Tag Archives: #Bard

Re: Claim

I staked my claim

back in ‘62,

was given a name

by ‘you-know-who’,

grew up bad

or good

depending on the situation,

and here I am,

under evaluation.

.

‘21, where I am now,

got myself here,

don’t quite know how;

and here I am,

all covered in mud,

with a hint of Turmeric

running through my blood.

.

Yes, I know,

that I write bad verse;

but, if anybody read it,

it could be much worse,

‘Worse than what?’

I hear nobody ask.

Ask me another,

increase my task;

and maybe one day,

when the weather is right,

I’ll write a ‘proper’ poem –

I might, I just might.

.

So, on and on

the words they go,

is there no log-jam

to the endless flow?

I’ll stop when I think you’ve had enough;

when times are good,

and rhymes are rough,

I’ll be the Bard

with quill and ruff.

Hidden Place

A hole in the wall,

an ‘X’ marks the spot,

you can have them all

for the things I have got;

hidden within

buried down deep;

is a love that I have

that’s forever to keep.

.

Chests full of gold,

silver, or lead,

are all worthy of others,

but, here, in my head,

is a vision to behold

whenever I wish,;

she’s a beautiful ocean,

and I am her fish.

.

Listening hard

to the birds in the trees,

observing the bees,

and the butterfly lees;

are all lovely things

I can soon discard,

when the feelings inside me

make me feel like a poet,

an author, the Bard.

The Barduck

A duck walked into a bar –

a Barduck!

That makes no sense,

or little, or some…

or, to my mind, lots!

What’s clarity to one

is obscurity to another…

one.

Hence, I can say –

with no fear of prosecution (or persecution) –

that a duck walking into a bar

becomes a Barduck.

It’s now a thing.

“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.