Long Bards Poems
Long Bards Poems. Below are the most popular long Bards by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bards poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh wondrous one
What have they done
We're stuck here in a rut
No Paddy's Day, to my great dismay
I'm treated like your mutt
Oh little boy
Fill your heart with joy
The journey's on the cards
I've called the Prez and this he says
With the wisdom of the bards
It is written in the stars
That a mam will travel far
On his duties for to subjugate a nation
And a bowl of sham-rock withering
And a moron that is dithering
Shall uphold the credo of the House of Slithering
So let's all join hands together
Mee Hole springs for the leather
We'll huddle, howling loudly at the moon
Well gather at the Oracle
Each tugging at a follicle
Varad Karz Crystal balls, we will exhume
So, on your knees Mee Hole
My boy, you've topped the pole
And the Sham-rock is your Golden Travel pass
Don't you listen to the rabble
The dyslexic, playing scrabble
Would make more sense conversing with an ass
Mee Hole got on his knees
Varad Karz to appease
The Prez, was howling loudly at their moonies
They each lay upon the floor
Debating furthermore
Drawing straws to see, who'd be the littlest spoonie
For it is written in the stars
That a man will travel far
On his duties for to subjugate a nation
And a bowl of Sham-rock withering
And a moron that is dithering
Shall uphold the credo of the House of Slithering
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 ages.
Those gifted folks awaken latent emotions in my languid soul,
Creating soul-stirring verse about life that they so fluently extol!
I delight in the lines championing ordinary folks by Edgar Guest,
And the ballads of Robert Service on his daring Yukon quest!
The works of The Hoosier Poet J. Whitcomb Riley I hold dear.
It's as if he wrote about my Hoosier boyhood of yesteryear!
The fire casts gloomy shadows about as I read Poe's elegies,
But my mood brightens reading Kilmer's beautiful poem, "Trees!"
McCrae's, "In Flanders Fields", as a lad I learned by rote.
I chuckle at the whimsical poetry that Lewis Carroll wrote!
I treasure my time with the bards and their poems in the book.
It occupies a very special place in my library nook.
Well, I'll put it aside since the cat has hopped upon my lap.
Dear old Simba and I will settle in for a cozy winter's nap!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Somewhere out there in the world
There was a girl, No! strike that—a woman.
He saw as a girl, but knew as a woman.
And loved her only like a man, only a real man can.
A full grown man. Past his trials and tribulations that plague an adolescent youth, posturing while attempting to prove his valor, worth and to much a female’s ambivalent chagrin, his dominance. In his tiny kingdom. Which was really the vast universe of all that crazy phenomenon human beings gave the quirky abstract thing a name. They called it love.
That’s been written about by bards and authors alike. Between a male and a female, the dark to your light. Hey, who is dark anyway? It must be Eve.
Anyhow. Somewhere in the world this forthright, upstanding citizen of a girl, this woman had such an “understanding that she’d see him [in his entirety] like a poem or a story. And "find his words so valuable after all that when he confessed his apprehensions she would explain why they were in fact the very things that made him precious to her.” The Gestalt view of the man. She knew him entirely. Read him like a book. She knew the plot the exposition, the conflict the Rising Action (wink wink) the dénouement and the resolution. As the French would say, n'est-ce pas.
No, like a poem. A poem she wishes she could write. She knew where the best pages of him were. Existing in dog-eared pages with phrases that described earmarked features. Monumental features that tore her heart asunder. Features that filled her up. As god as her witness shed never be hungry again. To lie awake and think of his soul, seeping out of his mouth with words reverberating her own. Oscillating tiny bones, giving semiotics new meaning with each locution.
Don’t over analyze the symbolism here reader. She’d lie awake and ruminate his gestures, his mannerisms. His smile. And the way his face would look in different light. And how when he laughed the crinkles that formed around those intelligent eyes after he eloquently would mouth some truism. And she knew this face appeared throughout history. And she knew a writer of ballads wrote “don’t shove me while I’m drowning… were all just hunting for love” and she read once an author noted: “almost all the people on the boardwalk were paired off into couples.” The end.
If deeply calls a bard for epic muse,
like newborn lambs that crave their mother's milk;
if feet that lightly trip along with shoes
of Mercury whose message speeds, like silk,
with lightning's sudden flash and peals of thunder;
if fate told jokes, regaled with humor's laugh,
then life, Greek tragedy, with comic blunder,
mocks man's pride, hubris, ego, using his gaffes
(with bathos). But high drama's theatric peak's
for bards and Elizabethan playwrights
who, like seers, see with vision, craft unique,
wond'rous, and grandiose plots of lofty heights!
But to give up this dream that seems sublime,
I'd wish for, still, love, children, peace, and time.
Helosis had a reputation for never backing down from a fight or a battle.
He rolled his eyes when bards sang of his exploits. Many exaggerated.
Sure of his position as the number one warrior in Sea Range Meadows.
Until Geglick’s songs trumped his. Something he had never anticipated.
Who was this Geglick? He wanted to stomp the man into dust pressed.
But a haughty, sophisticated, well-toned, muscular warrior stopped him.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and half dressed.
He could not take his eyes off this marvel. She was Geglick of course.
They began a courtship based on mutual animalistic lust and attraction.
But they also had many other things in common too. Their bravery of course.
Geglick was always the first one into a battle, no matter what faction.
He could not stop her. She was like a well-trained, charged up battle horse.
In one particular incident he was intimidated by a large gargoyite with huge teeth.
This guy was huge beyond anything Helosis had ever seen, and Geglick was ahead.
He tried to get between his wife and this killing machine, to eliminate himself grief.
But before he could, Geglick sliced into the gargoyite, and he fell down quite dead.
If clocks ran backwards and time did chime
The hours and the minutes of your life and mine
Would tomorrow be written by the poets and the bards
And the cruellest of sorrows in the deck of life's cards
When salvation is sought at the end of a bottle
Should we drive there directly, open road and full throttle
How I'd love to bestow all the beauty life holds
For each suffering soul, put an end to life's woes
A hitchhikers fate may be yours to command
Are the cards they've been dealt in the palm of your hand
If the tale of each fate's in the past that we've penned
Are we destined to travel the wrong road again
Should we crawl on our knees, bow down when He calls
Should we cower at heel in Elysians Halls
Is faith but a chore under tightening reins
Is religion the cure or the cause of our pains
If peace has a place in rhe hearts of all men
Could hatred be quelled at the stroke of a pen
Lay claim ro your lives in rhe Game of all thrones
Carats cut like a knife the most precious of stones
If tomorrow's been written in the annals of time
To what lies the purpose of your life or mine
Do we stand tall and proud like our fathers before
Or sink like a stone to be lost evermore
The princesses decided to have their own Thanksgiving Day feast.
While their princes were hunting, they could have fun at least.
All were invited, and they took turns in the kitchen.
Pocahontas was soon pouting, and Aurora was ’n.
The maize we had brought was not the sweet corn they liked.
It was too far back to town; no one wanted to make that hike.
We have sweet potatoes, broccoli, and dishes galore,
Jasmine said sweetly. So no one has to go out for more.
The seating chart was a mess, but Mulan said she did not care.
As long as she had a seat on a comfortable, dining room chair.
So Elsa, Anna and Ariel set about rearranging the place cards.
Jasmine floated in with jingling bracelets and two fawning young bards.
She cannot help it said Rapunzel, who wanted the young men to stay.
She is easy, and she also greatly pouts if she does not get her way.
Snow White agreed to make plates, and keep them from the table.
Used to soothing feelings, after living with seven dwarfs without cable.
Tiana kept running out to give us a taste of her delicious stew.
Sleeping Beauty was asleep, and possibly Cinderella too.
But the rest of us tasted the food and made appropriate sighs.
It was truly a marvelous Thanksgiving without any of our men guys.
Best of all, Belle, Meridia and Aurora could be their selves.
The only ones who would talk are the silly kitchen elves.
Meg was watching the tiger who was eyeing the turkey.
She lured him away with a taste of sweet jerky.
By: Vicki Acquah
CAN YOU SEE WHAT I AM SAYING
WHEN I PAINT PICTURES
WIT MY TONGUE.
CAN YOU UNDERSTAND THE
AESTHETICS OF MY HEART -
AS I DRAW FROM THE UGLY-
REALITIES OF OUR PHYSICAL
CONDITIONS
CAN YOU HEAR THE DEPTHS OF MY
WORDS ECHOING FROM
THE CHAMBERS OF MY CHI
WHEN GOD IS DISTRACTING
ME FROM MY EARTHLY BEING.
CAN YOU UNDERSTAND
THE LANGUAGE OF MY SOUL-
WHEN HES EXTRACTING-
THE BEAUTIFUL FROM ME.
Showing me what he wants
me to be see-ing
IF GOD is love,and love is purity
and purity is poetry
then poetry must be the yen-
and the yang- of the
universal language-
-of love Love is
God and God is all things.
Linguistic lyrics-
Tongues and languages -
Where Gods invokes and
meets mans soul
to move to feel
and then
inspire aesthetically
I am speaking of loves language,
poetry - Balancing us bards-
between many worlds
We clamor to get back to
chasing our own curious dreams-
Sometimes we do not want to fly
where other souls are soaring nor
record what the voiceless voices
are saying
But we are scribes we write-
speak -and we feel the
beautiful beings
and also feel the merciless
We write the yen
and the yang of
the beautiful--the fruitful-
SPIRITS SPEAK TO ME-
I am the heartbeat of poetry
and then I ask
"do you hear me-- And I ask do
"SEE what I am saying ?
I am God's personal
ergonomic metaphor -
ah me ?
Asking myself
"DID I SAY THAT"-
Where did that come from
I NEVER HAD A CLITOR-ECTOMY-
Middle of the crossroads, I’ve found myself in
To my left stand the poets, holding their pens
On my right are religions, kneeling behind a cross
In front sit the atheists, debating who’s boss
Behind me an army of agnostics, look totally lost.
Let the dual begin, they all fight for my soul
Bards throw the first salvo, a stanza to behold
But god’s people retaliate, Bibles are held high
Non believers point to a rocket, above in the sky
Ones behind me, sit on fences doing nothing at all,
Meanwhile the debate rages, almost to a brawl.
Poets bring out big guns, Poe, Yates, winning me over
Religious read their gospel, drawing me in closer
Atheists go all out, with Darwin and natural selection,
Agnostics still looking blank, without any direction
I’m been torn asunder, on life’s meridian intersection.
Bards say without poetry, I’ll never be truly free
God’s people counter, embrace Christ and find eternity
Non believers tell me look at facts, in human technology
I go join the ranks, of recused zombies behind me.
By
David Kavanagh
Her beauty does enthrall in morning light
as sunshine paints the sky in hues of pink,
and fare thee well is bid to darkest night;
upon her face the light and beauty sync.
My rose so fresh in early morning air,
with pure delight her essence sates the room
while filling void with splendor that’s so fair,
and sowing seeds of hope for life to bloom.
The aura seen ‘round rose throughout mankind
caused many men to dream, and bards to muse;
led countries into war, and lovers find
the reasons they unite; their lives they fuse.
The heavens gift which all of mankind knows;
the grace and lovely essence of the rose.