Tag: spilled poetry

Outside the palliative care home

Walking through a descending sky

By hallowed ground

Some hope I’ve found.

Here where weakness strikes

Right where fissures

Are likely to fracture

Falling apart revealing every flaw.

Here where you only qualify

To be here if you’re dying

And only leave when you’re dead.

The doctors skill is in diagnosis,

Never treating the disease.

It’s true that given the choice

Between sugar and truth

I’ll choose truth still

The gasoline aftertaste reminding

The importance of tact,

But not in honestys stead.

But look, examine where

These trenches have led me,

The tracks my train

Of thought has traveled

Have brought me here.

I am reminded that

There are yet things that grow

In the darkest hour of night,

And even things that require

That severity of bleakness to thrive.

Though I only bring them toothbrushes,

Gloves, and bandages

That sitting on the sideline

I may help sow some seeds

For some nocturnal haunting growth

In this place so full of death.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thanks @josy57 for the prompt “Sitting on the side line.” I hope you like it.

mildreflections:

Fruits of the Spirit #9

Joy as defined by the poetic dictionary:

When you shudder in a heat that surges though your veins, and tears and smiles merge to become one and the same. The tongue has so much to say, but sits still waiting, for the heart to stop pacing; for words to brim and put meaning to this undefined elation, slowly analyzing this sensation. No verses form, no poetry, only one word holds: joy.

Other definitions include:

  • The wagging tail of a dog, the life in his eyes, and the love in his heart, for a presence that he adores. The return of a loved one.
  • The beginning of an adventure, the map marked and studied, when treasures are so close to the dreaming soul but so far in reality. But just as much, joy is also in the fruitful end, when the quest that was riddled with attrition, seems like an old friend under the light of your glistening success.
  • Joy is the air around a group of friends, who know the depths of each other souls. It is the conversation that incessantly unfolds of all stories old and new.

Synonyms Include:

  • Mirth
  • Pleasure
  • Happiness
  • Elation

Antonyms Include:

  • Sorrow
  • Despair
  • Sulk
  • Lugubrious  

Some say joy is a guest of choice, we can host her when we want, while others find her an elusive spirit, like butterflies, just fluttering about. The unanimous stance, if there is any, is that joy is what we seek, she is the element that makes ordinary, a memory to cherish and keep.  

                                         –Mild Reflections

So the journey ends. It was a pleasure working with @vagabondprophet, a great poet and a fun friend, someone who always has interesting stories. Thank you once again for making me a part of this.  

This is amazing, an excellent interpretation of Joy beautifully told. I have been so fortunate to have a poet as talened as @mildreflections join me on this fledgling project. Thanks for coming alongside me.

Blue Rose

vagabondprophet:

First date I brought you a blue rose

You said nobody had ever given you one before.

A blue rose?

No.

A flower.

I couldn’t believe it,

You, my pride and joy

My flower everblooming.

I’ll spend my days being your soil,

Pruning bits that

Hinder growth.

It’ll be different for our daughter.

I’ll see to it.

One day a boy will knock for her,

Baring a flower in his hands.

Our daughter will say,

“That’s it, just one?,

Thanks but no thanks

I’ll stick with my daddy,

He knows I’m worth much more.”

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Wrestle the Sun

The most skilled of cashiers

Couldn’t make change of this noise

For some quiet.

I’d wrestle the sun

To keep the night from coming

With its sinister grin

And loud taunts

That daylight may never return.

These thoughts drowned out

With songs sung in every tongue

Of good hope and love.

If your belief

Grants no reprieve

From the devil on your sleeve

Your anchor set in ground

That avoids its touch.

Leave now!

Run fast!

Take your coat

And a boat

And row right out to sea!

Rivers flow to oceans

And oceans feel the union

Deep inside themselves.

This is the answer

The remedy from cancer,

All roads don’t lead home

But all homes do have a road

Leading to them.

If you’re found with a heart

Eager for sanctuary

Having fainted exhausted in the ditch

It’s still better than having never set out.

The guide may come correct

Misguided steps but beginning is a must.

You are worth your weight in gold

Let timid souls grow bold.

– Vagabond Prophet

Hot Pipes

I’m young now but won’t always be

One day this strong back will go slack

And sag under weight of time

Will no longer bear any burden

That comes its way.

These arms like branches in winter

Will wither and stop growing fruit

As my legs like roots stop toiling

For more ground to inhabit.

My voice will no longer rush

Like church organs

Burning urgency through hot pipes

With hope for all who may listen.

My mind may writhe

And scratch at doors

Its long held keys to

Having forgotten the purpose of each.

Though it may shrivel

And lose some of it’s shine

Though I may forget even your name

I will never forget you completely.

For this poorest of memories

Must still walk down halls you tiled.

– Vagabond Prophet

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Remission

Firewood stacked in the cellar of my heart

Waiting for some rogue spark,

To make the whole thing catch,

The inferno lying in wait.

Everything takes its turn in the sky

Like the sun

Like the moon

Like my own judgement of myself.

One of those confused souls

Living vicariously through the toilet

Taking everyones shit

Except my own.

To end this marching

I just might have to

Euthanize my own legs.

Sometimes I feel like an electromagnet

With no current running through,

Having lost all of its virtue.

Unless you wanted something cold

Something hard

Something that will never

Grip you tightly.

At this particular juncture I realize

Something strange even to me,

Reality never contradicts itself

Except in the presence of hurricanes.

That the most tranquil of eyes would beget

Such a tempestuous halo dancing round it,

For cows give milk and sadness gives tears

How is it that peace births terror so strong

As to peel roofs from homes.

The typhoon that stops its spinning

To focus its efforts inwards

Inducting some insanity and rage

To that placid and torporial center,

Introduce some apocalyptic worry

To the serene eye.

This would make far more sense.

How do these coexist?

How do they share a bed

Without one taking the blanket

To let the other shiver and die?

How do black and white dance

And in their twirls and pirouettes

Not ever turn to grey?

Yet that’s what has occured in me

A rotten center amidst alien goodness

That eventually makes itself back to the center

Until it all dissipates, leaving not but calm.

Skin stretched taut over

A rib cage mast to make a sail,

Blood fills it like a gale

To push me ever onwards.

On my way one foot

In front of the other,

Trudging the road

Of happy destiny.

Though I don’t quite emit light

The disease is in remission

I’m casting a lighter shadow.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Hey @josy57 ! Thanks for the great prompt

“Casting a Lighter Shadow”.

Gold Stickers

On the eve of higher learning

Keep your bright heart burning

That amongst red apples and gold stickers

You’d be the only flame that never flickers.

With hair as curly

As the shapes

You first drew on paper,

Eyes as brown

As the coffee I drink

Each and every morning.

If I could pluck your brightness

I’ve little doubt I’d live forever,

To be a father

Is to never die.

But rather have my blood

Pump through better veins,

To have the apprentice take the tool

Carving the block in ways

I never could with hands

I helped form.

One day I’ll be humbled by age

And you a shining knight

Will have your own page

To raise up with wisdom I will give thee.

Tonight just rest your lovely head

Before this new journey,

When the sun rises

On your keen brow

Know that it never sets

On your father’s prayers for you.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Son starting kindergarten. I’m not crying you’re crying!

@delightfulharmonypoetry

Little Green Book

Love does not sit still

Love is always in motion

Love turns tables

Love will cut your bonds free.

It keeps me warm when

Frost kisses the grass

And keeps me cool when

The grass wilts in summer heat.

Love carves canyons

With its tender restless ease,

Love filled this green book

By pouring from this pen.

– Vagabond Prophet

vagabondprophet:

Big Dipper

One bright and starry night

Just a lad with teary eyes

Lost the bout in the fight

When you pulled back the disguise.

Crashing through partition

I was fully completely, undone

Unraveled my tradition

My top no longer spun.

You broke through all other choices

When you addressed my need

I’d been listening to cunning voices

Devise a cunning deed.

Now that path I have forsaken

Thankful I’ve found another

After all the lies I’d taken

And their attempts to smother.

Now these ideas inverted

With tools forged in heaven

From the river of grave you diverted

To raise me like bread leavened.

All it took was looking up

The big dipper your spoon

Serving the love on which I sup

So much grander than the moon.

How did I ever think

Your grace was not enough

When you fill the sky, fill the rink

To refine this diamond in the rough.

– Vagabond Prophet

– Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with ‘the path I have forsaken.’