Tag: my poetry

Hoarder

I’ll take peace to go

With a side of simple wisdom.

I’ll mull it over when I get the chance,

Like the kale turning yellow in my fridge.

I save everything for later,

Dreams and aspirations,

I even save my voice

For belittling my loved ones

When they ask me about

The hoard piled up high

Of wonderful things gathering dust.

– Vagabond Prophet

Current

Sky thick with clouds

Like you took the stuffing

From my blanket

Tossed straight up.

The wind is flowing

Reminders with direction

Pointing to you

Always to you.

Some people say

You haven’t spoken in ages

Saying, “there’s no current here.”

They’re just not paying attention.

– Vagabond Prophet

Maternity Ward

Maternity ward

Woman puking everything out

Except her guts,

Good thing, she’s going to need them.

Shrieks and wails and screams

From rooms 4011, 4023, and 4033.

Life so weighty it spills forth

One way or another.

Like a fisherman with too great a catch,

Little fish pouring over the gunnels.

Tiny little generals

Conquering hearts in an instant.

– Vagabond Prophet

No Reasoning


There’s no reasoning with demons

Fight or run,

Only options.

Can’t run from something inside you,

Exercise in damnation.

Like talking to a wolf,

Doesn’t look you in the eye

Or read your lips

Or even listen.

Just stares at your neck

That expanse of weakness,

Hunger incarnate.

– Vagabond Prophet

Tuber Lessons

Down underneath covered up

Spreading deeper and deeper

And always covered in filth.

This song is about potatoes.

They’ve known dirt

They’ve known darkness

And they’ve known their place.

Just above that

But with thoughts no higher

I spread and grow

Reaching out with fingers like roots

Soaking up all there is.

Maybe this song is about me.

I’ve known dirt

I’ve known darkness

Where is my place?

Further out on the same level

Roots everywhere intertwine

Fighting for water sources

Choking each other out.

Okay this song is about all of us.

We’ve known dirt

We’ve known darkness

Let’s learn from the spud

And learn our place.

– Vagabond Prophet

Need and Needles


Driving downtown seeing all kinds of people,

Walking everywhere in haphazard zigs and zags

Unshaven, unwashed, mind reeling from life.

Existing is a heavy weight

Sometimes too much to bare,

It wrinkles the straight creases in the mind

Making things appear that weren’t

Or taking away what you’d known.

It’s not just bums who chose this life,

It’s Ricky who’d been raped as a boy,

It’s Vicki who’s children

Don’t speak to her anymore.

When there’s this much need

And needles,

It’s everyone’s problem

And there’s no fencing it in.

– Vagabond Prophet