They call this
The ‘bad’ part of town
The part with the foodbank
And the building for supervised visits.
Families separated
Estranged by circumstance,
Needy, not bad
Desperate not volatile.
I’ll tell you about
The bad part of town,
It’s up on the hill
It’s all chrome and glass.
Throwing food away
Every single day
Ignoring their children
Who just want to play.
– Vagabond Prophet
Tag: poem
Deadly Sin #5
Greed, as defined by the poets dictionary.
Definition: Hungry hands with unnaturally sharp claws. An ever hungry need for more at the cost of anybody but yourself. Too many teeth for too small a meal, stealing your neighbours supper and still being unsatisfied.
Other definitions include: Unfulfilled desires fueled by diesel and fire.
Eight days a week insisting on nine, willing to kill to get it.
Coupon hoarding for the sale that’s never good enough.
Sharpening knives for the bones you make into broth. Elephant bone soup still insufficient.
Given enough weapons would invade every nation.
Given enough heat would boil the sea to make your tea.
Antonyms: Content, happy, at peace, needing nothing.
Greed only seeks to convince you that nothing about you or your life is enough.
Sunglasses
If you need proof that every soul
Is at war with itself,
Look no further than your sunglasses.
That in the darkest hour of night
We pray for dawn to break
To chase the shadows away
And illuminate your spirit.
What do you do?
What have I done?
That dearest beseeched ray of day
Finally hops the fence and is found
To be too damn brilliant
Too sharp and discerning to tolerate
It stings the eyes and scorches the skin.
I wear sunglasses,
Keep my foot in both camps
For darkness threatens to smother
And light threatens to burn me
So I stay in the middle.
So you see we are all of us
Creatures afflicted by division,
Fallen spirits trying to float upwards
While still clinging to the ground,
The best gymnast of the heart
Can’t do the splits that well.
Trash your Oakley’s
Nobody can serve two masters.
– Vagabond Prophet
Soul Mates
I used to believe
In true love and soulmates,
Now I know it false.
It’s true she’s my mate
And that she has my soul
But I chose her
And she chose me.
No accident no ‘falling in’
Like slipping in mud
Or slowly going mad.
Providence played a part
To be sure
But our choices are
What define us.
No smoky bar
Or mystic circumstance
Just she and me
Opposite sides of a dirty couch.
A choice we still
Make every day
When life is lovely
When life is ghastly.
Our couch is still stained
A reminder of our promises.
– Vagabond Prophet
True North
Like a ship graveyard
Where we sort through the rotten planks
To find the few good ones.
Together we may salvage
One seaworthy vessel
From the thousand capsized.
We all push off from shore
Without giving the land a last glance
We go past the breakers,
No map, just a promise.
A common faith
Of a country far away,
Something I’ve always known of.
It’s like the way the moon
Chases a Sun it’s never seen
Except for in dreams.
We all work the ropes
And steer the rudder
For the compass is etched
On all of our hearts.
– Vagabond Prophet
Malcontent
I haven’t been honest
Since the womb.
Lying about
Why I’m crying.
Not crying about being torn
From my home,
I cried for the world I was born into.
I heard her heartbeat,
Beating in time with her malcontent,
She didn’t even have to say it
I felt it in the blood she gave me.
The world is unsafe
And we’re made for the next one,
Just help some people get there
That’s what she told me.
– Vagabond Prophet
Anonymous
In a world where there’s no such thing as anonymous
Someone is always watching,
Where can we go to have a private conversation.
Where our words can wrestle each other
And when you come out on top
I’ll have a stupid grin
Because all I ever wanted
Was for you to pin me.
My back on the ground
With nothing left to give
But my devotion.
– Vagabond Prophet
Shoulders
Everyone has a cross to bare
But you didn’t make all shoulders the same did you?
Mine are broad for a child
And slim for a man
Do you know what I mean?
I just don’t want to be alone
The only thing to save me aches me
But I’ll be saved in the end
Without anymore nails too.
You did that for me,
You carried the world on your shoulders
Those expansive masts of strength
The sails in between
Filled with our sins
To sail through death
And come out the other side
Alive enough for all of us.
– Vagabond Prophet
Wolf Hunting
I heard a story once about people up north.
Where there’s long days and long winters
And the snow piles higher than houses.
They hunt wolves in winter,
Finding ways to do it safely.
Horrific and brilliant methods.
Take a knife and dip it in blood
Freeze the blood on the blade,
Do this over and over
Ten times over.
Until the blade is deep beneath a thick coat
A winter coat of deepest red.
Leave it in the open blade pointing up
Saluting the sky
Taking a bow before the grand performance
The great seduction of the beast.
Curiosity can be wonderful,
Curiosity can be devastating.
A hint on the wind
And the scent makes itself at home
Amongst happy memories
Eating dinner with family.
You come out of the trail
Seeing this tower of scarlet
Amidst this ocean of white,
You remember this shade of red.
It wasn’t the first lick that killed you
But it sealed your fate to be sure.
Those that live by the sword die by the sword
Those that thirst for blood drown in their own.
Niceties we say to excuse our guilt,
You never stood a chance against this trap
It looks like food
It smells like food
And it even tastes like food.
Your tongue swarms into every crevice
Made by the swirling vapours
Of your hot breath excited
Panting with desire and hunger.
You lick and lick and lick
And endless fountain of your favourite flavour
You denied yourself nothing.
The blood just kept coming,
First from the frozen blood
Thawed by your warmth,
But then it switched and you didn’t notice.
Did you?
Can’t pinpoint the second but sometime
Your tongue met the steel
Blood now spouting from many sources
And you swear it’s the best day you’ve ever had.
You died in a garden dyed crimson,
By the fleshy brush jutting forth
From your strong jaws
Bathed in your own paint.
I just listened to the story,
Dumbstruck.
I’ve never understood
A wild animal better than now,
I’ve been betrayed
By my longings too.
Curiosity can be wonderful,
Curiosity can be devastating.
– Vagabond Prophet
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
Vagabond Prophet 