Myopic Quest

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.

Kernels

What good can come

From his habit of sleeplessness?

Is this your question,

Friend that ones easy.

It’s true summer is defeated

By the frozen blows of winter

Yet winter begets spring.

The ore scorched by fire

And beaten by the hammer

Turns into brilliant jewelry.

All my hobbies and interests

All of my leisure and yard work

Put on the bottom shelf

Just for a time.

This brief opportunity

To affect change in the lives

Of desperate children

With no place to rest their head,

Is worth every minute of rest

That I put to death on the altar

Of servitude.

Are you sure? Is it working?

Do your yawns create some virtue

Does your unrested mind

Really get any good work done?

You queried

Arms crossed

Smirk pulled up high

Like a flag on holiday.

In midwestern climate

Can you trust good weather

Long enough to shed

Your cynical husk?

The sunrise is majestic

Whether I’m waking

Or not yet found my bed.

It is brilliance like this

I was made to reflect

And my silver mind

Pounded into mirror

By this bludgeoning war

Of attrition will serve me well.

I care not for

The scathing mockery

For I know that through strife

I may find

The unpopped kernels

Of my genius.

– Vagabond Prophet

@josy57 Thank you for the prompt “On the bottom shelf” I enjoyed that.

Fiery Wake

Like a shooting star

Could my death inspire

The minds of those

Standing far enough away

To only see the beautiful

The luminous.

Having stood any closer

They may observe

I carry as much darkness as light

But in the night sky

It’s a fact I hope to hide.

Having come from

One of those voids

That we still bother naming,

That I may one day

Land on a tangled

And ropy shore and climb

My way to legend.

Crawl to higher ground

To see my own fiery wake

Burn the gaze of watchers

Take their thirst to slake.

– Vagabond Prophet

Sky Wading

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

Wrestle the Sun

The most skilled of cashiers

Couldn’t make change of this noise

For some quiet.

I’d wrestle the sun

To keep the night from coming

With its sinister grin

And loud taunts

That daylight may never return.

These thoughts drowned out

With songs sung in every tongue

Of good hope and love.

If your belief

Grants no reprieve

From the devil on your sleeve

Your anchor set in ground

That avoids its touch.

Leave now!

Run fast!

Take your coat

And a boat

And row right out to sea!

Rivers flow to oceans

And oceans feel the union

Deep inside themselves.

This is the answer

The remedy from cancer,

All roads don’t lead home

But all homes do have a road

Leading to them.

If you’re found with a heart

Eager for sanctuary

Having fainted exhausted in the ditch

It’s still better than having never set out.

The guide may come correct

Misguided steps but beginning is a must.

You are worth your weight in gold

Let timid souls grow bold.

– Vagabond Prophet

Hot Pipes

I’m young now but won’t always be

One day this strong back will go slack

And sag under weight of time

Will no longer bear any burden

That comes its way.

These arms like branches in winter

Will wither and stop growing fruit

As my legs like roots stop toiling

For more ground to inhabit.

My voice will no longer rush

Like church organs

Burning urgency through hot pipes

With hope for all who may listen.

My mind may writhe

And scratch at doors

Its long held keys to

Having forgotten the purpose of each.

Though it may shrivel

And lose some of it’s shine

Though I may forget even your name

I will never forget you completely.

For this poorest of memories

Must still walk down halls you tiled.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Remission

Firewood stacked in the cellar of my heart

Waiting for some rogue spark,

To make the whole thing catch,

The inferno lying in wait.

Everything takes its turn in the sky

Like the sun

Like the moon

Like my own judgement of myself.

One of those confused souls

Living vicariously through the toilet

Taking everyones shit

Except my own.

To end this marching

I just might have to

Euthanize my own legs.

Sometimes I feel like an electromagnet

With no current running through,

Having lost all of its virtue.

Unless you wanted something cold

Something hard

Something that will never

Grip you tightly.

At this particular juncture I realize

Something strange even to me,

Reality never contradicts itself

Except in the presence of hurricanes.

That the most tranquil of eyes would beget

Such a tempestuous halo dancing round it,

For cows give milk and sadness gives tears

How is it that peace births terror so strong

As to peel roofs from homes.

The typhoon that stops its spinning

To focus its efforts inwards

Inducting some insanity and rage

To that placid and torporial center,

Introduce some apocalyptic worry

To the serene eye.

This would make far more sense.

How do these coexist?

How do they share a bed

Without one taking the blanket

To let the other shiver and die?

How do black and white dance

And in their twirls and pirouettes

Not ever turn to grey?

Yet that’s what has occured in me

A rotten center amidst alien goodness

That eventually makes itself back to the center

Until it all dissipates, leaving not but calm.

Skin stretched taut over

A rib cage mast to make a sail,

Blood fills it like a gale

To push me ever onwards.

On my way one foot

In front of the other,

Trudging the road

Of happy destiny.

Though I don’t quite emit light

The disease is in remission

I’m casting a lighter shadow.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Hey @josy57 ! Thanks for the great prompt

“Casting a Lighter Shadow”.

Gold Stickers

On the eve of higher learning

Keep your bright heart burning

That amongst red apples and gold stickers

You’d be the only flame that never flickers.

With hair as curly

As the shapes

You first drew on paper,

Eyes as brown

As the coffee I drink

Each and every morning.

If I could pluck your brightness

I’ve little doubt I’d live forever,

To be a father

Is to never die.

But rather have my blood

Pump through better veins,

To have the apprentice take the tool

Carving the block in ways

I never could with hands

I helped form.

One day I’ll be humbled by age

And you a shining knight

Will have your own page

To raise up with wisdom I will give thee.

Tonight just rest your lovely head

Before this new journey,

When the sun rises

On your keen brow

Know that it never sets

On your father’s prayers for you.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Son starting kindergarten. I’m not crying you’re crying!

@delightfulharmonypoetry

vagabondprophet:

Big Dipper

One bright and starry night

Just a lad with teary eyes

Lost the bout in the fight

When you pulled back the disguise.

Crashing through partition

I was fully completely, undone

Unraveled my tradition

My top no longer spun.

You broke through all other choices

When you addressed my need

I’d been listening to cunning voices

Devise a cunning deed.

Now that path I have forsaken

Thankful I’ve found another

After all the lies I’d taken

And their attempts to smother.

Now these ideas inverted

With tools forged in heaven

From the river of grave you diverted

To raise me like bread leavened.

All it took was looking up

The big dipper your spoon

Serving the love on which I sup

So much grander than the moon.

How did I ever think

Your grace was not enough

When you fill the sky, fill the rink

To refine this diamond in the rough.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with ‘the path I have forsaken.’

Big Dipper

One bright and starry night

Just a lad with teary eyes

Lost the bout in the fight

When you pulled back the disguise.

Crashing through partition

I was fully completely, undone

Unraveled my tradition

My top no longer spun.

You broke through all other choices

When you addressed my need

I’d been listening to cunning voices

Devise a cunning deed.

Now that path I have forsaken

Thankful I’ve found another

After all the lies I’d taken

And their attempts to smother.

Now these ideas inverted

With tools forged in heaven

From the river of grace you diverted

To raise me like bread leavened.

All it took was looking up

The big dipper your spoon

Serving the love on which I sup

So much grander than the moon.

How did I ever think

Your grace was not enough

When you fill the sky, fill the rink

To refine this diamond in the rough.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with ‘the path I have forsaken.’