Tag: new poets on tumblr

Brace Myself

Rubbing fiberglass on my chest

Scuff the skin, make it more thin

That air may avoid my lips

And enter my lungs directly.

Avoid the middleman

Dad always said

He’s only there for your money

Standing with vitriolic smile

And outstretched hand.

I am a master of depravity

I put my face into the furrows

I find it makes me grounded

If I plant my dreams in soil.

When flowers grew no more

In the arid plains of my heart

I asked you to hold my hand

And walk me to greener land.

Though you’ve burned my sorrow

In flames of your love

I still feel sometimes tarnished

Like a pencil erased

The page retains impressions.

My blood I’d taught

To tell just backward riddles

Still sometimes pumps a lie.

When I wake from dreams

And cry out to you

And am deafened by the silence,

Sometimes silence is the answer.

For sometimes beauty

In obscurity

Greater than in clarity.

How tenaciously I’ve fought

For my right to rot,

Only to have you grip me tighter.

You borrowed my burden

Yet refused to give it back,

Now I ride this river

Mile after mile.

The water it transforms

From the muddy browns

To the salty blues

Until the heights above

Are as vast as

The depths below.

Now even if I fall

It’s only deeper in to you

And the only preparation

I now make

Is to brace myself for grace.

– Vagabond Prophet

Hey @josy57 thank you for the prompt “Borrowed Burden,” as always it’s been a joy.

Pavement Pillow

The edges bleed on everything

When it rains this hard,

It seems the world is weeping.

To staunch the flow

We have to work together

To pray for warmer weather

For those who get their lullabies

Whispered from whatever

The cracked pavement pillow

Speaks to them tonight.

– Vagabond Prophet

Redundancy

I’ve been little else but lawless

Little else but wayward,

In the redundancy

Of my delinquency

How do you not grow tired?

When you’ve been little else but lovely

Little else but gracious

In the insistency

Of your consistency,

Please don’t end or waiver

For I need you so.

– Vagabond Prophet

Vintage

Hold me up to the light

Inspect me under looking glass

With delicate brushes

Comb me over

To prove I am authentic.

This is borrowed strength

I am festooned with the strands

With the ribbons of blood

Strewn within me

From those that went before.

The stewards of memory

May know and verify

That I am the proud owner

Of vintage skin and antique blood.

These are legs

That have been leant

A tongue only for a term,

And a heart

I still make payments on.

It’s a rent to own program

You bleed yourself dry

For long enough

You might just get to be yourself.

Dying every day

And living every death

With your blood in my veins

That you died to provide.

– Vagabond Prophet

@josy57 yeah you! Thanks for prompting me with “Borrowed Antiques.”

Gravitas

All sound is born from silence

All art is born from fractured beauty

Trying to graft some goodness to some pain.

Now I dare to unlock my voice

I’ve carried this whole time.

The knot in my stomach

Turns to words on my lips

And though I am afraid

I know that half of fear is wonder.

I wonder

I wonder will my voice

Find a pleasing place

Amongst the octaves

To sing my story gone untold.

With baritone gravitas

And soprano urgency

My song will soar above the madness.

– Vagabond Prophet

@josy57 gave me the prompt “I’ve carried it all this time.” Thanks for that. I hope folks enjoy.

Printing Press


I’d believed the lie

I conjured nigh

The hour of my undoing.

That I am unforgivable

That I am my mistakes,

Thinking some fears

Can’t be assuaged

Those depths too deep

To ever plumb fully.

Now disregarding my grief

For your magnitude,

Your tongue the printing press

That published the good news

With words inked

In your blood

That should be mine.

– Vagabond Prophet

Open Heart Surgery

The surgical blade

The drape that was laid

Upon skin built up for years.

Flat on your back

Ragged breath gone slack

Clamp down the mask

Begin the task.

The harm always starts

Before the healing can,

The cracking of ribs

The loss of blood.

If this is you

Going under the knife,

Remember some go a lifetime

With nobody seeing their heart,

For the struggling pump that it is

Trying to bale out a boat

Under constant downpour.

– Vagabond Prophet