In olden times
to sing in rhymes
was honored by the kings
and queens
and harps were gifted
banners lifted
wars were lost and won
their stories sung
the mighty and the brave
the maiden and the knave
the glory stories fed
the fires of hearts and
virtues praised in golden
notes in olden days
bards sang and spells
wove vales and dells
and mountains high
the lands they loved were
all and more
and welcomed at the
feasting table royally toasted
given ring, and land and horse
even wandering, gold
in his purse
in olden times
and days gone by
the stories loved and proud
would that the stories of today
make proud to sing in
tomorrows halls
by poets, bards, and minstrels all
and not be shame
a grievous fame
penitent unsung no strings
no words eyes turned
the music gone for all until
the world can find its poets soul
a harpers thrill
until until
in olden times

I am reading Charles de Lint’s Moonheart.  New to this author but introduced in his story to Taliesin a Welsh bard in the 6th century. Urban fantasy that combines modern day Canada with almost poetic otherworld bards and mages.

Read Write Poem prompt

beautiful line that caught my eye

Worlds are being told like beads
like strings of whirly pearly seeds
stories falling like the rain
each drop a universe contained
reflected mirrored magnified
each tiny detail visualized
by jewelers thieves of science proof
who claim to know the only truth
but if a world can thus be shown
Can it be bound by what is known
worlds light refracted by the jewels
loosed at last from silly rules
each word a world a work of art
a way of seeing from the heart

Thursdays Tales #2

iron fingers curled
round street lamps
coat wrapped around me
fending off damp
color bled out to the gray
time suspends the gift of day
to the east
the dark approaches
western light holds
last reproaches
stand between
with outstretched hands
for one sweet second
the hourglass sands
cease their descent
my breath is postponed
nights secret hope
tomorrows unknown

spring flew in
on a blackbirds wings today
he perched in a tree behind the house
his cronies all around
returned from God knows where
and God knows where
they’re bound
they covered the ground like ebony jewels
a desert colored field
they startled with my passing by
and in turn startled me
as they flew up to a pale white sky
and carried my soul to see
and looking down
my wondering eyes
saw hidden in the weeds of brown
the fragile green protected by
last years leaves that fell
and purple vetch like amethyst
and yellow daffodil
then fickle darkness turned and fled
and dropped me on the way
but gently with the pear tree’s blooms
kicked loose as they fled aloft
gravity teased as to and fro
my landing feather soft
the breeze left by the work of wings
reminding me that once again
another winters chill survived
and darkness chased like blackbird thieves
leaves sun warmed air
for me to breathe

wings of Healing
heaven’s ceiling
the cherubim of failure
leaning over the world
feathers unfurled
watchers
counters of cost
the lost
the tossed aside
witness to our lack
to what we take
and can’t give back
no way to measure
that which we treasure
without knowing
indescribable pleasure
moments of joy
found in the showing
singing us
choirs of hosts
holding us up
molding
turning our failings
our railing against the dark
shining glorious light
on the fight
the battle
the war
opening the door
the core
soul survivors
of mistakes untold
unfold
loving the unloved
rest awaiting above
rest soft as down
weary we roam
left here alone
til we trudge home
enfolded in feathers