Tag: creative writing

Prompt Day 28

Christmas time comes soon

And they’ll be home for christmas,

Those that can navigate their way

Across the Atlantic to my front door.

Old Fashioned everybody?

They all smile and nod

All of us wearing same toque

Without even meaning to.

Bulleit Bourbon everytime,

The extra 5% for anybody

Who can’t make it this year.

More than one bottle

To last us past three days,

Mixing it extra strong

To loosen words.

Got to get those gears spinning

Make up for lost time,

Catch up just in time

To say goodbye once more.

– Vagabond Prophet

I’ve got a sugar rush with nowhere to put it. So I’ll stand here sneering at nobody in particular, I’m just spending my magic on condescension and hoping I make some friends. I’m yeastless but sweet like seedless watermelon, excepting of course for my perpetual dehydration. Too much coffee not enough water, interesting that four spoons of grounds can outweigh two cups of water and make the scales come crashing down one sided. Some things are potent and unyielding, so fully single faceted and unable to negotiate for the ambition of just one goal pounding in their ears.

– Vagabond Prophet

       – First ever sprint like that.

Prompt Day 27


Most nights dreamless

Sleep found seamless

A border into restfulness

With no crossing guard.

My dreams get out during day

And at night I won’t dismay

For I’ve got magic in my brain

And lyrics in my vain.

I won’t wait for dreams at night

I won’t chew my nails and bite

It’s like waiting for high tide

While sitting at the lake side.

The body content in its fullness

In its being fed by outside sources,

And in the stillness of the night.

– Vagabond Prophet

        – Today’s prompt: 

Write about the dreams that keep you up at night.

Would love to see other peoples work on this prompt.

Floorboard

I’ll be your groaning floorboard

Known by grunts of pleasure

To be near your footfall.

I’ll be your squeaky door

Always lamenting

To see you go.

I’ll be your lumpy mattress

Flawed but supportive,

Shaped over time

To the curve of your spine

And always rattled by our love.

– Vagabond Prophet

Dead Grapes


Fifty year old Bordeaux

A truly lovely bottle,

Travel back in time

See history of this wine

And be shocked at transformation.

Before alcohol

Before corks and bottles

Before oak casks

Is simply a mound of dead grapes.

Musn’t be afraid of death,

Only doorway

To another kind of life.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 26

The irony of pleasant weather

When we learned we’re not to be together.

The currents of discontent

Loosening you from the riverbed.

Nearly thirty long years of marriage,

Erosion is a persistent thing.

I think you taught me that

Driving past canyons

Above river beds long gone dry

Water having spent itself

On carving things uncarvable.

The worst storm for me was this

Most strange in its calmness.

No screaming match

No begging at the door.

Excepting of course for

The screaming match days later

Where I spoke my greatest lie.

The cold front met the warm front

Swirling around dancing beautiful

Save for its destruction

Ash clouds floating down

To smother what was left.

I said very little.

What is there to say

To the one who taught you speech

When he leaves.

Plates shifting earth quaking

I was shaken awake

By a thirst unslaked.

I’m not thirsty anymore,

And we still touch

Though from opposite sides

Of the canyon.

– Vagabond Prophet

      – Today’s prompt: 

Write about the worst storm you’ve ever experienced.

          So this might be cheating but it’s what came to mind.

Prompt Day 25

Conduit between body and head

Corridor for traveling thoughts

And speeding instructions.

It bends unnaturally as time

Slowly puts down its full weight

And as thoughts get clogged in mind

With nowhere to go.

For a job that only values my sweat

My rhyming spheres of soul

Gone unnoticed.

Every borrowed lungful

Of air I waste on breathing

Rather than singing.

Neck is sore today,

No wonder! You’d be sore too

If you’d been cajoled

Into molds unsavoury.

Excepting for this one thing

That my neck slowly straightens

As I learn to let go.

A jubilant surrender

Of weights that break my neck,

Simple recognition that I put

Them on myself

And that you’d lift them off

If I’d just let you.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 24

I tied a hangman’s noose

Within the womb

Around my neck was slung

And from those gallows swung.

I was six days late

The pressure wouldn’t abate

I’ve always been

Afraid of change.

I came out looking blue

Foreshadowing how I’d feel

Writing this at all.

I was timid, I was quiet,

Sleeping days away.

Always compliant

Never outspoken.

Obedient, a good kid

They’d say.

Now looking back as a man

With fissures throughout my heart

I think it’s not that simple.

Never outspoken sure,

For every strongly expressed opinion

Was shouted, and frightened

This gentle child into quietness.

So I grew with roots reluctant

To claim soil another may one day want,

Older brothers younger sister

More abrasive than I.

I like tile they like sandpaper,

Every attempt to rough me up

Only made me smoother.

One day I was called to manhood

By nothing but necessity.

At an age that couldn’t be expected

To swing a hammer well.

Hell I couldn’t even swing a decision yet

How could I possibly step into shoes

Strangely unworn before

And with strength strike

The nail on the head.

I filled those shoes in time

Sometimes feeling room still

By my big toe.

I swung a decision,

I’d be the man I wanted to be

To be different than the example.

A timid trailblazer still covers ground,

A kite broken free may crash,

Or fly higher than ever imagined.

The world needs good men

I’ll fill that need or die trying,

She needed me to be more,

My soul began
To grow chest hair.

So that’s where I’m from

There’s my past laid out.

My future?

Well that’s up to me isn’t it.

– Vagabond Prophet

Running like mad,

Arms flailing

Legs wheeling

Breath burning.

The bus takes the bend

And I realize

It was never the right one.

It’s sign shouting #1

Yet as it rushed up behind me

All I could think of

Was a fear of being forgotten.

Vagabond Prophet