Modern Bards

Modern bards – when you strike the lyre
let me not trudge through sludge and mire,
lost in the forests dark and tangled
of your perspectives jarred and mangled,
encircled by a mist of verses
that no revisiting disperses.
Be like the oceans deep yet blue,
where diving often brings sights new –
where Psyche’s creatures quaint and strange
with Muses’ help their songs arrange:
bring feelings sensitive as seahorse,
as dignified and seldom coarse;
bring meditations of the turtle,
and wit that sharks like lightning hurtle,
or ruminations of the crab
in waters grey but never drab.
Be pure as piper in the valleys
(though you may write of streets and alleys) ,
who captivates each flower and tree
with raw, untaught simplicity.
Next be the alchemist who turns
base passions into gold – who yearns
to weave his dreams with earthy words,
where hopes ascend unbound as birds,
where thought-jeweled casements lie in wait –
else, if with words you wish to paint
the spirit’s weariness or howl –
be musical as mournful owl.
Modern bards – bring not murky waters –
but fountains fresh from the nine daughters,
whose rain of light still sometimes showers
wider thoughts on twilight hours.