Original Poetry about anything and everything.
As I look up at the night sky,
I feel myself being absorbed by its vastness.
The more I stare,
The further I sink into its immense depth.
And before I know it,
I am there.
Among the empty spaces of a tranquil blue,
A soul wandering,
Searching,
Seeking,
For the light of the stars,
And the innocent shine of the moon.
Because not all of us want to be found,
Some of us just want to lose ourselves,
Into spaces beautiful.
-Mild Reflections
Amazing again.
You showed us how to be proud
Without ignoring the problems,
The cancer in your brain
Eroding your beautiful mind
And you didn’t even talk about it.
You spoke of a different cancer
Cancer of the nation,
Our conditioning to ignore
Those here before.
– Vagabond Prophet
R.I.P. Gordon Downie, we miss you.
We miss you, fully completely.
I lilt and sway
Just like Gord’s voice
When he sang Fiddlers Green,
Soundtrack for my life.
Sinclair drops the bass,
Fay crashes cymbals,
Paul and Robby plucking strings,
Like wizards to make waves
For the words to dance all over,
Like the wind in a storm,
A real nautical disaster.
Yer not the Ocean but the surface is green
And the dark interweaves
In a lonely iridescence,
It’s terribly deep and the cold is complete.
Just like the ocean.
Loving your country, playing songs of small town news,
I can teach my children about the nation
With rock and roll.
Canada divided into thirteen parts,
A discography of thirteen albums,
No coincidence.
The most honourable thing yet,
That you evolved to challenge a nation
Unknowingly flawed, abusive.
Adoring your home, but not calling it perfect
True patriotism, true love always seeks to improve.
That’s just what you did
You are ahead by a century.
Now Downie gone,
But his voice will ring out forever,
As he walks among the stars.
I still lilt and sway
Just like Gord’s voice
When he sang anything,
Soundtrack for my life.
– Vagabond Prophet
– for ‘ The Tragically Hip’, quotes throughout this poem from their songs: Nautical Disaster, Yer not the Ocean, Fiddlers Green, Ahead by a Century, The Drop Off.
– If you don’t know this band you should, He rhymes Catharsis with ‘My arse is’. If that’s not a clever lyricist I don’t know what is.
Can’t believe its been a whole year since we lost him.
All sound is born from silence
All art is born from fractured beauty
Trying to graft some goodness to some pain.
Now I dare to unlock my voice
I’ve carried this whole time.
The knot in my stomach
Turns to words on my lips
And though I am afraid
I know that half of fear is wonder.
I wonder
I wonder will my voice
Find a pleasing place
Amongst the octaves
To sing my story gone untold.
With baritone gravitas
And soprano urgency
My song will soar above the madness.
– Vagabond Prophet
@josy57 gave me the prompt “I’ve carried it all this time.” Thanks for that. I hope folks enjoy.
I’d believed the lie
I conjured nigh
The hour of my undoing.
That I am unforgivable
That I am my mistakes,
Thinking some fears
Can’t be assuaged
Those depths too deep
To ever plumb fully.
Now disregarding my grief
For your magnitude,
Your tongue the printing press
That published the good news
With words inked
In your blood
That should be mine.
– Vagabond Prophet
The surgical blade
The drape that was laid
Upon skin built up for years.
Flat on your back
Ragged breath gone slack
Clamp down the mask
Begin the task.
The harm always starts
Before the healing can,
The cracking of ribs
The loss of blood.
If this is you
Going under the knife,
Remember some go a lifetime
With nobody seeing their heart,
For the struggling pump that it is
Trying to bale out a boat
Under constant downpour.
– Vagabond Prophet
I’m kind of prickly always have been,
How do I keep you safe
And love you at the same time?
After the open wound
Of new love scabs over
With the clots of commitment
We’ll be thicker skinned
And my spikes will be thinned.
Though I am committed
I’m still an open wound,
How about you?
– Vagabond Prophet
The coffee bitter
May lend vigor
As your need beckons
With cast iron eyelids.
The aching blistered feet
May still travel
As your destination croons
“Come hither.”
The convoluted spine
May still bare some burden
As I trudge the road
Trodden by many before me.
I can see their faith rewarded
In the footprints on the path,
So many that I follow
But none that do return.
Now this knotted mind
Will journey on and surrender,
The rebels in my heart
Will lay down arms
And all past harms
Working backwards
Will stitch themselves.
– Vagabond Prophet
Like truffles your brilliance and wonder takes a certain amount of skill to exhume, but I will spend my life being a student of you. I may be swine and you may be pearls before me, but together we shall do great things.
Stop up my ears
With drunkards used corks
So I may hear no evil.
Gouge my hungry eyes
That I may see no evil.
Bind my hands together
With the lashings of my acts
That I may do no evil.
This is what I deserve
And much worse
But to curse
Was never your intent.
You open my ears
And sing with wind as your accordion
Play the branches as your harp
That I may hear hope.
You open my eyes
You hold my gaze
When I stare into clear skies
That I may see beauty.
Cut my binds free
And tie them to yourself
That this man of clay
Who ought to decay
May know freedom.
I am but the dribble of paint
Animated into something that can smile.
– Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 