Original Poetry about anything and everything.
Under waning moon and festooned sky
With darkness to illuminate the night
It is already morning
Though beneath blackened heavens
One couldn’t hope to know
It will soon reverse its darkling effect.
This is faith beyond the wraith
This is hope surpassing spectres
Yesterday’s sun is no
Assurance of today’s
But faith sticks out its hand
Until warmed by mornings kiss.
– Vagabond Prophet
These dark mornings
Where I see my breath
Before the sun remind me
To always carry light.
Vagabond Prophet
Running on the pier looking down
The gaps between boards
Like a cartoon flip book
Of shells and tides,
Sand and hills
Of seaweed and salt,
I speed past with curious
And quick steps.
I want to be grown!
Where my long legs can close the distance
Between myself and my longing
What’s the ending of this book
That unravels with each stride?
Now in pitch black mornings
Only lights come from
The neighbours kitchen,
She’s too early getting ready
For a lonely commute
Thick with too many
Other lonely commuters.
And so am I.
Now I want to be a child again
To have the freedom
To speculate every step,
Instead of insuring my marching
Is in time with the others.
Though these scenes juxtapose
I spray both with a hose
For now I know best
In this myopic quest,
The answer is devotion
Love and intention
The grass is greenest
On the side it gets watered.
– Vagabond Prophet
Hey @josy57 ! Yeah you, thanks for the prompt ‘myopic quest,’ I enjoyed this.
Late September morn
Only darkness and fog worn
Can’t see what shape
Sky thinks to take
For it’s too low
And I wade through it.
Come sun burn it up
Leave it scorched
And fling it back up
To the stars it belongs amongst.
– Vagabond Prophet
I am awake when I should be asleep
I am awake when I should be awake,
I save resting for the space between stanzas.
For I read these thoughts aloud
To a vast and dusty crowd
That claps and cheers me on
From the PM to the AM and back again.
I should close these eyes right now
But with stalwart rhythm this mind churns on
And the quill moves more eloquently
If I keep this blue gaze fixed
On a white page inked black.
Perpetual sleeplessness is my vocation,
Though no references save the coffee vendor
That weighs me out in pounds per week,
You should know I am a professional
And I will not burnout, for this backlog of dreams
Demands vigilance of this exact kind.
– Vagabond Prophet
Strolling through sopping grey
Summers first reprieve
Is a whisper of autumn.
When every blade of grass is slick
From the breath of the night
And all parched land takes flight
Making way for things shadegrown
Before the big sleep.
Vagabond Prophet
Late July and overcast
Clouds as heavy as my eyelids,
Ready to spill open
And move on to better weather.
Vagabond Prophet
They call me the commuting poet,
For I conjure verses
On my way to places.
It’s remembering them
Long enough to find a pen
That’s my real weakness.
Vagabond Prophet
Dug out my autumn jacket
For an early June day,
Maybe it wanted to hug me
Once more before my birthday
Before its dusty summer break.
Vagabond Prophet
It’s a new week
And I woke up early
Steel these hands to care
And feet to fly swiftly,
Move this Monday torpor
Into loving action
And this yawn
Into the dawn
Of words that change the world.
Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 