Tag: creative writing

Blue Rose

First date I brought you a blue rose

You said nobody had ever given you one before.

A blue rose?

No.

A flower.

I couldn’t believe it,

You, my pride and joy

My flower everblooming.

I’ll spend my days being your soil,

Pruning bits that

Hinder growth.

It’ll be different for our daughter.

I’ll see to it.

One day a boy will knock for her,

Baring a flower in his hands.

Our daughter will say,

“That’s it, just one?,

Thanks but no thanks

I’ll stick with my daddy,

He knows I’m worth much more.”

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

vagabondprophet:

Percolator Love

You’ve been percolating

Just for me,

While I imitate life.

When I’m weary and afflicted

From a fitful sleep, fears reoccurred,

You’re waiting for me.

Epitome of bittersweet,

Bitter enough I need you,

Sweet enough I want you.

Electrify my mind,

Like soul adrenaline

I’ll dance if you ask.

Could we be like before?

When I’d stay up all night,

Just to be with you?

Nowadays more like a crutch,

Keeping weariness at bay

And I hate that.

I want the excitement again

Of first love’s

First sip.

But coffee my dear,

How ever far you stray

You still make my day.

– Vagabond Prophet

Make Haste

It’s so damn early

Why am I up?

I’m the only one

On this bus.

Darkness for a while yet

What’s a man to do

To see night prevail

Long before light comes

To claim victory.

Cast out every shadow!

Reach out with burning hand

Strike these shadows.

You call me child of light

But all I’ve ever known is darkness.

Don’t wait long

Come eat up this fog,

Take what’s yours

This day and all to come.

– Vagabond Prophet

Double Decker Grave

It’s easy to say I want to kiss you,

Who wouldn’t

You’re a garden overflowing with sweetness

Your lips the secret gate.

It’s easy to say

I want to share a bed or a whole life with you.

Like anyone I desire

Love and acceptance and pleasure.

But I want to go beyond

Set apart from the rest,

I want to share a grave.

Together in time

We’ll enrich the soil

And our last children together

Will be trees growing side by side.

– Vagabond Prophet

Another Scotch

vagabondprophet:

When the little hand hits twelve

On the face of my watch,

I’ll get off this chair

And pour another scotch.

Yellow and sweet

In a vicious kind of way,

Taking down fences

Ferrel words at end of day.

In the morning it’s coffee

I’ll be electrically afflicted

I bounce between these tonics

When my words are constricted.

The right words never come

My mind held on a scale,

Swatted like a horsefly

Tossed by the gale.

Buzzing energetic,

All business and astute,

Or brilliant in my torpor

But wordless as a brute.

This erratic crazed ballet

Doesn’t really help,

Should make better choices,

Kale, beets, and kelp

If my habits are nonsensical

If you could call me crazy,

I’m halfway to genius

At least I’m not lazy.

– Vagabond Prophet

          – Not going to lie, I was trying to write something else and it wasn’t working so I wrote this about writers block..