#bard
To enrich your mind,
Immerse yourself in Shakespeare,
The Bard of Avon.
~ Poetictouch
3d ago
May 31, 2026 at 2:07 PM UTC
John Clare once declared
That he’s The Bard of Flowers:
His poems prove it.
~ Poetictouch
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 8:15 AM UTC
There is no Power like a Pen
To drown the walls of Kings
Nor any suasion like a Verse
Coercive rule an inferior thing
Endeavor such consumes the scribes
And summons want and will to resist
Coercive tyranny, that dull machine
Toppled by Bards' superior fist
Aug 12, 2025
Aug 12, 2025 at 1:02 PM UTC
Do you remember that time we snuck into the studio and danced together?
What about our first kiss under the lamppost?
Do you also remember all of this joy?
The carelessness of being young and having fun.
It went from catching feelings, to boarding trains just so we could spend more moments together even if it meant just running through the rain…
and then
The door closed.
You had another leading lady in your life.
Our chapter had come to an end.
And as I stood on the stage.
We faded to black.
I trembled thinking what life would be like without you.
Jan 10, 2025
Jan 10, 2025 at 3:59 PM UTC
The word is on the wind herself and whispers secret stories of learning to the wise of heart and mind,
This is in her ever, so sweet whispers of life itself.
The word is in the flames of a great forest fire,
Which brings new growth and insight to the wise after the flames have gone from the forest again.
The word is in the earth herself from which a new seedling can grow into a great Birch tree herself.
The word is found flowing down the rivers of the land to the seven oceans of the world.
Then falls in rainfall on the land again to bring new growth on the needy land again.
So seek the new dawn's light each day within yourself and you will find The Secret Bard within yourself,
So seek the new dawn's light each day within yourself and you will find The Secret Bard within yourself,
So seek the new dawn's light each day within yourself and you will find The Secret Bard within yourself.
Dec 30, 2023
Dec 30, 2023 at 9:15 AM UTC
I speak with poets old and almost ancient,
Pressing their books against my burning chest,
Trying to stay with their verses patient,
Understood by few, complex to the rest.
I read the sonnets of the lovestruck Bard,
In little books who're filled with lofty meanings,
Finding it sometimes easy, and sometimes hard
To really understand 'bout what he sings.
My colored imagination is filled
With worlds unknown to windows of souls,
Right there, only with sweet tenderness build,
Making it easier to reach my goals,
I travel, see and float with poetry,
To gates of other worlds, while she's my key.
Feb 24, 2022
Feb 24, 2022 at 12:03 AM UTC
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
Jan 15, 2021
Jan 15, 2021 at 1:23 PM UTC
(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!
Jan 3, 2021
Jan 3, 2021 at 1:08 PM UTC
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
🦝🐵🦊🦁🐘🐅🦓
Dec 13, 2020
Dec 13, 2020 at 7:05 AM UTC
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.
Jul 14, 2020
Jul 14, 2020 at 6:11 PM UTC
Men sing songs that are sought through sorrows.
Apr 20, 2020
Apr 20, 2020 at 11:52 AM UTC
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
Jan 22, 2020
Jan 22, 2020 at 2:08 PM UTC
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
Nov 12, 2019
Nov 12, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
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.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 5:24 PM UTC
The ashes fall
The grass wither
But my love for you
Shall never bitter
In front of the world
You're here with me
You've guided me
and so I never withdrew
As I walk
You established my steps
As I fly
I glide by your wings
And with You I swifts
But whenever I fall
You catch me with Your love and all
When I drown
You pushes me up with no frown
This journey is but 'like' a game
You move here and you risk there
But as I walk, If ever I fall
You smile then You pull
Yes! You're there and You rule!
You're a helping hand amidst all
I will praise you
I will love you
I will be grateful to You and will sing as the trumpets blow
For You're my Helper
How can I be more happier?
All of them might be against me
But my trust in You shall never leave me
It will all end
But my song for you shall never bend
And things might go wild
But my Lord, I'll be forever your bard!
Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 7:47 AM UTC
Inkpot is golden
My quill is dipped and ready
For the bard's freeverse
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 5:17 PM UTC
I've written this story,
Thousands of times in my head.
But when it comes to pen and paper,
I run out of things to be said.
The bard, the mire, the sleuth
His lute, his fear, his truth.
Traveller through time,
His words chill the spine.
Oh, weaver of tales,
Hunter of lies.
Falter not to failure,
Or meet demise.
Songs will save thee,
Open all eyes to see.
Though the devil is in the details,
His chord, echoes on all that fails.
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 8:00 PM UTC
Without a second thought
She casts a shadow—
To reign down upon his lot,
Still waters; cold and shallow.
Struggling in her web he’s caught,
Left hanging in the gallows.
His heart—all but left to rot,
Her perception of him, fallow.
He tilled the fields of thought
With acre upon acre of roses.
Untying even the toughest knots
So loves door never closes.
He didn’t care if it were for naught,
An intrigue that never dozes,
But broke when he missed his shot,
A lonely bard in a field of roses.
She did not see him in such grace
To look past his imperfection,
Nor climbed the wall to see his place
Of fervent—lasting affection.
In a world of chatter he sat—
In eerie prolonged silence,
To love but not be loved back,
She drowned him in diffidence.
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
The bard feels all sung out
As the world around him sleeps
He is the only one left
In the right sense of mind
Who doesn't feel strung out
So he sets to write a merry tune
'pon his lute so fine
For come the morning
When the people awake
An old tune just won't shine
He tries and tries
Till the **** does crow
But sadly sunrise comes
The women start to knead their dough
To cook their breakfast buns
And the poor old Bard
In this moment did find
Of songs he wrote not a single one
And he now is out of time
Feb 17, 2018
Feb 17, 2018 at 4:26 AM UTC
"Why can't you shut up?"
Says the knight to the bard
For the knight knows agony
When the bard sings his song.
"Are you mad?" asks the lyricist, expression surprised.
"Anyone would be joyed to hear their battles become rhyme."
But the knight wasn't happy, for he knew the truth
That the painful deaths of many men hid behind the tune.
That the failure as a protector would haunt him in song
That sleepless nights without father, husband, or son is what he did wrong.
A pessimist others call him, a realist stands true
For reality is too harsh to be handled by a fool.
Jan 1, 2018
Jan 1, 2018 at 3:29 AM UTC
Apparently,
They have not read any good poems.
Or maybe,
They have not read any good sagas.
Probably,
They have just seen breakups.
Sadly.
Literature - the written word,
It stays forever.
I love my "The 'Angel?' Series",
It is like a diamond.
And I love my story "7 Seconds",
It is my diadem.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 10:04 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel jealous of all others,
They have their siblings and lovers,
But even I have my dear parents.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 5:48 AM UTC