Aria of The Bard

 

 

 

It is my wish for Aria of The Bard to be enjoyed free of  time-related context, the exact way it was conceived.

 

 

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Emancipator “Nevergreen”

 

 

 

 

Never been to Tokyo
Caught waves in San Antonio
Came first in a rodeo
Reposed in advanced yoga pose
Know not how the slogan goes
But know a little spoken prose
Blame it on my swollen nodes
In name to which this poem owes

 

Unacclaimed
Or so it goes
Heart unchained yet broken bones
Skin inflamed
Thick smoke arose
From arteries in open flow
Know the way to go
Though there’s a way to go
To go that way
Reasons left to hold at bay
The seasons yet to go the way of global change
Stretching as I drench myself in frozen rain
While headed through unknown terrain alone to grope at hope estranged
At the dentist pensive as to whether to invest in any Novocaine
Just to numb the brain a little
Put skids on the train a little
Either that or fool’s committal
Banking on a full acquittal
Playing second fiddle
To the riddle of the ages
With little left forsworn than horde of torn out journal pages

 

Never been to Tuscany
It seemed like too much fuss to me
While lovely I’m sure
Not sure I’d care much for the bus journey
Rusty on the trigger
Never really into musketry
Besides the world would be some way more kind
If it were up to me
Blame it on my swollen nodes
In name to which this poem owes
And here I shall remain
In grace and humble as a bumble bee

 

Mankind tries to trouble me
But I’m safe in my bubble see
Actually I’m more the way inclined to trusting company
Raising fist triumphantly
To make a swift recovery
From every stinging vision of the unforgiven other me
The one whose wishes smothered me
Too vicious to encourage me
To live within my own portrait
And stake claim on my greatest rediscovery
Stubbornness was never me
Single minded?
Questionably
Only to the best of me
And to the final breath of me
Funny thing is destiny
Ever dreamt suggestively
Ventured keen
An endless scene
When seen and kept attentively
With matters ever pressing
It’s depressing feeling dead and beat
Which is precisely why I stress no great confessed desire to dress defeat
Blame it on the broken bones
The heart unchained to which this poem owes
For here I shall remain
Through every pleasure
Every pain
In the name of treasure buried in my keep

 

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

 

 

 

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1 Comment

  1. Amazing flow and love this:
    “Raising fist triumphantly
    To make a swift recovery
    From every stinging vision of the unforgiven other me”
    Says SO much and that’s the apple from this tree for me 🌳

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