Long Bard Poems
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"Before The Gates Of Alahsar,"
By,
Michael .P. Clarke.
Full Version.
Bardic style.
Chapter..........1..........Part..........1..........1.
Come now, my Lords and Ladies,
listen now to the tale I shall tell,
the ancient tale of the dreamland,
of Alahsar, I lay before you.
look now within your mind's eye,
look on the golden gates to peaceful shrine,
they stand in wonder,
before a city of joy and peace,
a most ancient jewel.
I, your Bard, stand before you,
my words, I am ready to sing,
my beating heart of truth,
it shall beat the tales cadence,
as my words, I do speak.
Oh, Alahsar, your dream forever sung,
I lay it forth, following ancient texts,
come now, my Lords and Ladies,
listen to the tale my heart shall tell.
Never, had there been dark, in Alahsar's jewelled kingdom,
the sky afire, with a golden glow, in a night of lightened twilight,
all night, this sun would lie low in the sky, a golden glory,
this light of love, ever touching the beating heart of Alahsar.
The sun did sparkle off golden pinnacles and minarets bejewelled,
the sun, kissed gold so gently, and golden light did live,
my Lords and Ladies, such a dazzling display of light effects,
forth did come the rainbows of dream's desire.
Upward, ran the virgin white, stone dwellings, of the city,
they did tower to such heights, they reached for the heart of Heaven,
open your minds to the vision, look upward, upward, ever upward,
atop the great city, a golden palace, how that glory did shine.
This was a golden beacon to all, that Alahsar did live,
the city of dream, in its golden coat, arrayed, it did sing dream's song,
from the golden gates below to the golden palace atop, peace and joy did reign,
Alahsar, sing dreams song in majesty.
On the first level, the dwellings of Alahsar's mighty armies,
of the most sumptuous furnishings, they were arrayed,
seem within your minds, soldiers dressed in such regal splendour,
those on duty, they walk proudly. from dwellings to the mighty parapet walls.
They all know nights of passion, in rooms of silken beauty,
primal passion, emitting sighs and screams into the night
communal wash areas were to the rear of these dwellings,
they were behind high walls, built into the rock itself.
To Be Continued...........
Some dude from
vinyl city revs engine
of his dirt bike to the max
blasting the air
testosterone roars throughout
his every bone and fiber
broadcasting deafening
nauseating mating clear
*****sapien primal
(atavistic urge) culled dear
ring lee from bajillion
years old genealogy,
sans chromosomal
blueprint in heir
writ tens of thou
sands sieve generations
ah...momentarily, there
pervades a stillness,
which golden imponderable
silence savored heavenly,
gloriously, and fully with delight,
unsure when the next fume ming
fuel blast will excite
the truant high
school kid delinquent
stinting precious
education, viz flight
o' fancy to race beginning
at dawns early light
ear splitting unmuffled
noise pollution,
where exhaust smoke billows
akin to tethered kite
blending with rarified
atmosphere height,
as wisps snake
skyward eventually
getting dispersed amidst bright
amidst soundcloud
clear out of sight,
which brief interlude of quietude
near painful silence to bear
ah...thank dog the
wind in the willows
soon replete with blare
ring blitzkrieg bomb
bard ding doth declare
ring foolish time
wasting youth
desultory cavalierly,
blithely and aimlessly gear
rill less lee spinning away life
with nary a blues clues care!
never could this baby boomer papa –
lviii orbitz round mister sun as I write while wife
at present (takes her siesta) imagine
dragons, killer Queen Latifah countless ways,
thee first of deux daughters
would in vite learning how to comprehend
unfamiliar infant siren ear splitting strife
and mandatory pronto reception,
unwittingly ineluctably altering my life
prior to parturition of our eldest heiress,
ah wanna let
chew in on a bit about mess elf
before becoming a papa
no emotional, financial,
nor physical obligation dim manned did
obliged, nor required this bard **** to in debt
any of his waking and sleeping second,
minute, quotidian hour,
et cetera on behalf of another person Yukon bet
char sweet bippy, that despite initial onset
of anticipatory anxiety (no pet
tee personal issue; burping baby,
diapering, swaddling, et cetera fermi person
easily got shucked off), hitherto
didst any phenomena until then
force displacement of personal habits
to become secondary, and obviously,
seriously visibly up set
status quo, where embedded fixations
housed within this scribe
required reassignment of tasks
until salient event forced him to vet
any less important issues
to an unspecified future
date and/or time, which role
i.e. forsook luxury sans,
affordable focus on me,
and immediately didst force crash course
to keep figurative whet
stone sharp every waking
and sleeping moment of me life, yet....
though a crash course imposed role
viz immediate adjustment of mister mom
(which obviously necessitated significant sacrifice
upon the head of this major Tom)
never before until that juncture
such selfless experience ever met,
but in retrospect salutary outcome
found thoughts linkedin whereby
time never divided, partitioned,
or sectored off to another livingsocial being
I never took care of an infant,
when her crying heard
yet, the birth of E_ L_ H_ incurred
(born at Bryn Mawr Hospital),
My Favorite Things comes to mind...
a random assortment, a jumble of words
a quotient of portions, quotidian served
quixotic strivings of the great deca-dense
obscured in meaning, eschewing all sense
visions and nightmares and hallucinations
erudite arguments, odd fascinations
old geezers fondling memories of things
most folk would not to mixed company bring
inchoate ramblings of damaged young minds
bubbled through water and cardboard box wine
audible groans from the web server host
these are the ones make me giggle the most
shouting in vacuums, a riotous void
pontificating, or mildly annoyed
grieving, believing, or weaving a string
virtuous outburst that don’t do a thing
rants about orange man and all his mean tweets
and, yes, “Let’s go, Brandon” to make things complete
guns, poo, abortion, yes, all are discussed
sometimes the thin-skinned bail out in disgust
side by side, posting, the sage and the fool
the wise in their youth and those starting to drool
bleeping our excrement down on the page
somehow it all seems to soften the rage
when the bard shouts
when the muse screams
‘bout covid or Vlad
we’re at a computer
with just poo to fling
and that makes me laugh a tad
They’re off! A half a dozen deer
Lept, racing up the hill.
For sure, it caught us by surprise;
An unexpected thrill!
We tried to remain motionless,
To hold perfectly still.
She lacks a certain discipline;
It’s not in Missy’s will.
It seems my little sledding dog
Then found me quite off guard.
Though she is partly Labrador,
She played her Husky card.
She pulled and pulled and we gave chase
Seemed near a hundred yards.
Successful, straining ‘gainst the leash,
She tried to move my lard.
I much preferred remaining still,
I’m now a breathless, sweaty bard.
On her, I guess I won’t be hard;
We too are now atop the hill!
To Mr. Michael, Bard of Theatrical Yearning,
Your words, like ivy, wind and wind — ornate, impassioned, almost divine.?But I write now with a quieter pen, one that bleeds not drama but truth again.
You call me complacent — a muse asleep??Dear sir, I have only grown quiet to keep?From drowning in tides too high, too fast,?Where your feelings arrive dressed in velvet and masks.
I do not miss the romance, oh no —?I see it in spades in your letter’s flow.?Your charm, your wit, your desperate fire?Could set a room — or a theater — entire?Ablaze with sighs. But is it me you seek??Or the thrill of the line, the applause you tweak?
You jest and gesture, you pine and pose,?With metaphors grand and poetic throes.?Yet when I crave the man, not the play,?You vanish behind the roles you portray.
I’ve not been unmoved — I’ve been overwhelmed,?As if love were a ship, and you at the helm?Would rather paint storms than steer us home,?Sailing in circles through froth and foam.
I do not need sonnets or grand design —?Just you — uncostumed, unpolished, plain-spine.?Tell me your fears, not your fables or plays.?Let’s talk like two souls who’ve walked real days.
I treasure your heart, your laughter, your flame,?But love is not born of performance or fame.?It’s patience. It’s presence. It’s pause and breath —?Not a whirlwind courtship staged near death.
So here I am, not lost, nor cold —?But tired of tales so lush and bold?They leave no room for quiet truth.?I do not need a knight in youth,?But a partner who can sit and stay —?Not just enchant, then flit away.
If you wish a union, as you say you do,?Meet me not in sonnets — but simply in you.
Yours in thought,?
Ms. Crane
Note: This is a sequel to “December 3, 2000” by a dear poetic friend. Please go check out his wonderful poem for context.
Bard of Soups Hearts
Brings joy to our days in so many ways
All types of poetry penned that amaze
Reading is pleasure one has to agree
Distinctly good are tales from history.
One who is well read, knowing a lot too
Fables that teach some what they never knew.
Side splitting poems, laughing till we cry
One’s never bored when this poet stops by
Uplifting, inspiring, motivating
Pleasing, delighting and captivating
Some sensual that sets hearts pulsating.
Here’s to the bard, may your poems live on
Every one an epic, second to none
Anyone with heart would love every write
Raising heartbeats like music of the night
There’s one further thing I should mention
Sums you up so surely - ‘tis perfection.
8th February 2021
Last two lines are the Bard’s own, from two separate poems.
In the unpretentious backyard
Of my house— not a home,
Bloomed a bird's nest
Concealed concernedly
In the benevolent branches
Of the dear aged tremulous tree.
When I noticed the nest nearly,
House felt like a home dearly,
I noticed the humble hatching
Of the birds—
Life lustrously levitating
Out of a shattering shell
Of an emaciated egg.
How gentle squeaks
Filled the surroundings
Slowly and sincerely,
My heart hissing
Gratitude for great glory.
Now, they are a week old,
Surely, soon, they will fill
Their wings with their
First flight
From my backyard
Amply, they'll be gone long
And I'll still be a basic bard
While they'll be reaching
The racing clouds.
I know not the name,
I know not their kind,
I tried searching,
But I couldn't find
The name of the birds
That are taking shelter
And bedazzling
My rudimentary backyard.
How artistically
Nature wonderfully works—
Blooming and dying,
Escalations and sorrows,
Falling and flying,
Yesterdays and morrows.
This is a problem growing in direct proportion
To the papers that we face very soon
In everyone’s speech a pronounced distortion
And half the class sleepwalking at noon
I’m here chiefly to bring to your attention
You may soon not understand us
Because I for one, others by extension
Shall be speaking nothing but Physics because
James is moving about too excited
Gerald just got so good at deduction
For the first time Andrew correctly recited
The laws of Motion, Waves and Induction
Ade seems to be wholly attracted
To Google, ChatGPT, Bard and YouTube
And we can no more get Chibuike distracted
With pics of a diva exposing her b**b
It’s hard to relate, with any of your mate
Tomorrow the Rev. will be so delighted
BGS completes old subjects one by one
Thinking at last he’s covered it all
But the next minute he sees a new ton
Resulting from but a two-minute call
Everyone speaks with uncertainty
Praying that they will be understood
The gravity is of such intensity
That Daniel just forgot how to be rude
Please do stay woke, this is not a joke
Making light of matters has never been fun
Oh, I remember things we used to say
Now everyone takes a holy stance
“Death, dishonor, football and decay”
Has never met a greater resistance
Like particles we all just follow the current
As if we’re afraid to give out the heat
Things we loved has become abhorrent
Hour by hour the cycles repeat
You won’t forget it, even if you don’t get it
We’ll be speaking Physics by the end of the day!
In the depth of your arms, time lays down its dreams softly,
Under the velvet of the moment, every burden turns into a silent thorn.
Oceans of trials I traverse, when I find solace and purpose,
In the sweet penumbra of your embrace, that caresses each August sunset.
When you enfold me in your world, forgotten are the turmoil and tumult,
Life, with its heavy cart, seems to me a feeble heartbeat, the road leisurely.
And it's a creation of the sacred in the fleeting moment, when you still waves of worry,
Your oasis, a realm of wonders, where I, the bard, weave and uphold the crown of happiness.
From life’s chasm, that ever plays its card of the unexpected,
Your caress overflows like a river that knows not drought.
And that greatness within us, the power to care without bounds,
Turns the fog that clung to the soul into light over solitary journeys.
You have woven a sacred embrace wherein time used to build itself,
An eternal play of colors, undulating, where secretly the flowers of hope germinated from beneath the stone.
Now there is no more fatigue, but only regal delight, in soft applause,
You make me laugh, dance, burst, not into exhaustion, but into a swirl of golden-brown.
In a world of wanderings, you are the one who grants me rest,
When you extend your arms like the wings of an angel over the descending twilight.
In your proximity, I rediscover the forgotten realm where every trouble meets its end,
And I breathe relieved, a soul in feast, with a heart light as a ladybug, unbarred, without limit.