Best Minstrel Poems

Serenading me with vivid poetry
     Her pen extends thoughts so lovely 
Weaving words into graceful birds
     heart-felt...

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The Merry Minstrel of Mickleover

I strike this chord without a sword
For I am not so brave
Whence came a knight with armour bright
Who vowed princess to...

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The minstrel and the rubbish
	To a homeless in N.Y., who had a guitar to keep him company
        ...

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While talking to the moon about my day
How strange, when from the east, a minstral wind
As sleeping trees began to gently sway
Dead leaves upon the...

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 In Thrall

I’ve scooped plasma from the sun
To cook meals and heat my bath,
Moved Mount Everest just for fun;
None can ever walk my path.

I’ve had...

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There is a solace in his silence, a servant of his solitudes,
As he comforts in compliance, a jester to the multitudes…
He stands alone a neophyte,...

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Invitations to the Gala
issued by a grave impala
were highly sought out missives 
by the bold and the submissive 
Those omitted uttered curses
shook angry fists or...

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My gypsy heart is restless.....
I’ve been here too long
too long....
the fields alive with paths that lead....lead...
there, to the edge of the earth and sky
the minstrel...

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‘Twas a grey november morning
When I climbed outside my window
To see my breath like dragon’s smoke
Swirl and dance away.
‘Twas bitter cold 
That autumn day,
And sickly...

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The wind is in the west 

   and the moon large and low,

   the tapered horizon aglow

   with the...

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I walk in silence as I defile
Chasing circles with a vixen vile
Only the shadows know my pain
For I walk in silence of slumbering shame

With solitudes...

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Platinum minstrel
jewel-encrusted gemstone
sculptress, dawn usher...

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I will not be your puppet in a minstrel show 
Because I guarantee no Mammy, Jezebel, or Sambo lives here 
You may try to control...

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Sweet the taste of parted lips

Sweet the taste of parted lips
sipped gently from the vine
Droplets of sensation fill 
this cup your precious wine

Take this weary...

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I flip the history of Bojangles
On a cool Sunday evening
Los Angeles coming down
A flow of oboes breathing
Through the lung of the street
The hobo not stopping...

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