Poems About: BALLAD

A spell of Monsoon and a whisper of chill are her entire orchestra
A trickle of rain and a mild gust are more than enough reason to begin a ballad
She composes a rhythm of desire which wells up from deep within
Her voice rings through the barricade and calls out to me read more »

Bronzed skin glows from origins east
Delectable buttercup for the eyes to feast
Torques blue through mystical sapphire
As gentle as lamb greatness you inspire read more »

Awkward sleep comes restlessly
Watch the flames tongue the sky endlessly
Burn the burdens in the night
Like a star, read more »

With ink on her hands she wrote to me her truths
reading over her fingered letters
she gave onto my eyes her promises
and as her words echoed through me read more »

He may seem outdated and he may be long dead
But I still love the songs of Thomas Moore she said
His old Parlour Ballads I love and enjoy
Such things of great beauty not born to die. read more »

Thomas Davis bard of Mallow his songs are a source of joy
They were born of natural genius and will never ever die
His songs sung the whole World over and in some Irish Club tonight
Some one sings the songs of Davis to the listeners delight. read more »

Oh sing us of central Victoria of places like Daylesford, Maryborough and Castlemaine
To that flat and open brown country that welcomes every dropp of rain
Where gold miners flocked to in their thousands a century and a half ago
And where some even amassed great fortunes in the goldfields of old Bendigo. read more »

The National Bard of Scotland with his plough and pen
And a legend still amongst his fellow men
In the Sydney Botanical Gardens his statue takes pride of place
His poems and songs and ballads most of the known cultures embrace. read more »

Joe the bard is feeling weary and looking old and gray
And it seems very obvious that he has known a better day
A shadow of the man he once was it would be fair to say
But as ever he is penning verse with words he has a way read more »

A fan of the late Ned Buckley the poet of Knocknagree
The last bard of Sliabh Luachra and few as great as he
Her name is Brid Ui Mhaoluala that is Irish to the core
Her husband from East Kerry from the old Town of Rathmore. read more »

In Dan Connell's shop we bought ice creams and lollies
And lemonade and buns and chocolate treats
And black jacks and jobstoppers for a penny
A shilling then would buy you bags of sweets. read more »

I have stained my soul with scarlet colors, thus this work
The ballad of merlot and mandolins, the bliss is midnight blue
The deep black is but her hungry delight
Thus I dye her desires a darker scarlet within the foils of my flesh read more »