Original Poetry about anything and everything.
Old brick buildings
New little cafes,
If walls had eyes
Would they remember
What used to be there?
Barista calls out,
“Black coffee for Joe”
And the walls reminisce
About when it was a barbershop.
And Joe was in
Every week for a shave,
Maybe Joe remembers too
And it keeps him coming back.
– Vagabond Prophet
Storefront signs shining
Long before the sun
Long before business hours
Long past bedtime.
Don’t they know
They get paid by the hour?
This is a good way to burn out.
– Vagabond Prophet
Almost March
The earth starts thawing,
Things once hard with cold
Get soft and bleed water.
Water covers everything
In little glistening trails,
Please whet my appetite
As I thaw
I’ve been frozen far too long.
– Vagabond Prophet
Sticks beating drums
Under dim light,
Red finish on the shells
Glint of cymbals.
Strings being strummed
Chords being plucked,
Melodies sung
Stories told.
I enjoyed it so,
Moving the air
And it moving people.
Most of all I loved
People enjoying
Something of my creation
And always asking for more.
– Vagabond Prophet
My side is in stitches
Minds been having glitches.
Taking wind from my sail
You set me up to fail.
You focused on pointless tasks
Like shoeing an ostrich,
Instead of finding a way
To galvanize in me some hope.
– Vagabond Prophet
High tide low tide
Leaving lines on the rocks,
Gushing forth creeping back
Never sitting still.
When you’re shallow here
Are you deeper elsewhere?
Lapping at my shins
Are you thigh deep for another?
Your might unrivaled
Your vengeance always complete.
Your thirst always quenched
And hunger ever satisfied.
Whether carving stone
With a patient chisel
Or smothering flames
In a hasty torrent.
You’re always beautiful
Always terrifying
And you always
Sustain my being.
– Vagabond Prophet
I need to go where the stars shine bright.
Funny that when the night is darkest
I can best see through the curtain.
That celestial veil,
Where the angels poke little holes
To let some hope float down.
– Vagabond Prophet
Blood out blood in
Filtered in between,
All to dilute the poison
You can’t on your own.
Acid’s and liquids
Coagulating life
And sending it straight back
A little colder than before.
– Vagabond Prophet
The thoughts you can’t admit
Not even to yourself
So you leave them on the shelf.
In the basement I sat
Watching grown men
Circling the den.
Fighting their conditioning
Laying souls bare
Making all aware.
Instead of resentment
So very feared
Found themselves endeared.
This quilt of souls laid bare
Patches of success
Patches of failure
Somehow keeps us warm.
– Vagabond Prophet
When the little hand hits twelve
On the face of my watch,
I’ll get off this chair
And pour another scotch.
Yellow and sweet
In a vicious kind of way,
Taking down fences
Ferrel words at end of day.
In the morning it’s coffee
I’ll be electrically afflicted
I bounce between these tonics
When my words are constricted.
The right words never come
My mind held on a scale,
Swatted like a horsefly
Tossed by the gale.
Buzzing energetic,
All business and astute,
Or brilliant in my torpor
But wordless as a brute.
This erratic crazed ballet
Doesn’t really help,
Should make better choices,
Kale, beets, and kelp
If my habits are nonsensical
If you could call me crazy,
I’m halfway to genius
At least I’m not lazy.
– Vagabond Prophet
– Not going to lie, I was trying to write something else and it wasn’t working so I wrote this about writers block..
Vagabond Prophet 