Tag Archives: #Bard

“Why Can’t I Be The Bard?”

I’m too young to be the Bard;

I’m too old to be the Bard;

have been barred from being the Bard –

‘I cannot be barred

from being the Bard!’ –

why is the achieving of Barddom so hard?

Would ‘me’

they

discard?

I’d make a great Bard;

and all of my Bardly words

would be Bardly Written,

and wouldn’t be too hard

to read;

with me you’d all be smitten,

I’d make a wonderful Bard,

a dutiful Bard,

really quite a beautiful Bard? – No, indeed.

I’d be a Bard the world could hear

and rejoice at all my spoutings;

I’d up the ante and top the crop,

outdoing other Bard’s pale outings;

I’d go down in history

as the No. 1 Bard,

with the mystery of my wizardry

at Barding…

it can’t be hard.

Can it?

The Bardalooe of a Portalooe

The Bardalooe of a Portalooe

“I’ve done it!

I have!

They have bestowed upon me

the title of The Bardalooe…

of a Portalooe.

See?

I have a golden chain

of official authorority;

⁃ you have to have that

If you want to be

the Bardalooe

of a Portalooe –

and I have a Bard-like love of words;

and a spare roll of papier de toilét.

“¡Olé!”

How can I be the Bard a’Looe?

How can I be the Bard a’Looe?

How can I be

the Bard a’Looe,

when I am

unknown to you?

My poems writ,

and posted here,

never seem to

reappear;

they sink like bricks

in Cornish mud,

I think they shine,

perhaps they’re dud;

maybe my words

are trite and weak,

and it is sad

that I try to seek

the position

that I do…

I only want to be

the Bard a’Looe.

Bardolatry!

Don’t be affear’d;

my Bard is worse than my bite;

from first night to twelfth,

and beyond

a pond of flesh?

Pray, tarry not-

“Who writes this rot?”

I cans’t not tell

If all is well

that endeth such –

It is all too much a do.

Let loose the dogs

of Waterloo,

and if you

are waiting,

nothing will come.

Shakespeare’s Birthday #Shakespeare

Shakespeare’s Birthday

Did you send him a card?

Who?

The Bard.

Why?

It’s his birthday.

Wow! I didn’t know – how old is he?

He was born four hundred and fifty-four years ago.

Which makes him…?

If alive, he would be four hundred and fifty-four years old.

That’s a lot of candles!

It surely would be. But, he died in sixteen sixteen.

That’s sad.

On his birthday.

That’s very sad. (there is a short pause) Before or after the cake?

I think it was during.

Death by Chocolate?

Quite possibly.

Sad, and yet, not totally.