Emeth Lee Bard aka The Matador

On a day when winter whispered of spring's embrace, February's tail, a soft and gentle grace, The world was gifted with a soul so bright, Emeth Lee Bard, born into the morning light. February 25th, in the year of '89, A day marked by destiny, by design. The skies above Tulsa, clear and fair, Announced his arrival, a breath of fresh air. In a hospital room, where dreams converge, Life's melody composed, a newborn's urge. His first cry, a symphony of hope and fears, A sound so sweet, it brought the world to tears. His parents' hearts, overflowing with love, A precious gift, sent from above. Their eyes beheld, with joy and wonder, This miracle, their spell to be under. The car wash kingdom, still years away, On this bright and auspicious day. For now, just whispers of what might be, In the cooing and laughing of baby Emeth Lee. So here marks the start, of a journey so vast, A life of dreams, of shadows cast. February 25th, under that winter sky, The day Emeth Lee B...

  A Matador’s Lament for Annie - January 2023 In the cold embrace of January’s night, I pen this verse, a soul’s quiet plight. The Matador, once bold, now veiled in sorrow, Faces a dawn devoid of promised morrow. Annie, oh Annie, a name like a hymn, Your absence leaves the world so grim. We dreamt of love, not bound by time, A poetic dance, a rhyme sublime. Yet here I stand, a lone bullfighter, Without my love, the world seems slighter. An engagement broken, not by deceit, But by dreams that refused to meet. The car wash hums, a mocking tone, A reminder that I am truly alone. The foam and spray, once solace found, Now echo Annie’s absence, profound. I sought a world beyond the suds and water, A life of verse, passion’s true harbinger. But love, it seems, demands its own dream, A shared path, a single stream. Annie, with eyes like the Tulsa dusk, Saw not in poetry, but in us, a trust. Yet I, in pursuit of distant lands, Let slip through my fingers, love’s sands. The Matador writes, ...