Emeth Lee Bard aka The Matador

  Amidst the cacophony of life’s relentless race, I seek a prophet, a guide, to a higher place. A voice in the wilderness, calling clear and true, To elevate my spirit, and my purpose renew. Where is the one who walks the path unseen, Whose words cut through the facade, the routine? I long for wisdom that transcends time and lore, A beacon to light the way to something more. This world, a labyrinth of shadows and light, Demands a navigator, versed in the fight. A prophet, not of old, but of the now, Who sees beyond the what, the when, the how. In the silence of the night, I send my plea, For a guide to unlock my soul’s decree. To show me beauty in the simple, the small, To teach that in giving, we receive all. To elevate spirit, to set it free, Is the prophet’s call, a divine decree. In words, in actions, in the silent gaze, A guide to lead me through life’s maze. So I wander, a seeker on this earth, Believing in the promise of rebirth. For a prophet, a guide, to light the way, To ...

  In the stillness of night, where shadows play, The Matador finds his peace fray. Dreams once filled with verse and light, Now turned to nightmares, fleeing from sight. Each evening, as he lays down his head, He battles the demons under his bed. In his mind, a labyrinth, dark and deep, Where fears whisper, and sorrows seep. The dreamscape turns, a twisted stage, Where nightmares dance with rage. Visions of love lost, futures undone, Battles with shadows, never won. Annie's face, a recurring ghost, Haunts him more than most. The car wash, a prison of foam and spray, In his nightmares, it won't fade away. Africa's plains, so far yet near, In dreams, they bring no cheer. Prophets and poets, in shadows, they hide, No guidance given, no matter how he tried. Yet, as dawn breaks, the first light creeps, Into the room where he wearily sleeps. The Matador rises, his spirit worn, Facing a new day, tired and torn. But in this cycle of fear and fight, He finds a reason, a spark of lig...

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, ...