Tag: writers creed

Days of Honey

I am Mr. Cash

I am the mourner,

I’m everybody dressed in black

Who am I?

Is grief not where I dwell?

Is sorrow not the gold mine

Where I scratch out a living?

These things you say to me

Only leave me perplexed,

My days stuck in traffic

My nights stuck in thought.

My swallowed tongue

My rib cage rung

Climbing up and down

From a mind with kidney stones.

Every thought taking such effort

To unearth from the depths

And push to the surface

The pain brings me to my knees.

My own heart is the box

Marked fragile, intentionally dropped

Because it says so.

Now these keys on the ring

For locks I don’t remember,

Need to find a resting place,

And those locks with wide open jaws

Awaiting the crooked teeth

Of this forgotten tool

Will not close their lips for any other tongue.

For it knows my shape

And lies in wait

To fulfill the promise

Made by someone other than myself

For I hold the key that another designed

And must seek for it a sheath.

The journey is long

The path winding

And so I am thankful

For the days of honey

That heaven finally brings

To remedy this bitter soul.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thanks @josy57 for prompting me with “Swallowed Tongue.” This one kind of got away from me, hope folks like it.

Fruits of the Spirit #7

Love as defined by the poets dictionary:

Definition: Love allows for this break in style.

Of love we the poets agree to say little

Of love we the poets agree to say much,

For it stifles the verbose

And makes garrulous

Those wonderful few who are traditionally

Iconically

Ironically

Laconic.

It’s big ideas from small minds, still better than all the complacency of the brilliant.

It’s the ink in this pen, only being itself no matter where it’s placed.

Love is the guerilla act of kindness

In minefield valleys, and stormy mountains.

It is love that perished in an act

Of veil tearing demonstration

That love and justice need each other

To be themselves.

In the dying of love, death was defeated, how lovely.

Love is the adhesive property, holding my cells together.

Love always extends the helping hand,

Not caring how barbarous the individual in need may be.

Love holds two souls together in affection, adoration, and commitment.

Love blots out ones tears with tender lips.

Antonyms: Hatred, fear, self preservation at the cost of others well being.

Only love inflates the space between the words, to remind you your story will stay afloat.

– Vagabond Prophet

– That’s me finished, @mildreflections it’s all yours now pal.

Fickle Plumage

vagabondprophet:

Diuretic of the mind,

Extruded thoughts

Shaped by force.

Dread and malevolence,

Hornets in my pockets,

All good excuses.

I know the real reason

I push everything out

At transparency o’clock.

I pluck every bit out,

All that fickle plumage,

To let you see underneath.

I don’t need both hands

To count all my friends,

I just need both hands to be thankful

For the friends I have.

– Vagabond Prophet

Campfire Thoughts

Heat taking form so long

As it has something to climb

And eyes to sting.

Standing on the shoulders

Of noble planks gone black

In the name of warmth,

In the name of romance,

In the name of mesmerizing

Souls like mine for hours on end.

Quieting and emptying

A restless mind.

Oh to surrender to that

Unstoppable goodness

So much harder than evil

Which always molds to your fancy.

– Vagabond Prophet

vagabondprophet:

Unenlightening

I can hear it off the eaves

Drip drip drip.

Distant coyotes,

Yip yip yip.

The darkness and fog

Combine and decide,

Unenlightening.

Tonight we unenlighten.

The rain comes quicker

And thicker than before,

Making soil so fertile

As to be barren.

One dewy drop

Says to another,

“We’re so heavy, full of wet,

Tonight let’s unenlighten.”

That’s when I start to feel,

Along with tobacco smoke

Swirling in my mind,

I’m being unenlightened.

Flipping through your pages

Traditions get unraveled.

With your gold gilded edges,

The unenlightening is frightening.

Contradicting every wisdom

That I’ve ever known.

You put your trust in vagrants,

Rather than royalty.

You talked to strangers

Befriended cheats,

Trusted prostitutes,

Beguiling in the streets.

So I’ll do it I’ll commit,

To break the mold,

To be an idiot,

To become unenlightened.

Rain’s just pouring now,

I’ve just learned up is down,

Meaning we’re all drowning.

I’m the only one who knows.

Thank God for unenlightening.

– Vagabond Prophet

Cheese

vagabondprophet:

If even milk can die

And turn into something great

What does that say of me?

In my current state.

If fruit can perish

Turning into wine

Give strength to my gut,

But not straight off the vine.

Okay you’ve made it clear

I’ll undergo the transformation,

I’ll die and die again

Is this truly salvation?

– Vagabond Prophet

Bad Part of Town

vagabondprophet:

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

Gravity

vagabondprophet:

Gravity reversed

Taking everything

Away from me.

Reality accursed

Spinning shadows

In the daylight.

Day dreams perverse

Twisting innocence

Into cruelty.

I don’t want to know

What I’d be like

If you withdrew fully.

I already look in the mirror

And think there’s too much me,

Like gravity’s reversed

Taking everything away from me.

– Vagabond Prophet

vagabondprophet:

Code Blue

Code blue in the ICU

Chest compressions

Clear!

Yellow gowns

People crowded

At your departure bay.

Bed springs squeak

Chances bleak

At least you’ll look

Good in black.

No time to think

Just to react

Curtains closing

On your final act.

Natural progress of death

They told me

Organs failing

One after another.

Round two

Won’t be long now

Dangling from the line

Where fate and hope intertwine.

The family’s tears

Pent up for years

Comes rushing forth

The moment you flatlined.

– Vagabond Prophet