Original Poetry about anything and everything.
It’s easy to say I want to kiss you,
Who wouldn’t
You’re a garden overflowing with sweetness
Your lips the secret gate.
It’s easy to say
I want to share a bed or a whole life with you.
Like anyone I desire
Love and acceptance and pleasure.
But I want to go beyond
Set apart from the rest,
I want to share a grave.
Together in time
We’ll enrich the soil
And our last children together
Will be trees growing side by side.
– Vagabond Prophet
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
Melancholy pounds away
At the edges of myself.
Finding all the weak seems.
It seeps into my tissue
Swirling around tempestuously
Like cream poured into ice coffee.
Please give me strength
To stitch up my side
Painful as it will be
To push the needle in
Just to pull it back out.
It’s the only way to keep myself
Sorrowproof.
– Vagabond Prophet
I believe in black
I believe in white.
Culture says everything is grey,
They’re wrong though.
You can’t have grey
Without black and white,
You can’t have meals
Without ingredients,
You can’t have a solution
Without first a problem.
– 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
Coat my throat with velvet
Black as night
Smooth as silk
And thick as the table.
– Vagabond Prophet
Even in the dead of winter, I crack a window just to feel your breath.
Scribbling in the dark, just to chase away these stowaways.
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
Vagabond Prophet 