Twisting and turning,
Sinews yearning.
For every rivulet.
Taking the hard way
Taking the easy way,
Whatever the heart desires.
Splitting stones asunder
To take its plunder.
Rich dark soil.
Fortifying Vessels
Nautical wrestles.
Carry me across the sea.
Winter might
Brutal white.
Sorting deciduous, evergreen.
Dieing yearly,
Rather queerly.
Just a little cold is all.
But evergreens don’t listen
To what the weather man has christened.
Fruitful all year long.
Hardy, immovable.
A truth that’s not removable.
That’s how I want to be.
Evergreen.
Never dead.
– Vagabond Prophet
Tag: spilled writing
Little Knots
Does your faith evaporate
Like water
On a hot sidewalk?
And children trample
On the remnant of your hopes.
What then?
Do you still believe?
When your heart
Undoes its rivets,
To let itself topple
Like a rookie jenga match.
Does your faith endure
The torrent of survival,
The steady drip of living.
Can it survive a head wound?
Or being trapped in a storm
With no way home?
It could be different you know,
You could let him carry you,
And work out the little knots in your soul.
Just know when your faith
In him is shaken,
His in you is not.
– Vagabond Prophet
Pocket of Tears
If you’re crying
And you can’t stop,
Follow these simple steps.
Don and button
Your least favourite coat,
Just trust me.
Catch every tear
Into a single pocket
Until it’s brimming.
Then take that pocket
Sew it shut,
If just so you can shed it.
We must unclothe
Our deepest sadness,
No one is warmed by grief.
Now burn it all
Yes the coat too,
For no one is warmed by grief.
– Vagabond Prophet
When you’ve got a song stuck in your head
That you’ve never heard before.
That’s when you’ll know I’m speaking to you,
In a language just for us.
Vagabond Prophet
Corrugated
Have you ever met
Someone so dishonest,
That there lies must be fabricated?
Not imagined,
But built,
Out of real material.
Corrugated words,
Folded back,
Against one another.
Hoping they can bare
The weight of their
Collective despair.
– Vagabond Prophet
Evergreen
Twisting and turning,
Sinews yearning.
For every rivulet.
Taking the hard way
Taking the easy way,
Whatever the heart desires.
Splitting stones asunder
To take its plunder.
Rich dark soil.
Fortifying Vessels
Nautical wrestles.
Carry me across the sea.
Winter might
Brutal white.
Sorting deciduous, evergreen.
Dieing yearly,
Rather queerly.
Just a little cold is all.
But evergreens don’t listen
To what the weather man has christened.
Fruitful all year long.
Hardy, immovable.
A truth that’s not removable.
That’s how I want to be.
Evergreen.
Never dead.
– Vagabond Prophet
Little Knots
Does your faith evaporate
Like water
On a hot sidewalk?
And children trample
On the remnant of your hopes.
What then?
Do you still believe?
When your heart
Undoes its rivets,
To let itself topple
Like a rookie jenga match.
Does your faith endure
The torrent of survival,
The steady drip of living.
Can it survive a head wound?
Or being trapped in a storm
With no way home?
It could be different you know,
You could let him carry you,
And work out the little knots in your soul.
Just know when your faith
In him is shaken,
His in you is not.
– Vagabond Prophet
Pocket of Tears
If you’re crying
And you can’t stop,
Follow these simple steps.
Don and button
Your least favourite coat,
Just trust me.
Catch every tear
Into a single pocket
Until it’s brimming.
Then take that pocket
Sew it shut,
If just so you can shed it.
We must unclothe
Our deepest sadness,
No one is warmed by grief.
Now burn it all
Yes the coat too,
For no one is warmed by grief.
– Vagabond Prophet
Solitary Refinement Chapter 20
Dear Diary January 11th 2017
Okay, peanut butter mystery solved holy shit. This guy named Phil who I’ve never spoken to before but the word is he said something about Trevor to somebody, something he ought not have. I don’t know how but Trevor has dirt on everybody, I wonder what he knows about me. Anyways Phil was eating his oatmeal at breakfast and got up to use the washroom, while he was gone one of Trevor’s pals stirred that peanut butter into the oatmeal quickly.
Phil came back, had three quick spoonfuls and then was on the ground gasping for air, trying to scream for help but no sound came. His face went red, and then blue and nobody did a thing. After several minutes a guard, a new face, came and called for first aid and now I think he’s getting care in the hospital wing. He was without air for several minutes, I wonder if he has brain damage, and I wonder what he said about Trevor to deserve this. That guy worries me more and more, and I’m taking orders from him. Wonderful, just wonderful. I’m the guy who supplied that damn peanut butter. I’m an accomplice to this, will there be an investigation? I could have my sentence extended if I aided in this crime, he could have died, he may have brain damage. Yet if I don’t do what Trevor says who knows what he’ll do to me.
This is the only place where I don’t have to hide feelings anymore. Where I can talk about how I’ve been feeling. It’s like I’m in the part of a movie where nothing could get worse, the enemy is closing in and the sky is dark. Right at the darkest moment the sun breaks through the clouds and somebody comes to the rescue, riding over the hill and cutting through the enemies army straight towards me. As if the hero were a compass finally finding true north. Right now I feel like I’m at that part of the story, but nobody comes. They just close in ever closer, I can see the flecks of black in their irises, the sweat dripping of the ends of noses, trickling in time with their steps.
Is there a way out of this, can I be the hero? Do I have what it takes to save myself? I used to make up stories for Alister with brave and noble heroes, they could get out of any situation. They were as nimble with their tongues as they were with their swords, half the time stopping a conflict before it arose, winning enemies over to the cause of justice. Yet when they did fight boy could they fight, every blow finding home, not a stroke wasted and never was being outnumbered a cause to be distressed. I wonder now if Alister thought his daddy could be such a hero, that if he was stuck I might be able to save him in such a splendid display of courage and skill. I certainly know now that that’s not me, it feels like it’s all I know sometimes. I’m not enough, not enough muscle, not enough charm, not enough intelligence, not enough courage. Too much anxiety, too much idiocy, too much fear.
Still I wonder, with nobody to save me,
Can I save myself?
Solitary Refinement Chapter 19
Medical Report December 11th 2017
Inmate #: 34653
Sex: Male
Age: 30
Affliction: Split lip, bruising around the eye and eyebrow.
Cause: Tripped down a flight of stairs.
Treatment: Disinfect cut in the lip. Swelling should go down in a few days.
Vagabond Prophet 