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The lonely bard sits
in the shade of a tree
strumming his lute
for you and me

he has been rhyming for quite some time
born with a gift
he plays, and plays
his fingers so swift

Alas, no one will pass
but he keeps on playing
he will stay here forever
even when his body starts decaying

He has become a legend
but what is left to see
a finely carven lute
resting next to a tree
Bards where always strumming in the royal court, but was there ever one that never played for anyone but himself?
Traveler Jan 3
(Romanticized not derogatory)

A bard is a poet
But not all poets are bards
I love to sing
And play my guitar

Dancing comes natural
Spinning on one toe
I take a gracious bow
Into a power pose

I’m more then the rest
My poetry’s the best
I recite the hero’s creed
I lead the chant
In a warrior stance
Into the violent streets

The news of the day
Rolls off of my tongue
Stanzas dressed to please
To the local tavern
The patrons run
To drink and brawl with me

Barmaids to breed
Sweet honey mead
The good life
Yes the good life indeed!
I make a loud toast
A salute to our host
Another round on me!
Traveler Tim

This Bards double as the bouncers
We all do our part

Traveling from place to place
It true
I am a
Itinerant Musician and Trader
I am a antique vendor with my own flea market
I write poetry and play guitar on stage whenever I can
Who knew the description of Bard would fit me so precisely.
But what does that mean?
I am the raccoon
Oblivious I’ve been

I once was a monkey
To make laugh was to live
I still am a monkey
much joy I still give

The monkey inside me
Might act as a cloak
Was the monkey inside me
Joker or Joke

The monkey, the mask
I thought it not me
The monkey, the mask
I did not yet see
That the monkey, the mask
Is a part of me

I am the raccoon
In case someone asks
I am the raccoon
Master of masks

A fox I once felt me
and foxy I was
A hunter I felt me
slick tongue and sharp jaws

The fox he was smart
And good at love’s game
But the fox he knew
Quick love ain’t the same

The fox, the mask
Charming and sly
The fox, the mask
Was wondering why
Why the fox, the mask
So hard he did try

I am the raccoon
Though cute my appeal
I am the raccoon
Your heart I will steal

The lion I’ve played
When time came to lead
The lion I’ve played
By word and by deed

When I was the lion
The orders I gave
When I was the lion
Like a king I’d behave

The lion, the mask
With a queen by my side
The lion, the mask
At the head of the pride
Felt the lion, the mask
Was not my true hide

I am the raccoon
I finally see
I am the raccoon
The masks they are me
Yet behind all these masks
Hides my curious mind
A little raccoon
Caring and kind
When he scavenges life
Happiness he does find
He shares it with all
And leaves no-one behind
The Raccoon is my spirit animal
And an artistic lense through which I view myself
This poem is my artist manifesto
It grows as I obtain new masks
And learn to put those to good use
Jammit Janet Jul 2020
Taking a chance to roll the die,
Hoping to land a critical strike,
On your heart,

I’ll be by your side,
Singing you songs about the feelings I can’t hide,
I’ll be your bard,
In disguise,

My turns next,
And I can’t wait,
To see if the die brings us any closer to our first date,

You’re as wonderful as they come,
No DM can deny it,
The way you light up the room,
With your dancing lights,
That you cast from behind your eyelids,

Let’s get a pint,
And start to unwind,
As I tell you the tales,
Of how you stole this heart o’ mine.
TheWitheredSoul Apr 2020
Men sing songs that are sought through sorrows.
Men hide feelings better than women when a man begins to break he thinks of all the souls that look up to him and will always choose to bury it deep in his heart.
There is nothing more divine than a man's love towards his closest for his impulse to provide for them is stronger and fierce than any storm there is.
S I N Jan 2020
He was, he is, and ever will be
The most famous bard; by th’ name of Will; he
A question posed that’s baffled generations
“To be, or not to be...”; by these one very very words alone
reserved himself he the star-studded throne
Among th’ infinite constellations
From whence he came, and whither he did go:
For ‘ndeed ‘tis was for him too much ado;
Too much alike to those one star-crossed lovers
He was unhappy in his life; but once it’s over
Was - he did arise; not from his grave,
But to eternity to thrive
Among th’ eternal things, fair and sublime
With not even the palest peer,
Or the worthy rival to challenge his position
Where he still stands as if the exhibition’s
Greatest monument; which, well, he is
That shines so bright so no one could him miss
Anthony Pierre Nov 2019
On islands of the tropics sweetly sets
over poignant scented bistros and tide
on a rich apricot, painted canvas
a gentle warmth for winter's hostile chide

As bare footed limps deep into the sand
To chirps, to giggles; crashing surf so glad
Briskly washing away all memory
of the wintered homage of Avon's bard

A pale mat lays hush, as red kites ascend
to prey in vast fields of his frigid shire
From a window's sill, his eyes thus pretend
A sonnet on the seaside's to retire

Seldom he escapes winter's icy grip
Shakespeare seaside sonnet: a mental trip
A sonnet for my friends in their winter estate
Ian Mar 2019
A story of love aged with time,
Enveloped and inmortalized in joyous rhyme.

There once was a fae guided by the Sun,
Showing the way, he need only follow and run.

Kept under close watch by a vigilant eye,
The fae boy felt that all must be ary.

The world the sun showed him he was sure,
Must be perfect, whole, and infinitely pure.

But hardly was that dream so true,
And with each moment, the sun's fervor grew.

So demanding and resentful were the Sun's ways,
The boy cursed with scorching, destructive days.

But his will persisted, for he knew no other,
Stranded and tired, trading loneliness to suffer.

One evening he pondered on what to do,
Escape back to suffering alone, but where to go?

Then, with the gift of the sunset all was clear,
For what came after was what he knew to hold dear.

Before the fae arose the shimmering Moon,
His eyes fixated on such a dizzying boon.

The Moon wrapped him in bright, soft light,
Assuring the fae that now all would be right.

He felt comfort in the welcoming glow,
At last a gentle soul wanting to see him grow!

The fae openly proclaimed his adoration,
The Moon's presence the source of his frantic creation.

Weaving words of passion and desire,
Finally free of the past destructive mire.

Never once moving in such a flurry,
Desperate to prove his love, but he needn't worry.

The Moon enamored with him for what he was,
And valued him for all that he does.

With guiding light and a glowing heart,
The fae boy knew they'd never want to be apart.
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