Tag: writerscreed

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

Prompt Day 9

The pavement cracks

And the crashing breakers,

Everything in between.

Customs not understood

Families that love me anyways,

Whilst lightning reigns every night.

Heading west and landscapes change,

Desert to jungle and then pacific ocean

All while listening to Paul and the boys.

The further west the wetter it got,

Cilantro in sidewalks turning

To highways in coconut groves.

I learned about the weather

I learned about flavours

And tasted my first insect.

Most of all I learned that

Love needs no language,

And home it needs no flag

Just a warm embrace and plate to match.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 8


One girl always sits at the back,

Headphones in a head with new hair each week

And always looking down.

May your creator turn your eyes upwards one day.

Reflective vests with men attached

Steelworkers plumbers I don’t know,

May your feet find solid ground today.

The driver who was kind

Until he wasn’t,

The woman with the walking cast,

Commuting souls on rerun

A to B and back to A.

May these unclean seats

Find hearts ready to become clean,

May we all find hope

Before the next stop.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 7


Spiderwebbed windows and home to vermin,

Holes in doors, where there is doors.

Thin walls and three stories tall,

Though worth so many more.

My memory fails me,

Brick factory?

Ya that’s it, testing each brick

Throwing through the viewports

Of this ship now sunk.

Great bricks, worked every time.

Now the walls hardly upright,

Now inhabiting unsettling inspiration,

To any who venture near.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 6

This prompt is a problem for me

I’ll address with a certain brevity.

Writing about what makes me whole?

I can’t, I’m not, don’t know anyone who is.

Next best thing?

Okay, of this I have a string.

Things that make me less broken

Of these I’ve long ago spoken.

The wind and the tide

In my dreams they reside,

Rising and falling predictably,

Something needs to be.

The change of the seasons

All the colours with such reasons,

Constant and never changing

Like his love for me.

One day I will be whole

Oh yes his works I extol,

When he comes back again

To chase away every shadow.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 5

Curly hair, curlier thoughts

Winding back and forth upon themselves,

Maybe it’s all just one wound enough to appear plenty.

Who knows?

Eyes blue, my mood more so

Arms weak and strong in equal measure.

Legs good for walking, but bad for getting anywhere.

Pale skin, fair as they say.

Don’t know what fairness has to do with it

I just know I sunburn easily.

Self portraits, one of few things

Done better with images than with words.

For words are a varnish to make things shine,

Though with each layer the grain of the wood

Becomes less and less like the beginning product.

So I’ll cut this short, I’ll spread the varnish thin,

Thin like my hair is lately.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 4

Strict regimen of green tea and tofu,

Exercise daily, make a five year plan

Stick to it like super glue.

Survival agenda that’s what that is.

Just kidding what a joke,

As though good intentions

And Oprah prescribed anything

Could solve anything.

How did I really do it?

I didn’t somebody else did

Let me ride on his coattails,

Victory on my behalf

Gird my heart from afar.

– Vagabond Prophet

Prompt Day 3

Oh this land of my growth

Of child and adulthood both,

Fertile fields and damp springs

Your dewy air to everything clings.

Smelling of equal parts manure and marijuana

You’re rich with flora and fauna,

The valley where the lake was drained

It’s residue leaving soil darkly stained.

How expert your fields

For the weather never yields

And yet you open up an angle obtuse

Spouting forth such lovely produce.

You grow and you grow

The rate becoming less slow

Others learning what I’ve always known

The truth engraved inside my bone.

This land so moist and green

This land so yearning and keen,

With vigor in the air

And mountains everywhere.

It will raise one strong

And so I belong

In this strangely sized municipality

With all of its vitality.

– Vagabond Prophet