Tag: spilled words

Prompt Day 30

Islands built in lake beds

One thing her hometown

And my hometown have in common.

Lake water seeped into soil

Transforming into corn,

Mangos, tomatoes, jalapenos.

Everything worth eating.

Surrounded by volcanoes

Reminding me beauty and joy

Always come with risk.

I miss the people with skin of brown

And it taking all day to drive through town.

Pyramids reaching to the sun

And journeying it with son on back.

I expected new flavours and smells

I expected new sights and sounds

But I could never expect

A tattoo on my spirit.

Flourish and dance entrance

This stoic gringo in plaid

Leaving me speechless,

My words already meaningless.

Family I’d never met embrace me

With more tenacity than those back home,

I met every shade of every colour

On the concrete walls of houses,

I met every type of kindness

On the inside of open hearts.

My stomach always full

From the generosity of others,

Need to wake there soon

To smell a thousand smells

Whispering I’m welcome.

Home in a brand new way,

Cajeta resonating in a maple syrup man,

Pine needles replaced with cactus spines.

My money went far, my heart went further

Hasn’t quite come back

I’m going to have to chase it.

– Vagabond Prophet

      – I’m in love with Mexico in case you didn’t catch on, and as such I don’t believe I’ve done it any kind of justice. Anyways that’s the end of my prompts for National Poetry Writing Month. Drop me a line!

Floorboard

I’ll be your groaning floorboard

Known by grunts of pleasure

To be near your footfall.

I’ll be your squeaky door

Always lamenting

To see you go.

I’ll be your lumpy mattress

Flawed but supportive,

Shaped over time

To the curve of your spine

And always rattled by our love.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 25

Conduit between body and head

Corridor for traveling thoughts

And speeding instructions.

It bends unnaturally as time

Slowly puts down its full weight

And as thoughts get clogged in mind

With nowhere to go.

For a job that only values my sweat

My rhyming spheres of soul

Gone unnoticed.

Every borrowed lungful

Of air I waste on breathing

Rather than singing.

Neck is sore today,

No wonder! You’d be sore too

If you’d been cajoled

Into molds unsavoury.

Excepting for this one thing

That my neck slowly straightens

As I learn to let go.

A jubilant surrender

Of weights that break my neck,

Simple recognition that I put

Them on myself

And that you’d lift them off

If I’d just let you.

– Vagabond Prophet

Pure Blue

Such pure blue sky

Meets pure black thought,

Can I be one with blue

Without tarnishing you?

Under burden I can’t shoulder

Will your perfection smoulder?

Say it’s not in vain

Come in this heart reign.

Complete this work

Bring me out of mirk

Though my name on every nail

Come in might to fill this sail.

– Vagabond Prophet

Soul Mates

I used to believe

In true love and soulmates,

Now I know it false.

It’s true she’s my mate

And that she has my soul

But I chose her

And she chose me.

No accident no ‘falling in’

Like slipping in mud

Or slowly going mad.

Providence played a part

To be sure

But our choices are

What define us.

No smoky bar

Or mystic circumstance

Just she and me

Opposite sides of a dirty couch.

A choice we still

Make every day

When life is lovely

When life is ghastly.

Our couch is still stained

A reminder of our promises.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 18

Do you find your hope groping in the dark

Sloping and waning

While the moon is waxing?

As though all your innermost dreams

And thoughts you hold most dear

Had been paraded through the streets

With mocking and jeering and spitting.

Come with me I say

The revolution starts with us.

Our lights have been put out too often

Wicks go sizzle between The Man’s greasy fingers.

All those people with nothing to offer

But their hearts in ink dots

Or paint swaths

Or sound waves.

Get a real job! They say.

But the art in our veins,

Make life worth living

And it’s so hard to strip it off.

Like the bark of a tree

That without will surely die,

So it would be with us

If we amputate our muse.

Protect your light!

At all costs defend it!

I’ll stand by your side

I’ll have your back.

Let’s have our cake and eat it too,

We’re going to need two cakes.

At least.

At least.

At least.

As all artists know,

The bare minimum is the foundation

For something great.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 10

Six of us to start, smiling into the lens

One, two, three,

Cheese!

I didn’t even like cheese.

The eldest at my left

I looked up to him,

And he beat down on others

Because of it.

The other brother on the right

More tender and less angry,

Gave me all my favourite sounds,

Thanks for that.

Then the baby, that wild blonde

That I call sister,

Now she gives her love away

Like its a fake smile

For those old family portraits.

Then the parents, mostly sad

Mostly discontented, just surviving.

Now there’s more, inlaws step what have yous.

Big family is nice though traditions stay the same,

We only ever had two.

1: Ice cream cake.

2: Conflict avoidance.

Beyond happy I’ve my own branch now

To have grafted true beauty

Into this still green sapling

And to have such wonderful fruits

From the labours of our love.

– Vagabond Prophet

Music and Marriage

The snare drum and bass drum

Married by song

Joined in their work

But separated by a few beats.

They need that time apart

To carry the music

Oh! To play in the same moment

Would lose something of themselves.

To be united and together

Though separate and unique

That’s true marriage

For the conductor knows best.

– Vagabond Prophet

Medicine

Some poisons are sweet to taste

But destined to invade,

Some medicines are bitter to the tongue

Though whole again you’ll be made.

Though it’s true not all invasions are evil

And medicine is not food

It’s going to take all your fight

To combat this blight.

Ooh to sort one’s thoughts out

Question each and every one,

It’s grueling and exhausting

If you give up I don’t blame you.

It’s less like finding a needle in a haystack,

More like finding the needle in a stack of needles,

The one with ill intent.

Do you know where to start?

First avoid any natural tendency

And see if your feet find better ground,

Then walk into the light

No matter how much it hurts.

– Vagabond Prophet