Short Troubadour Poems
Short Troubadour Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Troubadour by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Troubadour by length and keyword.
“Greatness”…the goal of ermined kings,
“Sainthood”…nun and priest,
“Fame”…the troubadour who sings,
“Mankind”…the charnel worms who feast.
-Folly in Grin-
Sleeping troubadour
Ask his ink why he slumber
Or his papyrus
Words they themselves would forget
Since their lord is indisposed
Laughing daisies dancing
In the warm, June breeze.
Cloud lambs
On a field of blue.
Fence post troubadour
In a yellow vest.
Green grass
Sipping morning dew.
Form:
Adieu
Red cricket
Flirts with the rising moonglow,
Feels the first icy fist of frosty breath subdue
The summer chorus serendipity
In a cold moon shadow -
Summer troubadour bids "Adieu!"
I wonder if you think of me
The way I think of you
I wonder if you miss me
The way that you used to
I wonder if you still, you know
Two, the Spanish word
When once I was your troubadour
And you were my bluebird
Sometimes I call you "Bluebird"
To you I'm "Troubadour"
You're a silver microphone
I'm a red guitar
And when you say my name out loud
I'm at your beck and call
But the one I love the most is "babe"
I like that best of all
The stars at night so brilliant
So many stars to see
And although they all do twinkle
Does yours still twinkle at me?
Are you still on that star my bluebird?
T'was a time when I knew for sure
Yet these days I gaze and I wonder
Am I still your troubadour?
Place your finger on my arm
Trace the outline of your guitar
Then take it up on to my chest
And trace my heart, you know it best
You think you don't but yes, you do
It's very beat belongs to you
And someday you may feel its peel
The pulse it has for you is real
I think of you my little dove
Your troubadour, he scribes his love
Through poems, snippets, winks and smiles
Connecting us across the miles
Until we meet again you'll be
On my mind, I wait to see
You walking in for Sunday song
In that short time I will not long
sitting on the corner
in a cold and windy city
I wrote a little verse
I think - more of a ditty
It had a subtle lilt to it
a bit terse – a bit witty
of a troubadour too cold to sing
Oh, Lord, it is a pity
sitting on the corner
3AM - in a windy city
John G. Lawless
©12/9/2021
It sure was grand I must admit
I'll always think the perfect fit
Was Bluebird and the Troubadour
Tracing fingers, red guitar
Penny, Phil
Brooke and John
Anne and Gilbert
Elsa, Tom
A fire and a big snowstorm
A cozy cabin nice and warm
Paris, France and Veuve Clicquot
And someday maybe, Dos, Uno
I scorch a path
down a new trail
with visions and
essences yet experienced.
I wish you were
with me somehow,
trekking across the
familiar unknown.
Yet, we blazed a
new star within
the cosmos, rich in
luster in love
even as I flee to
new distances, my
troubadour heart shall
long in perpetuity.
into the clouds
my spirit
flew up high
and then flew
downward fast
and faster
into blue
alabaster
a troubadour of song renown
followed it the way down
happy when both were met
the melodious duo
sang the song my spirit
loftily sought and found
together spread the word
God is Love in sonorous sound
Troubadour sitting and waiting for you
Would do anything you wanted him to
Renaissance man now plucking the strings
Dreaming of all sorts of marvelous things
Some can be put down on paper right here
Others will just stay inside me, my dear
The ones that are there are the ones set afire
Fueled by the passion of ardent desire
Feel better soon dear Bluebird
Someone loves you much
The troubadour that's in me
Is writing such and such
In little ditties, longer lines
Some that take a page
But all express my heart in words
And once you're on the stage
I stand behind and in the back
Your beauty in full view
I like to think the painting
By Klimt is me and you
Feel better soon dear Bluebird
Someone loves you much
The troubadour that's in me
Is writing such and such
In little ditties, longer lines
Some that take a page
But all express my heart in words
And once you're on the stage
I stand behind and in the back
Your beauty in full view
I like to think that painting
By Klimt is me and you
Girl of my dreams, to me you're a queen
The most beautiful woman that I've ever seen
More precious than emeralds in settings of gold
And thoughts of togetherness never get old
Whenever I'm with you, inside me I say,
"Moment stay frozen, time go away"
You're in my heart always, where there I will be
Your loving troubadour waiting for thee
Wandering in a love song
Dreaming of his hearts embrace
The Troubadour sings
"Raison d' etre"
While stars cast a lonely moon's tune
Where darkness shields his fate
As wind is to rain, his sadness
Blows tears to the ground and falls
Like heavy roaring
Thundering skies crash
While his lyric silences soft
The Troubadour sings
July 20, 2019
Come run with me down to the sea
Hand in hand, just you and me
Down
Down
Down
Down to the sea
Where I will be your devotee
Come skip with me along the shore
Rejoicing hearts, forevermore
Skip
Skip
Skip along the shore
And I will be your troubadour
Come fly with me o'er timeless sands
Glisten waters, faraway lands
A troubadour wanders
through star laden space
Absorbing new light
from destiny’s face
The truest reflection
opaque at the heart
Intrepid attacking
repelling the dark
As hope and a memory
marry within
Strings of eternity
tune on the wind
Where off in a storm cloud
the Jester forays
And wrapped in new thunder
— a violin plays
(To Scarlet: April, 2026)
.
had tuh say
"no you"
thank
morph'n
erotically into thuh poet
troubadour
* ')>
guitar in your arms
taken to heart
troubadour tempest of free form poetics
playing your part
talk in your sleep
dreams come untrue
mastering mystery-charm for the masses
acting on cue
mistrust in your eyes
callers on hold
awaiting without a clue at the reason
centuries old
guitar in your arms
turn and depart
maverick songs in the voice of a martyr
playing your part
For full nine months forlorn widow,
Every nine hours by window;
Men watching their every shadow,
Still hoping for her Ricardo,
Who'd promised her Eldorado,
This doing in a Choice Meadow...
Now, The Incommunicado,
Gone her main source of Bravado
And Volunteering Troubadour,
To her a Buck she to him Doe,
Ricardo, not innocent, though...
Slain for vanishing with Grang's dough
Chente—mi amigo, compadre, hermano
Troubadour of our pain untold
Minstrel of our abandoned souls
Keeper of our traditions bold
So loved by La Virgen de Guadalupe
That she took you on Her day
Now heaven’s honored balladeer
For Her now, you may play
You leave us with our sorrow
Our inconsolable despair
So, with a soft prayer on our lips
We plead—Volver! Volver!
Expose faster
your songs from limbo
of your soul and exposes
your bosom...!
Do it list and with tenderness...
May you sing them beautifully
and grace...!
cast them accurately
on your beloved balcony,
at the counter of your intended...
Do it with maximum promptness
and grace, because you're at risk
that she listens to the songs
of love from another
further agile troubadour... and
be enchanted...!