Tag: poetselixir

Waxless Candles

The wind half sighs half moans

The struggle that is

Its passage through the night.

The calm before the storm

Never came for them

Only the wind

Only the waves

Only the rain.

Like waxless candles

They burn bright

And getting hotter

Through the darkling night.

Until the night is over

And their wick is all turned to ash

Hoping the deeds that they’ll forget

Will be rekindled at next dusk.

They end up forgotten

They end up refused

Forsaken and misused.

Knowing only the hard pavement

For a pillow in this November,

Nothing as bright or as chilling

As the winter sun

Shining boldly yet coldly

In a brilliant and frigid embrace.

The windows frost

And their breath exhausts

Caught, taken it is

By the unforgiving cold.

Like Icarus they collide and burn

With their hopes for themselves.

Meanwhile they all wonder,

“How can I be healthy,

When every doctors definition differs.”

– Vagabond Prophet

Eleventh of Everything

Sky dimly lit by crescent moon

That itself clothed mostly in shadow

Yields little light

On those battlefields which

One hundred years ago

Run red with bloody rivers.

War is not deserving of poetry

But the lives of young heroes are,

Death ought not have its praises sung

But the courageous acts

Of fearful boys should be told

In tomes with gilded edges.

Today at the eleventh of everything

When no more bullets sang

I will still this heart that beats

In a nation still free

To thank those who found strength

To leave their home

To defend its definition.

– Vagabond Prophet

For Remembrance Day

Strongholds


Haven’t I strayed, hurt and betrayed?

Has not curiosity and the exciting risk there of

Driven me to my favourite car wrecks?

Again and again and again…

I do that which I despise

And don’t understand

Your truth comes in the door

Ready for a long stay

Yet I evict it so quickly

That it gets no chance to decorate.

This is what happens when

I let my blood flow through

These corridors I call arteries,

Instead of letting the blood you spilled

Run through my heart

And with joy so loud it crumbles the walls

Of wicked strongholds so fortified

I had begun to grow around them.

– Vagabond Prophet

Brace Myself

Rubbing fiberglass on my chest

Scuff the skin, make it more thin

That air may avoid my lips

And enter my lungs directly.

Avoid the middleman

Dad always said

He’s only there for your money

Standing with vitriolic smile

And outstretched hand.

I am a master of depravity

I put my face into the furrows

I find it makes me grounded

If I plant my dreams in soil.

When flowers grew no more

In the arid plains of my heart

I asked you to hold my hand

And walk me to greener land.

Though you’ve burned my sorrow

In flames of your love

I still feel sometimes tarnished

Like a pencil erased

The page retains impressions.

My blood I’d taught

To tell just backward riddles

Still sometimes pumps a lie.

When I wake from dreams

And cry out to you

And am deafened by the silence,

Sometimes silence is the answer.

For sometimes beauty

In obscurity

Greater than in clarity.

How tenaciously I’ve fought

For my right to rot,

Only to have you grip me tighter.

You borrowed my burden

Yet refused to give it back,

Now I ride this river

Mile after mile.

The water it transforms

From the muddy browns

To the salty blues

Until the heights above

Are as vast as

The depths below.

Now even if I fall

It’s only deeper in to you

And the only preparation

I now make

Is to brace myself for grace.

– Vagabond Prophet

Hey @josy57 thank you for the prompt “Borrowed Burden,” as always it’s been a joy.

Pavement Pillow

The edges bleed on everything

When it rains this hard,

It seems the world is weeping.

To staunch the flow

We have to work together

To pray for warmer weather

For those who get their lullabies

Whispered from whatever

The cracked pavement pillow

Speaks to them tonight.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 22

vagabondprophet:

I lilt and sway

Just like Gord’s voice

When he sang Fiddlers Green,

Soundtrack for my life.

Sinclair drops the bass,

Fay crashes cymbals,

Paul and Robby plucking strings,

Like wizards to make waves

For the words to dance all over,

Like the wind in a storm,

A real nautical disaster.

Yer not the Ocean but the surface is green

And the dark interweaves

In a lonely iridescence,

It’s terribly deep and the cold is complete.

Just like the ocean.

Loving your country, playing songs of small town news,

I can teach my children about the nation

With rock and roll.

Canada divided into thirteen parts,

A discography of thirteen albums,

No coincidence.

The most honourable thing yet,

That you evolved to challenge a nation

Unknowingly flawed, abusive.

Adoring your home, but not calling it perfect

True patriotism, true love always seeks to improve.

That’s just what you did

You are ahead by a century.

Now Downie gone,

But his voice will ring out forever,

As he walks among the stars.

I still lilt and sway

Just like Gord’s voice

When he sang anything,

Soundtrack for my life.

– Vagabond Prophet

          – for ‘ The Tragically Hip’, quotes throughout this poem from their songs: Nautical Disaster, Yer not the Ocean, Fiddlers Green, Ahead by a Century, The Drop Off.

        – If you don’t know this band you should, He rhymes Catharsis with ‘My arse is’. If that’s not a clever lyricist I don’t know what is.

Can’t believe its been a whole year since we lost him.

Gravitas

All sound is born from silence

All art is born from fractured beauty

Trying to graft some goodness to some pain.

Now I dare to unlock my voice

I’ve carried this whole time.

The knot in my stomach

Turns to words on my lips

And though I am afraid

I know that half of fear is wonder.

I wonder

I wonder will my voice

Find a pleasing place

Amongst the octaves

To sing my story gone untold.

With baritone gravitas

And soprano urgency

My song will soar above the madness.

– Vagabond Prophet

@josy57 gave me the prompt “I’ve carried it all this time.” Thanks for that. I hope folks enjoy.

Printing Press


I’d believed the lie

I conjured nigh

The hour of my undoing.

That I am unforgivable

That I am my mistakes,

Thinking some fears

Can’t be assuaged

Those depths too deep

To ever plumb fully.

Now disregarding my grief

For your magnitude,

Your tongue the printing press

That published the good news

With words inked

In your blood

That should be mine.

– Vagabond Prophet

Open Heart Surgery

The surgical blade

The drape that was laid

Upon skin built up for years.

Flat on your back

Ragged breath gone slack

Clamp down the mask

Begin the task.

The harm always starts

Before the healing can,

The cracking of ribs

The loss of blood.

If this is you

Going under the knife,

Remember some go a lifetime

With nobody seeing their heart,

For the struggling pump that it is

Trying to bale out a boat

Under constant downpour.

– Vagabond Prophet