Tag: poets on tumblr

Return to Sender

I opened the letter as it arrived

Hoping it would buoy her spirits

And diminish the long shadows ahead

Only to find the screen displaying

A line flatter than a prairie.

The code blue was issued

And skilled men and women

Sprang into action

Making the bed springs squeak

Their emergency made plain.

I should be used to this by now,

Death is part of every life,

Irony is cruel sometimes,

Just like the irony of a body bag

That insists on sterile packaging.

As though the dead would complain

About the cleanliness of

Their final sleep.

The medicine we needed

Not found in this world,

Now here we are hoping

She can still find it somehow

The fountains of joy

And streams of love

No doctor can prescribe.

I am sorry but I must

Return this to sender

For the woman in my care

Has died this afternoon.

A letter from one heart

To another no longer beating.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Thanks @josy57 for the prompt “The medicine we need”

There’s me
And then there’s you
And all I want to do
Is climb into your heart
To make in me a fresh start.

Dissolve like sugar
In those warm cleansing waters
No longer able to discern
Where I end and you begin.

Vagabond Prophet

delightfulharmonypoetry:

vagabondprophet:

Hurricane

I don’t believe in true love

Or in soulmates

But I know what happened to me

And I believe in  addiction.

You did not screech or beseech

With kissable lips

And raised eyebrow

With clever fingers set your snare.

I was yours.

You hooked me

With the efficiency of a hurricane,

I became forever yours.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

How crafty, I seem. But I do not recall it quite that way. 

Around the corner you might find him, they said to me. 
Turn the right or left and there he will be 
Cautiously I inched around each turn that came about
For fear that a pair of eyes and lips would wipe me clear out

There was no corner when I saw you
Just the bones of trees reaching to sky
The brown and gold of burnt grass lost to summer
With clouds ashen blue bearing no lie

Honey gold, ice blue you smiled
They flocked to you, bees to flower
Children to sugar, and all the while…

Roots became of my feet, 
Whispers buzzed in my ears, 
The triple flap of a hummingbird’s wing where my heart used to be

All that time wasted, peeking around corners
But it was the trees that hid you, the clouds that gave you asylum
Attacked without warning, I was
An ambush

Run, said my mind, rational where the rest of me set to fire
Run, for there he is. 
There he is there is he is. 

Mister Right. 

I am glad I tore the roots of my feet from the earth, 
Spun on my heel and set to fleeing
For while you were Mister Right

I was yet Miss Not-Ready.

@vagabondprophet

I’ve wracked my mind

And combed the ashes

But this tale can not recall

For you fled fast and fled well.

You were gone before I saw you,

Naturally I tell the story differently,

The next several years afterwards

I can only theorize.

You were biding your time

And stocking your weapons

Braiding curiosity with courage

To fortify yourself.

You waged a cold war

With a hot body

And a warm tongue.

Studying my heartstrings from afar

Learning which ones to tug

To bring it all crashing down.

The first day I recall seeing you

I recall your pose, and your hat

Slouched nonchalant on the couch

Looking radiant and speaking thoughtfully.

You sharpened and blunted me

In equal measure,

Always useless for the task at hand

Except for finding yours.

Ten long years later and

Your presence is indelibly

Pressed into my heart.

You sunkissed beauty,

You steward of joy and kindness,

You exquisite queen of our little kingdom.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Hurricane

I don’t believe in true love

Or in soulmates

But I know what happened to me

And I believe in  addiction.

You did not screech or beseech

With kissable lips

And raised eyebrow

With clever fingers set your snare.

I was yours.

You hooked me

With the efficiency of a hurricane,

I became forever yours.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Fruits of the Spirit#4

Gentleness as defined by the poets dictionary:

A softness of spirit that aims to caress rather than bludgeon. Instead of softly spoken lies gentleness speaks truth, fanning the flames of timid souls. Always edifying always encouraging.

Other definitions include: A tender heart expressed in tender touch.

Kindest of instructors, teaching by example and love never by the rod or with condemnation.

Antonyms: Violent, angry, rough, unkind.

Only gentleness is concerned with love and truth being soft to the touch and easy on the skin.

– Vagabond Prophet

– So excited to be on this project with @mildreflections .

Hell’s Hallowed Howl

Created like clear running water

Either joining up to marry a greater body

Or going still and murky in marshy mires.

Designed to age like a spider,

Which is to say well

But with a web that tells a story.

My tongue intentionally sits

Uncomfortably in its fractured saddle

Amidst broken teeth and words

Not yet sharpened.

Destined to wrestle with myself

And the one strand of DNA

That must be made of razor wire.

The anthem of the damned

Cries out loudly

“Freedom!”

Freedom to wander

And freedom to ponder

Freedom of choice and care of consequence.

Is freedom the best desire to have?

Not better to serve a good master

Than serve only myself?

I answer this question

In the negative to find I am

A bird that would fly

But grounded by weighty bones,

Having not had the lead yet hollowed out

By painful but saving tools.

By design I am the battlefield

Between Hells Hallowed Howl

And Heavens Terrible Goodness.

Both at times whispering,

Both at times shouthing,

And both at all times

Vying for my soul.

By design I trust in Goodness

Though it does not shimmer

Though it dances less entrancingly,

For its promise to pull out razor wire

And extract lead from my bones.

Though the Howl dances beautifully

Shines brilliantly and sings convincingly,

How to trust something

That only promises my desires

As though there is nothing greater?

By design,

Is a question I can not answer.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with “By Design.”

Shooting stars, the carrier pigeons
Of worlds long gone cold
No longer spinning only hurtled
Burning up with one last urgent message
“The idea of me has lasted
Long after my embers turned to ice,
Will the same be said of you?”

Vagabond Prophet