Long Bard Poems
Long Bard Poems. Below are the most popular long Bard by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bard poems by poem length and keyword.
Muses stray, as darkness beguiles the light
While poets sleep there casts a shadowed pall
Enchanted prose now languishing in blight
Night’s spell has ways of vexing what has been
Verse once unbowed is now seduced to crawl
The baleful Nyx has cast her nightly spin
The poet’s lot - to reignite the flame
The life inscribed in daylights metered rays
Are listless words as gloaming’s curse has tamed
Exhort your pen dear bard and foray hence
Win back this forlorn script from night’s malaise
Restore the sculpted word to present tense
Muses stray, as darkness beguiles the light
The poet’s lot - to reignite the flame
Note – Nyx (Greek Goddess of the Night)
For Cornish Sonnet Contest – 16 Mar 2014
Just One More Day
There was once a man, for whom I held an adoration so sincere
He was my instructor, the one who brought out my love for Shakespeare
He was an old man
But he was one among a million
I saw him last when I completed my middle education
When I bid him adieu with a smile on my face and in my heart, desolation
His classes were the best
I did feel not like I was toiling but his lessons flew such that I felt like I was at rest
We went our ways, our paths were found on the opposites
Though he did wish for me to attempt on my re-sits
I soon forgot about him
But then, with time, I did want to share with him, my life's whims
Oh bloody curse, the day I phoned at his home
I learnt that he had left for the other realm
After having suffered a tumor in the brain
So deep was my wound, so strong was my pain
But hey that's life
It does never last, anyone's breath
Things of today do easily become those of the past
To the mundane one should never cling so fast
But if he did come back for one more day
Why, I would cry of course, and say
You were the best teacher that I had
See, today, your teachings have made of me a girlish bard
You were right in so many ways
I wish I had listened to you, that I became not one the strays
After all, you were for me, the role model
I always looked at you and wanted to be someday, like you, the students' angel
I have still not yet met a teacher as empathic as you
You could read me; to really see me, you were one of the few
I miss you, I miss your classes
I miss your ironical passes
You always used to bestow on us blessings
Now, I am sure there where you are, you brighten up all those beings
Why, if I could have one more day with you, dear teacher
I would have had with you, such a conversation, one being more than deeper!
8 December 2015
I'm writing in despondence,
Perhaps seeking your indulgence,
Let's talk about this boy,
Let's be their life-buoy,
Big boys are now crying,
They are at a verge of dying,
They're all subject to oblivion,
Very soon going to extinction,
Today I'm speaking for the lad,
Do not say I'm a biased bard,
Where's the manhood glory,
All troddened and treated lowly,
To day I'm writing to the men,
Pushing on to the gentlemen,
Let's be a little magnanimous,
All you hear ain't rumours,
We've lost everything masculine,
The all world is now feminine,
The rain is heavily beating us,
Our own are licking the ****,
Let's go to the drawing board,
There are lots of things aboard,
Lets check the nitty gritty,
It's time to avoid the fishy,
@Tha Formidable Cheru.
#themonk.
no shortage of familiar metier real
(material) aye attest
welling up within thy breast
merely a predicament how to winnow
junk bonded barnacled
accretion encrusted
amidst gems buried
within treasure chest,
yet vigilant to sift,
viz figurative fine tooth comb
uprooting excrescence laired plethora
incognito, sans faux
couture doggerel habiliment dressed
necessitating painstaking
poetic rock climbing
ala scaling Mount Everest
imbedding, hooking, grappling
fingered duple crampons
aye con fessed
to myself, the futility
to wrest Shakespearean nuggets,
which analogy hyperbole you guessed
nor does modesty allow me feeble effort
(trite) on par with August bard,
who would rank him,
the highest allotted value
upon assigned (absolute)
value of playing card,
hence tis the gold standard thee
verse a tile scribe based
at Stratford on Avon
this here wordsmith wields
his own literary might always on guard
to stave reprehensible tar tarred plaque
like encrustation glued hard
akin to a geode methodical
mother lode extraction jarred
by the slightest distraction,
thus with bold
ness sigh hermetically
seal off every cerebral fold
vectors against superfluous mind chatter
can upend fragile tenuous hold
when merest wisp of nearly
elusive mental thread escapes,
i feign scold
ding this paperback
bestseller wannabe with told
cha so Harris, thus
keep dreaming envisioning
an green acred Edenic demesne
sprawling across wide webbed wold.
(thus, I revel to reveal
more'n juiced poppycock
perhaps casting impression,
I hale from Mars,
thus this wordsmith
willfully exposes emotional scars.)
Fear of challenging myself,
and/or lack of where
with all to confront
psychological
(dis) comfort zones,
that passivity did veer
really inadvertently,
currently indirectly,
galvanically charged
as deaf fence sieve barrier
and hermetically, inherently
sealed (unclear)
to me how to dispatch
i.e. (muster)
courage to tear
down invisible
barricade shuttering
acute (oblique striated
mein kampf existence),
thee dulled eyes
didst blankly stare,
ring just beyond
the impaled psyche
liberation i.e. freedom rare
rung only plaintively relished
by this self condemned,
cuz aye felt
scared (to death) living,
which may seem *****
nearly equivalent
being solitarily confined,
with absolute zero chance
(on broken wing or prayer)
life sentence,
would NEVER be commuted,
asper this outlier,
and/or less
prospect for parole
never came near
well nigh since birth
(as this popping
creaking, and crack
ling body electric
inexorably approaches
LX orbitz
around Earth) mere
lee experienced his existence,
not worth
any king to leer
not even worth
Doppelganger to jeer
only the hollow echo strictly
I can only hear
as an aging toothless
grimacing crookedly
raggedy man doth glare
from cracked mirror,
twill bid fare
well to optimism - endear
himself to forfeit any dare
ring do only
remaining holed up
sitting against
a hard backed chair
reflecting on bleakly obtuse
countless unmet dreams bare
heft desolate freight tinned woes
only thru limply
lame poetry I can air.
.
did yourn bard
tell ya
share with ya
thuh warm mine felt
exspecially when
her mitts
likewise
grip'n thick digits
stroll'd mine pecs
lock'n just bellow
mine short rib
no tickle
just warm
okay
tickle
yet warm
did yourn bard
tell ya
hers scream'd
lock'n tight mine
when all uv mine
holler'd
yesss
holler'd
"i love you"
Today I’d like to talk to you about how meter plays a part in
how we write a poem and sometimes in how we speak
The above lines, which are not at all poetic, are written in a specific
rhythm, or meter. Go back and read them again. You’ll pick up on
the rhythm: da DUM, da DUM, da DUM, etc. (unaccented syllable,
accented syllable, etc.)
The meter most commonly employed in poetry is iambic pentameter:
An iamb consists of an unaccented syllable and an accented syllable.
“Penta” means five. Therefore, five iambs create the meter called
iambic pentameter. Now, we’ll look at the top two lines again, this
time dividing the words into three lines: 1. Today I’d like to talk to you
about 2. how meter plays a part in how we write 3. a poem and some-
times in how we speak. This plain, literal language is written in the
rhythm used in many poems—iambic pentameter.
Literary examples, followed by everyday language, all in iambic pentameter:
“That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall.” (Robert Browning)
My rubber ball went bouncing down the hall! (Yours truly)
*****************************
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” (THE Bard)
Let’s stop and buy some gum along the way. (Yours truly)
****************************
Ask me for trochees, dactyls, anapests,
and spondees. All will take me quite a while.
Request tetrameter and trimeter.
Will do! But none of these will make me smile
like writing five neat iambs in each line.
I most enjoy this well-established style.
August 1, 2018
Contest Title: Reads Like Music--Haibun-Look poetry contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Talk, Before the flow of the pens.
Speak Before I send molten lava
Chat Before the beam shines
Chat and don't return to the drama
Speak We're not one of those herd.
And in the midst of outrage, we hear cheering.
Your decree, such as the tone of bard,
Sprouting, but hard, like the rose shading.
In the chords of reason and devotion,
A symphony of emotion emerges quite deeply.
Oh, the story, we need to reconcile our clear vision,
I think the power to bring, that time to try.
It's got basic rhymes and tales from his ability.
O poem. Let's make a tent mate, for a party.
Behold the Globe, where Will in splendor stood,
His quill a wand that bent the world to art;
He summoned tempests, witches, fire, and blood,
And bound Verona’s lovers heart to heart.
He bade dear Hamlet grapple with his soul,
And cast enchanted moonlight o’er the stage;
He crowned mad Lear, then let the thunder roll,
A king undone by storm and mortal age.
His verses roll through time’s eternal hall,
Each utterance a flame from voice to voice;
Players and princes rise at his clear call,
And sound his truths in tones that bid heaven rejoice.
O Will, thy works yet walk the boards with might,
For thou hast taught the very stars to write.
poem written for online poetry class
When eye was eating my serial this mourning
Aye red the hole rules four the contest
Eye sore it inn black and white
It was plane for all two sea
The sponsor said wee CAN make miss steaks
Butt too me this practise isn’t write,
Nun are aloud, they are usually band
Yule have guest its throne me off coarse
Ewe awl no wee kneed too right perfect poetry
How can wee expect two win
Hour poem mite bee bard
Weave always bean tolled Anne error can't bee maid
Sew is the fax I didn’t ewes my spell chequer a gambol…
May bee I knead a lessen how too rite inn the write tents two
Tell me strait, do my versus make any scents too ewe?
Who nose, my poem mite sale to a plaice at the top of the podium
Contest Don’t fight it ….write it!!!! – Sponsor John Lawless
08~13~15