Tag: blotchedpoems

vagabondprophet:

Balsa Wood

If I could remake you

Out of balsa wood

Would I?

You’d be lighter

Yet strong,

Easily take flight.

The wind would push

Against your wings

And caress your face.

Ascension, descension,

Thrown by the carelessness

Of the air and the sky.

Letting every splinter

Alter your course,

Dancing on the map.

Would you even return,

Fight the current

To come back to me.

I see you in the flesh

And swear

You’re something better

Could I set you free?

Free of the land

And free of me.

Knots and imperfections

Same as now,

But you would fly.

You belong

High above me,

A distant speck.

I can’t make this choice

I’m selfish in my love,

What say You?

Wind filled wingspan?

Or me, simply me,

Pink tongue, white teeth.

I’ll be yours

To hold and kiss,

To wriggle against.

I know it’s a poor choice.

I’ve always ruffled

One too many feathers.

So which is it?

The clouds,

Cotton and dewy.

Or me, simply me

I’ll hold you close

And love you tenderly.

If you wish

I’ll remake you

Out of balsa wood

But know that if

The gale proves too much,

You may return to me

I’d make you safe again

Peeling back every ring

Of that lovely balsa wood.

– Vagabond Prophet

vagabondprophet:

Unenlightening

I can hear it off the eaves

Drip drip drip.

Distant coyotes,

Yip yip yip.

The darkness and fog

Combine and decide,

Unenlightening.

Tonight we unenlighten.

The rain comes quicker

And thicker than before,

Making soil so fertile

As to be barren.

One dewy drop

Says to another,

“We’re so heavy, full of wet,

Tonight let’s unenlighten.”

That’s when I start to feel,

Along with tobacco smoke

Swirling in my mind,

I’m being unenlightened.

Flipping through your pages

Traditions get unraveled.

With your gold gilded edges,

The unenlightening is frightening.

Contradicting every wisdom

That I’ve ever known.

You put your trust in vagrants,

Rather than royalty.

You talked to strangers

Befriended cheats,

Trusted prostitutes,

Beguiling in the streets.

So I’ll do it I’ll commit,

To break the mold,

To be an idiot,

To become unenlightened.

Rain’s just pouring now,

I’ve just learned up is down,

Meaning we’re all drowning.

I’m the only one who knows.

Thank God for unenlightening.

– Vagabond Prophet

Under the Weather

Under the weather

Above the soil

Where else could I be?

Unable to soar above

Subject to the way the sky

Indecisively swings on hinges

Like alcoholic binges.

The staccato of a door

Urgently tapped upon

When hail falls on my roof

Reminding me of what I’m beneath.

It’s okay it won’t always be that way.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with “under the weather.”

7 Years

Seven years ago we

Braided our lives together,

I’ve never felt taller

Than I did that day.

My shoes red

Your shoes yellow

Dancing they turned orange.

Orange like sunset

On the days of scorn from others,

Trying to bring clouds

To a sunny day.

Orange like sunrise

On the best chapter of my life.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Strangers

“Don’t talk to strangers”

My mother said to me

But the stranger inside

Whispers so elegantly.

Ignore it but can’t silence

Over time drowns out my mother

As she sounds stranger and stranger

And the voice within becomes familiar.

Thorn in my side

Coaxing out the best of me

With weaponized linguistics

Moving like a flood

Churning like blood.

Long twisted corridors

Forgetting the way back.

Learning courage is not concerned with results

But only the attitude of the heart

Amongst daunting threats

And that faith anchored properly

Allows for some doubt.

Now ignoring the whispers

That never quite abated

For the songbird with truths instead of lies

Belts out harmonies so joyous

So majestic and sonorous.

I think my mother meant something different,

Perhaps “Don’t let people stay strangers”

Know them, converse and learn

Whether to continue friendship

Or let them slip through my fingers

Like coins no longer currency.

Trading thorns for crowns

Painful business that is

With skin grown over affliction

Yet worth it, every time.

– Vagabond Prophet

Ten Year Reunion

Some looking the same while others new inventions,

Some with different coloured hair and others with thinning,

Some still learning and others still choosing not to learn.

More chapters in every story,

Woe and joy mixed up

Like a cocktail we’re now old enough to drink.

All those years ago I had been in a storm,

And though I didn’t know all of them

They were the other rocks that the spray fell on.

I the most prominent point

For the breakers to break upon

In the tempest of my youth,

But they were there too

And I mustn’t forget that when

People at home left

They never did.

Stupid, smart, ugly, and cute alike

Their familiarity something I could count on.

Ten years later and I’m nearly rebuilt,

Strong and safe and surely surrounded by love

As I near completion I’m reminded

Their may be some stones here yet worth keeping.

– Vagabond Prophet

vagabondprophet:

Insurance

I am the .1 percent

Can’t be disinfected

I’m the tsunami

That can’t be detected

And for the house fire

That can’t be expected

They say insurance,

Get insurance

But insurance is just paper

You scribbled all over

Saying you’ll get money

When your world is over

Money’s just paper

And paper starts fires

This just complicates

And stirs in me a fire

So now you understand

I hope it’s all clear

If you lose everything

That you hold dear

Your paper won’t help you

I won’t be held liable

When I take your life

Like something easily pliable

Because I’m

About

to snap.

Cheese

vagabondprophet:

If even milk can die

And turn into something great

What does that say of me?

In my current state.

If fruit can perish

Turning into wine

Give strength to my gut,

But not straight off the vine.

Okay you’ve made it clear

I’ll undergo the transformation,

I’ll die and die again

Is this truly salvation?

– Vagabond Prophet

Bad Part of Town

vagabondprophet:

They call this

The ‘bad’ part of town

The part with the foodbank

And the building for supervised visits.

Families separated

Estranged by circumstance,

Needy, not bad

Desperate not volatile.

I’ll tell you about

The bad part of town,

It’s up on the hill

It’s all chrome and glass.

Throwing food away

Every single day

Ignoring their children

Who just want to play.

– Vagabond Prophet