite, 
I learned to conjure light, by write;
his furrowed brow, or tense fleshy

Ancestry: Celebrate African Bards

TRIBUTE TO AFRICAN WRITERS FOR THEIR STRUGGLE AGAINST OPPRESSION
CELEBRATE AFRICAN BARDS
A mirror in ink
Placed before my future
To save me from the sink
Of this chameleon picture

Anthills of the Savannah:
With pen, they told me the past;
Without their trail I wonder
How to narrow a confusion this vast

Through their crystal pages,
My antiquity—inept— illumines;
For their battles, no wages
But mansions in

Ancestry: Bards

Homer,Chaucer, Shakespeare, Keats, Eliot
Soyinka, Okigbo, Osundare
Now me, recycling human ideas

Bards Thoughts

Slept and slumbered under the quinine stains we wept,
On a poignant bard’s weary nib we slept.
Yearned we to spill  on to paper,
Him caged sore thoughts for later.
Weeping words we lay folded,
On table, heart moulded.
Sorrowed dirge lament,We repent,..................dissent 

An Interlude With Bards

Outside the storm is raging, heaping piles of drifting snow.
Inside I'm snuggled in my easy chair, the fireplace all aglow!
I've retrieved an old tome of poetry from my library shelf,
To spend an afternoon with noted bards to entertain myself.

I'll never tire of the lovely lyrics leaping from its pages,
Composed by inspirational poets down through the

Zombie Bards

Poetry turns from the common man,
Turns on its arrogant heel,
Stalking away toward the cloistered academe.

Nothing is duller or deader than
Poets unable to feel
Love—or compassion, or dream the lofty dream.

Thus poetry turns from you, from me,
And talks to itself, indulgently,
And nobody hears. Quite understandably.

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