Original Poetry about anything and everything.
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
Oh! Look over yonder
Ye brilliant must ponder
As earthen staff impaled
Into oceans deepest trench.
Between Sun and Moon
Where quilt of stars are strewn,
She of light and he of darkness
Made their battle.
She of goodness, green, and soil
He of shadows, pride sure to spoil,
Her majesty wielded supernovas
His insidiousness armed with blackest hole.
Blessed Queen of sky and birth
With shield of light and rod of earth
Might of the heavens
Their blows making water quake.
Rod met sword and musically rang
Swirling waters to themselves clang
When staff broke in two
And plunged into ocean depth.
Causing terrific quake
Causing world to break,
The known globe scabbing over
Solid ground for creatures yet to be.
They yet meet blades
Sparks becoming glades
Every piece of celestial debris
Adding to our home.
– Vagabond Prophet
– Today I was tasked with writing a creation myth, enjoy.
I procrastinate everything,
Like going to the dentist.
Especially going to the dentist,
It’s been twelve long years
Since I sat in that sterile throne.
Now I’m left tonguing nothing
Where teeth used to be.
Better false teeth
Than a false smile.
– Vagabond Prophet
That word ‘aftermath’
Conjuring images of bombs
And rubble and fallout
Of a nuclear kind.
Could it be different?
Let’s make it different
Must act now
There is no rewind.
Aftermath of kindness,
Fallout of justice
Desperately needed
In a land dying to unwind.
– Vagabond Prophet
Poetry: Writing what you feel,
Erasing half the words
And praying the page itself
May read between the lines.
Vagabond Prophet
Hot or cold
Mild or bold
Wet or dry
Make a decision already!
You circle around the globe
Trying to ‘find’ yourself,
What you should be
When you come to fruition.
Circumlocution embodied,
You try on every outfit
And voice every thought
Over and over
For thirty whole days.
It’s like this every year,
You can’t make up your mind
To stay in the past
Or leap to the summer.
Yet May always comes
To usher April out of the room.
– Vagabond Prophet
Daddy’s home yay!
They cry from the top of the stairs
Wearing dresses and suits
From dancing with each other.
“Daddy, want to watch us dance?”
They spin and spin
Just like the vinyl on the turntable.
“Daddy want to see my super jump?”
“Daddy you need to shave,
Your cheeks are all scratchy.”
These are the things I live for,
Not praise but simply speech
From sweetest voices
Wanting nothing but my attention.
So I’ll watch them orbit the living room,
I’ll keep my cheeks all smooth,
For I am their daddy, and they my children
And they love me, it’s terrifying but it’s true.
They really love me.
– Vagabond Prophet
Through tempest spurned
And fury turned
On a meadow swathed in white.
Lightning rods attracting
The wrath of heaven acting
Shot forth onto dry grass.
Kindlings always destined
To burn up, never questioned
No dreams of an unscorched future.
To smoulder away
Paving the way
For those that will burn brighter.
– Vagabond Prophet
If ink onto paper isn’t enough
If your black blood onto the sheet
Won’t suffice
You ink your skin.
I did, family crest
For a family spread the world over.
Related by blood
Black to crimson and back again.
Families change
Families grow
Families explode into a hundred pieces.
Brothers and I stitched a picture
Had it fixed upon our skin
A reminder of a past together
Where everything was safer
And we could explore forests in the dark.
The only fires worried about
Was the one that burnt our camp food,
Not the one that started in the shadows
To render home into ashes.
So no matter how we scatter
To make home for ourselves,
We’ll always find a safe place
In each other, in arms
In eyes commonly blue
And in backs commonly emblazoned
With lions and spears and shields.
And grace, most important of all.
Grace for ourselves and each other,
For how we’ve hurt one another,
And for our dad, gone under the pen now too.
Grace for him especially.
He’s hurt us all so deeply
But he still gave us our ink,
And ink is thicker than water.
– Vagabond Prophet
Fragile blossoms fall
Give way to leaves.
Colour of deep red wine.
Oh you don’t have to be
So obvious,
I’m already drunk
With wonder at
Your creative power.
Vagabond Prophet
Vagabond Prophet 