The Last of the Bards
Poet Laureates may think they’re minstrels as of old,
And the keepers of collective kinds of culture –
But the power of such poetry has long since faded cold,
Like the tides of sacred dance or idol sculpture.
The heart of our society has moved-on into music
And to movies, and to comics, and to memes –
This is our shared heritage – collectively we choose it,
And subconsciously it permeates our dreams.
The arts have work to do,
And when it’s done,
They must give way.
The world must make anew
Each hero son
To have his day.
And poems, once so true,
Are now unspun, no more to say.
So poetry is rarefied, like opera and heraldry –
Irrelevant to most, and barely missed.
It’s hived-off into enclaves, where its swallows public subsidy
Because a few elites and pseuds persist.
The people are intimidated, left to feel inadequate
For not relating to this ancient form –
But quickly, and quite rightly, shrug it off – so let’s not overstate
Its presence in the psyche of the norm.
From Troy, to Middle Earth, to Tatooine,
The stories sway –
They have to prove their worth,
To keep their sheen,
Or slip away.
And poems, long in dearth,
Are barely seen or heard today.
Rhyming Couplets 