Original Poetry about anything and everything.
The snare drum and bass drum
Married by song
Joined in their work
But separated by a few beats.
They need that time apart
To carry the music
Oh! To play in the same moment
Would lose something of themselves.
To be united and together
Though separate and unique
That’s true marriage
For the conductor knows best.
– Vagabond Prophet
Tender pink blossoms
Fully bloomed
Unaware that they’re
Fully doomed.
Beautiful for now
Though dancing above tomb
It takes a special kind of joy
To do so without gloom.
– Vagabond Prophet
The pavement cracks
And the crashing breakers,
Everything in between.
Customs not understood
Families that love me anyways,
Whilst lightning reigns every night.
Heading west and landscapes change,
Desert to jungle and then pacific ocean
All while listening to Paul and the boys.
The further west the wetter it got,
Cilantro in sidewalks turning
To highways in coconut groves.
I learned about the weather
I learned about flavours
And tasted my first insect.
Most of all I learned that
Love needs no language,
And home it needs no flag
Just a warm embrace and plate to match.
– Vagabond Prophet
One girl always sits at the back,
Headphones in a head with new hair each week
And always looking down.
May your creator turn your eyes upwards one day.
Reflective vests with men attached
Steelworkers plumbers I don’t know,
May your feet find solid ground today.
The driver who was kind
Until he wasn’t,
The woman with the walking cast,
Commuting souls on rerun
A to B and back to A.
May these unclean seats
Find hearts ready to become clean,
May we all find hope
Before the next stop.
– Vagabond Prophet
Spiderwebbed windows and home to vermin,
Holes in doors, where there is doors.
Thin walls and three stories tall,
Though worth so many more.
My memory fails me,
Brick factory?
Ya that’s it, testing each brick
Throwing through the viewports
Of this ship now sunk.
Great bricks, worked every time.
Now the walls hardly upright,
Now inhabiting unsettling inspiration,
To any who venture near.
– Vagabond Prophet
This prompt is a problem for me
I’ll address with a certain brevity.
Writing about what makes me whole?
I can’t, I’m not, don’t know anyone who is.
Next best thing?
Okay, of this I have a string.
Things that make me less broken
Of these I’ve long ago spoken.
The wind and the tide
In my dreams they reside,
Rising and falling predictably,
Something needs to be.
The change of the seasons
All the colours with such reasons,
Constant and never changing
Like his love for me.
One day I will be whole
Oh yes his works I extol,
When he comes back again
To chase away every shadow.
– Vagabond Prophet
Curly hair, curlier thoughts
Winding back and forth upon themselves,
Maybe it’s all just one wound enough to appear plenty.
Who knows?
Eyes blue, my mood more so
Arms weak and strong in equal measure.
Legs good for walking, but bad for getting anywhere.
Pale skin, fair as they say.
Don’t know what fairness has to do with it
I just know I sunburn easily.
Self portraits, one of few things
Done better with images than with words.
For words are a varnish to make things shine,
Though with each layer the grain of the wood
Becomes less and less like the beginning product.
So I’ll cut this short, I’ll spread the varnish thin,
Thin like my hair is lately.
– Vagabond Prophet
Strict regimen of green tea and tofu,
Exercise daily, make a five year plan
Stick to it like super glue.
Survival agenda that’s what that is.
Just kidding what a joke,
As though good intentions
And Oprah prescribed anything
Could solve anything.
How did I really do it?
I didn’t somebody else did
Let me ride on his coattails,
Victory on my behalf
Gird my heart from afar.
– Vagabond Prophet
Oh this land of my growth
Of child and adulthood both,
Fertile fields and damp springs
Your dewy air to everything clings.
Smelling of equal parts manure and marijuana
You’re rich with flora and fauna,
The valley where the lake was drained
It’s residue leaving soil darkly stained.
How expert your fields
For the weather never yields
And yet you open up an angle obtuse
Spouting forth such lovely produce.
You grow and you grow
The rate becoming less slow
Others learning what I’ve always known
The truth engraved inside my bone.
This land so moist and green
This land so yearning and keen,
With vigor in the air
And mountains everywhere.
It will raise one strong
And so I belong
In this strangely sized municipality
With all of its vitality.
– Vagabond Prophet
Snap shatter crack!
Crunch underfoot in great big boots!
Three trillion pieces scattered across the room,
Like the pieces of me buried in my past.
I never know what to say,
Believe it or not I do NOT have a way with words.
Only collecting thoughts and shaping them
Into something relevant,
Long after they’re relevant.
Say something anyways you ought
Nonsensical no matter,
If it’s loud enough we’ll get it one day.
Speak out just like I haven’t,
Yours is a story that we need to hear.
Forget the whispers of deceit
Forget the shackles of your prison
Forget the people that took your power away.
Destroy the silence with the bomb that is your truth!
– Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 