Tag: peoplewithpoetry

Flat Earth

Dipped in water and then oil

Not knowing how to mix with myself.

Sometimes you have to re-break the bone

To get it set right.

Wide asleep

When the vines that creep

Pull me under,

I hear beasts within and without,

I hear claws upon the door

At most unholy hours.

I am the peacock with need so dire

To prove itself just once,

I am the rhinoceros with steepest spire

Upon my face betraying lies.

I am the tiger saying its for camouflage

But it was always about ego,

Nobody else has this colour scheme.

Here’s the truth that chills in July:

If we spoke before The Tower of Babel

We might understand each other,

However in this post Babel era

I only mix the shadows of words together

Rendering the truest shade of grey.

I miss the days of old

When the earth was flat,

Stars on the same level.

When I could run full speed

And have flames engulf my need

Stripping off the laquer

The feathers, the horns, the stripes.

The earth is round, but slowly

You’re bending it back

Back to how it was,

Running gets easier as the slope

Promises to lessen in time,

And though I’m dumbfounded

I’m finally finding sanctuary.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thanks @josy57 for the prompt “Finding Sanctuary” I hope this makes some kind of sense.

Ajar

Moonlight on my skin

Lengthening shadows of twilight

When the windshield caved in

As steel on steel screeched an emergency.

The sound of everything

Grating on everything else

When greens became reds too early

And the deep roots

Of hopeful pursuits

Came crashing into me.

The police came to collect stories

And the door ajar

Sounding into the night

It’s persistent plight.

Nerves steady as milk

On the verge of sour

For a while after that.

Took months for them

To be rigid again.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with “A door ajar.” Not very happy with this but there it is.

Let’s get burned
Let’s get frozen
Let’s be rabbit trails
Long grown over.

Transformed into fire by
The licking of the flame,
Isolated into ice
By frost that aims to mame.

Roots pierce through
This stony heart
All to begin anew.

Allow the elements not to defeat you
But to become you for a purpose
That was always above us all.

Vagabond Prophet

What goes up must come down,
Are we so sure?
The world has never been that balanced
Always heavy at the blade.

It’s true that for every child
Born with a silver spoon
There is a child born
With silver handcuffs,
But not all things come down.

Such as my hopes
Of growing old with you
They are way up high
And won’t be coming down soon.

Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Echo

Ballroom facades and finest outfits

Simple memories overshadowed by

Champagne flourishes and caviar bribery.

Egos bigger than themselves

To make doorways feel smaller

And double breasted suits

For men with no hearts at all.

Shouts and cries and squeals of glee

Shrouded by the rules of a dance

Performed by thousands before.

It’s not your dance, it’s not ours

They’re the steps given to us

That we now run away from.

We sprint into the rain

Shining gown gets soaked

And I see the skin beneath

Puckered and upset

With what the weather does beget.

Now we can shout

And finally find our voice!

Find a cave and scream out loud

For echoes never lie

Never amplifying or altering

Never adding or subtracting

Just your exact words again.

Forget the champagne and caviar,

Leave your fingerprints in the earth

Let forests, mountains, and caves

Remember the way you sound.

Your utterances indelibly pressed

Into rocks hitherto undented

They will always scream right back

Not holding onto your love

But giving and receiving in equal measure.

Don’t be silent don’t let thoughts

Go unspoken forever

Don’t make the stones wait for your song

Like a mother with a son at war

Waiting for his return

Only to receive a flag,

And a thank you for the blood.

Echoes always tell the truth

The most discerning of sleuths

They always detect a voice

Even in those who

Thought they’d lost theirs

Amongst the magnified silence

Of ballroom masquerades.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thanks @josy57 for the prompt “The true meaning of an echo.” Hope everybody enjoys it.

Real Rainbow

I’ve known anger burning red

And despair oh so blue,

Envy green and cowardice yellow.

I’ve had my countenance turn black

Under a sky of grey

A real rainbow of disdain.

I am not lazy or sloth like as of late,

Come here touch my brow

And feel the residue of my toil

That brings me naught but rot.

Until you came into my life

Breaking dams that held nothing in only out

Flooding dry lake beds

And sprouting gardens where there was dust.

Because of your works not mine

I can call myself justified in time,

A second hand treasure

Better than anything wrought

By these calloused hands.

You can still feel the sweat on my body

See it drip onto a brown soil

Watch me work a land green and budding

See the sun set red

And rise brightest yellow.

I can push off into a vast blue sea

And not care if I sail or get swallowed

For both is to be loved.

You’ve carried me in your shadow of light

Through the deepest blacks

Protected by your majesty

Into a brand new country

With brand new colours

A real rainbow of joy.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with “Second Hand Treasures.”

Capsizing

In throes of deepest admiration

My heart cracking like lines in pavement,

Overwhelmed to the point of capsizing

As I behold my beloved,

No recesses of firmament

Not present in her gaze.

My pinion pinched and unwieldy

No longer can I sojourn

To the celestial region

So you saw fit

To place in her lissome form

All the beauty of the heavens.

She in state of repose,

Words always kind and sweet

Never besmirch, belittle, or cause harm

To this brittle soul of mine.

I beseech you have mercy on me

The third son of a third son

Of a man with just one eye.

Me I’ve got both,

But it won’t be enough

For my rods and cones

To comprehend her majesty.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Undaunted

These mornings are still cool

While afternoons with heat

Make me perspire into the night.

What can I don

For this time between seasons?

Much the same as

The pains of destiny.

Knowing I’m for the next world

Yet under orders to toil here

To prepare the land and hearts.

For both predicaments

Will take much patience

A period of suffering

And a measure of courage

To look the end of time in the eye

Yet remain undaunted,

Though still perspiring into the night.

– Vagabond Prophet

Turned to Stone

What if all the poems

Do  nothing at all

If I’ve wasted all my time

Sacrificed my sleep

On the altar of art

And it just turns to stone.

Letting my heart unwind

One stanza at a time

Pointlessly.

Without irrigating something good

Or making clear

Something misunderstood.

Oh I pray that I

Can affect real change.

Take my ramblings

To untie lies in others

And inspire courage,  kindness

And all things good and just.

– Vagabond Prophet