Tag: poetry club 13

Two Bent Knees


I am the third son of a third son

Of a man with just one eye,

He’d have a hundred years now

Tucked under his belt.

Lessons he taught

From battles he fought.

Not the one across the sea

For his vision compromised

The childhood accident

The tragedy despised.

Running with scissors

And tripping with scissors

Not just a cautionary tale.

His war included no bullets

His attrition risked no shrapnel

Just the simple devotion of a simple man

To put bread upon the table.

Raising cattle in a frigid land

Where even water retains no flexibility

And gives up its crown for a time unchallenged.

Years later raising young by the seaside

His tidepool kingdom crashed down

When the water came in high.

One wife down and one to go

The missing mother divided

An already divided clan.

Trudging onwards to surest of horizons

His compass unflinching in its convictions,

His health faded but his faith did not

And the proof was in a vacant body

Found on two bent knees.

– Vagabond Prophet

@mildreflections I think you may like this, I was inspired by your poem about your grandfather.

Taxidermist

You a ferrous metal and I a magnet

Drawn to you by design,

Yet sin degrades all

With it’s terror and it’s squall.

On my worst days

When I listen to the liar

Saying “It’s okay its natural

Like breathing

Or seething.”

Desires denied

Sorrows multiplied.

I shower and feel the skin come off

Everytime hoping the next layer

Will be thicker and less porous

Keeping out the slithering vapours

That slide in so easily.

You told me I’m brand new

But why do I have these phantom pains

From a spine I no longer have?

For you demanded that too…

Tonight don’t let the darkness bite.

Sometimes the prescription for these lenses

Is so strong I can’t even hear you,

My fingers trip over themselves

Can’t ever get the whole story out.

Why are all old men bent over?

Do we all hide our magic?

I am pierced not as though by arrows

But as though by poetry

Run through to the crux of the matter.

The matter of matter

Of what matters,

Do I?

That which upsets me inspires me most

And it’s true tragedy

Brings a man to the surface.

For years now I’ve been far beyond the surface

Can you place me back beneath?

Give me a mermans lungs and let me not choke.

I am both hope and cheer

I am both charm and jeer.

I feel the spectre anticipating

I can hear it berating

And I see it slipping in and out of me

I read the putrid pleasantries

It writes on the corridors of my mind.

Ghost, demon, ghoul whatever name you’ve chosen

Allow me to address you directly this day

Do you not see me?

Look me in the eyes

Hold my gaze I dare you!

I am but the slain wolf

Of greatest hunters

The master taxidermist

Stitching me back together with sterner stuff.

Good or evil a wolf still has teeth

Come now and let us do battle!

I grow tired of dreading the looking glass

Of fleeing the hour where shadows lengthen

Like fear with nightly growth spurts.

That particular kind of weariness

That makes life bleed heavily.

Coffee isn’t enough to hold my hand

To prop open my eyelids

With tent pegs meant for home.

I require victory

I thirst for conquest

Over strongholds in my heart,

Then I may rest.

You have birthed in me a rage

The greatest of the age

You’ve been biding your time

And committing your crime

But I have not been idle

I have known a donor of strength

That will make me victorious.

Come now bring your weapons

See if it does you any good

A man of my word you will soon learn

Light too can bite.

I by might imbued me

Will fight till bones protrude thee.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with “Facing your own Ghost,” literal I know but here it is.

Shake hands with worry

Make all courage scurry

Give a nod to fury

Jingling his keys.

Veins pumping vanity

It’s vain it’s insanity

As I travel from solstice of length

To the solstice of brevity.

Trample something damp

To make myself feel strong.

I’m the prophet who having

Seen his own defeat

Only had bravery galvanized

To prove the fates wrong.

I chew on keys

To unlock the words stuck

On the tip of my tongue.

I should have known

How this would end

I had been tonguing

The fatal flaw for months.

And when I brought my

Jaws down to crush that dinner

I should have known

I’d be defeated, fractured into pieces.

– Vagabond Prophet

@josy57 thanks for the prompt “knowing when to lose.” This thing is weird but there it is. Out in the world now.