Best Vagabond Poems
The deep delved path winds in the wood,
chasing with ghost-breaths and leafy hoods,
arbor-brawn the winnowed path crooks along;
whispering with what future song?
To ill desire and inches from hope,
plodding the cool of Earth alone?
...and the road behind pretends to love,
waltzing with garland worlds,
old friends long time not heard ---
gray and forsaken on the projector wall,
how wan this dying rose!
and pallid the day which broods...
Old Lucifer playing his lute at every high road;
Life had once played a tune more fair;
and soft the notes in the morning air,
with wife and child ---
the world had watched without despair,
a man to be called a man,
with land and two strong hands
to till the new earth-wares;
But his monsters had come
and bid him to stare too long into the glitter of gold,
and the gusting crooks in the road...
alone, forsaken...
a mere shadow of a man;
Though they called him king,
(he cried alone)
Categories:
vagabond, corruption, loneliness, loss, metaphor,
Form:
Rhyme
Poetry is like medication, in each release of expression,
there is healing - Poet.
In the realms of lost childhoods,
where demons prey upon the defenceless -
no one hears your screams.
I wandered spiritless,
like an abdicated soul,
renouncing my existence.
But the pain kept me alive.
I was an unknown vagabond,
forgotten and begotten,
within an eerie mist of misunderstanding.
Sly shadows with crimson eyes
tracked my silent sighs of sorrow,
so I suppressed sincere secrets -
too embarrassed to express.
Until I fell upon verses from dead rhapsodists,
which taught me to become that poem.
With blessings from pseudonym poets,
wounded words began to burn in metaphors.
Ink engulfed in sizzling lava dripped
in impulsive poetic allusions -
expression led to a catharsis of clarity.
I found an abode in decorative alliteration,
a perfect province in personified prose,
where each stanza became my sanctuary.
Under the shelter of fervent free verse,
I collected every shard of hope,
and placed them in my heart.
Sonnets of sentimental dwellings,
revealed syllables of an untold narrative.
The curse of Iambic pentameter
could not prevent bleeding blisters from healing.
My quill is now a silent juxtaposition
of deafening poetic onomatopoeia.
Categories:
vagabond, analogy, metaphor, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
I live the life of a vagabond poet
now approaching my winter years.
A time for reflection
through introspection
of my true heart's desires.
A time when challenges
maraud my mind's coherency
through listless lamentations
of evasive lexicon...slipping away.
Do I mourn now or deny?
Questions that I ask myself
in solitude of quiet moments
as I accept that change is inevitable
and necessary to evolve.
I vaticinate virtues of future endeavors
that may bring comfort to family
after my spirit leaves this earthly body.
Winsome words wend their way
through cobwebs veiling twilight times.
8-13-18
Categories:
vagabond, age, introspection, poets,
Form:
Free verse
Amidst reality of my life two single things remain
inflection of your voice and glow of your tender eyes
held safe by this memory we become transparent rain
wild as the tidal waves of Bristol souls of no disguise
fluid as the ocean we are open inlets, giving rise
sepia moments of a little cottage hidden in the cove
the scent of sweet cinnamon and the taste of your clove
the cackle sound of unseasoned wood against the brick
we sucked the flavors of our passion, and called it love,
holding on to each other, like flames on a candle wick
molten wax and liquid centers with all I hold so dear
when the moon comes into view the stars turn into glass
willful moments arching as tender reeds adhere
we spiral down the staircase, of God's Mandir
we find the miracle of us, and know that it will last
caught between two soft spots we are cloaked in silk
like two lovers in heaven or two lonesome sacred elks
amidst the reality of my life, two single things remain
the taste of a kiss and the place from whence we came
you my first love, were always right as rain.
August 27, 2021
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Contest Name: Vagabond Dreams
Categories:
vagabond, appreciation, love,
Form:
Quintain (English)
how old are they now
those that fell by the wayside, one foot in the unknown
the others that disappeared to the other side of the moon
why were they lost, spilling into the wind
tossed upwards, cast aside, like an unrequited memory
giving way like broken clouds
silently dispersing into the vast, midnight sky
how did we let them go…
turn our backs on an exodus we don't quite recall
while they took their leave without a sound, ...not an echo, nor a cry
fragments may reappear
weary and worn, without a name
disguised by the ashes that hide the flame
how often do we believe we might see them ignite
rising up from the alter of youth
like a sunrise from the afterlife
but grasses grew unplanted
sprouting out of nowhere
to fill the vacant spaces
we didn't know were there
____________________________________________________
8/31/21
contest Vagabond Dreams
sponsor Craig Cornish
Categories:
vagabond, dream, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
The tail of a beaver, bill of a duck
yet they pull it off with honor and pluck
made with spare parts
they capture our hearts
with DNA tests that read WTF
©8/31/2018
for Any Animal Or Creature Limerick Poetry Contest
Categories:
vagabond, animal, confusion, humor,
Form:
Limerick
How long will this road grow
Gliding down these asphalt ribbons
Content I drift with no urgency
My mind wandering where it will
My feet zigzag as the wind caresses my skin
I cruise safely as I watch the clouds moving thin
As I eat up pavements at a steady pace
A smile on this vagabonds meandering face
My today’s follow my yesterday’s
Each day the shadow of the last
I burn a trail without any traces
My spirit laments but seldom retraces
I deny my fickle conscience
To dictate my destiny in silent dreams
Where meandering is my only goal
The aspirations of an enigmatic soul
1.9.2021
Contest: VAGABOND DREAMS. ( FIRST PLACE)
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Categories:
vagabond, dream, travel,
Form:
Free verse
Quote: “Artist by nature, actor by instinct, poet by accident, and vagabond by choice”. --Don Blinding
I am a vagabond of heart, destined to roam,
My wandering soul finds solace far from home.
On urban trails, my footsteps stray,
And there, my friend, the tumbleweed, holds sway.
Together, we tumble, roll, and meander,
Through grasslands vast, our spirits meander.
Deer and fawn pause, bewildered by our fate,
As eagles hover above, in silent wait.
With no destination to call our own,
We tumble on, our journey unknown.
The tumbleweed, a companion true,
In solitude's embrace, our bond we renew.
A diaspora meets a diaspore, in chance's dance,
Two wanderers united, by fate's circumstance.
Thoughts of our origins linger in the air,
As we scatter seeds of life and care.
But soon, our paths must part,
As you tumble on, I'll hold you in my heart.
Wondering how our journey will end,
In cold showers or hot ambers, our stories blend.
Categories:
vagabond, destiny,
Form:
Rhyme
“Wandering through empty and crowded streets with no destination in sight and sleeping under the sky with the fire burning inside was my life, the life of a vagabond. Survival is a funny game and life is an endless odyssey for survival” ~ By Poet
Homeless, a wanderer all his life.
An orphan, he was raised in the streets.
Mongrel dogs and gypsies were his company.
He had wild days and dolorous times.
At nights, he curled up on street corners,
Had brawls with other street children.
But as he grew up, he began nursing a dream,
To own a home and no more be a vagabond.
He took up odd jobs and worked day in and out.
Over time, against heavy odds
A little hovel, he did build,
In a verdant stretch of fertile land
Off the noisy, frenzied crowd
With sheaves of hay, he thatched its roof.
With reed and bamboo, its walls were made.
With mud and charcoal, its floor was glazed.
With wooden planks, its entrance he laid.
At dusk, when birds to their nests depart,
And beasts, to their covert burrows and dens,
After the day’s toil, weary and weak,
He curls into the cozy comfort of his home.
Through months and years, it gave him succor.
Sheltered him from storm and rain.
Made him differ from the gypsy tribe.
Lent him a footing in this populous world.
He wove around it many a dream.
With frugal care, his needs he met.
Like a squirrel stocking nuts and grains,
In it's secret granary for the rainy days,
He saved all that he had earned,
For a life to be lived later in bliss.
But alas!
His haven lies so derelict!
Its very foundation raced to the ground.
The once beautiful stretch of land,
Robbed of its greenery and grace!
The eviction squad usurped his land,
Hurling him down to the streets!
Making him once again a vagabond…
Bewildered, failing to budge an inch,
Like a boat, midway stranded in sea, he stood.
But his resilient spirits, to him affirmed,
‘Never defeated, though destroyed'
Soon the mud hovel, to a palatial mansion turned.
Where he envisioned himself as king of the land.
His smiling progeny picking fruits from his orchard,
And his cattle chewing cud in the shade of trees.
Why scoff it as the fancy of a fevered mind?
Oh! But to dream is every man's right.
Categories:
vagabond, betrayal, dream, home, moving
Form:
Free verse
C'est aussi simple qu'une phrase musicale.
He is driven by the music in his mind.
Images swirl and almost coalesce...
toujours guide par le son
insaisisable de cette musique...
I merely listen and record.
What makes the music in his head?
It leads, he follows.
I say...vous pouvez compter sur moi...
et qu'est-ce que tu faites des interets?
He smiles but only sometimes
speaks aloud to clear the air.
Le son de sa propre voix le rassurait....
mais, que se passait-il?
He almost never knows where he might be,
but almost always finds his way.....
where the music sounds the strongest.
Les enfants suivirent doucement le maitre.....
He nods again...C'est bien fait.....
alors, je vous dire au revoir....
I chance one final query....
Quand tu reviendras?
He only says.....jamais.....
Categories:
vagabond, allegory, fantasy, imagination, life,
Form:
Free verse
Once again
I miss the nothingness
the stale leftovers
of crusty bread
Once again
I yearn for something
which I ain't yearn for
I yearn for someone
who isn't there
Once again
the tear of joy
becomes a myrth drop
upon soft lips
Incensed cold ashes
cover flamed burns
Once again
I wonder why
Am I still hoping
Why do I come back
Why am I here?
I must go
I must leave quick
Afar from shelters
that won't protect
I must keep distant
from nectared hives
which dripples honey
in empty wells
Wells too cold,
Wells too shallow to dive in
with my last breath
Wells mirroring moments
of sweet proposals
yet cast reflections
of pure regret
Once again
I have to travel
to a place I do not know
To a horizon without a life-line
and let my spirit flow
Once again
I'll be the vagabond
who keeps on wandering
beating all bounds
on asphalt grounds
I' ll be the vagabond
on a new journey
Not to be searched for
Not to be found
Categories:
vagabond, blue,
Form:
Free verse
~*~
" I dreamt, I was a butterfly or was I, a butterfly dreaming . . . "
Born to crawl at the ground nestled with grass and stones
Under-estimated to be just a simple legged-insect
To be at veneer, an engrossed delightful ala will come and appear from my side
Taught to possess allured chromatic colour - enrapturing fragrant pigments
Enchanting being came from within - from nowhere inside
Real captivating metamorphosis took place - wholly changed for the best
Fascinating dreams, daydreams and reality flow with the ticking of the clock
Living - giving its elegant splendid paint for the very last fall of petals in her home
Yelling...shouting - now an entrancing butterfly dreaming to be a HUMAN OF CHANGE
" Nothing's permanent except CHANGES...Practice makes not perfect but the
permanence of CHANGES. . . "
Categories:
vagabond, animals, art, nature, people,
Form:
Acrostic
borne by zephyr winds
above mere mortals below
communion with God
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 3 in Skat's "Air Balloon Ride" Contest - January 2011
Categories:
vagabond, uplifting
Form:
Haiku
The Vagabond
By
Tom Wright
There was a traveler named Trent,
From a city in Michigan called Flint.
He traveled so much,
He was never in touch,
Seems each time he arrived he went.
Categories:
vagabond, travel, voyage,
Form:
Limerick
Vagabond brothers in plaid patchwork socks
Crossing the street between stripes painted yellow
Stretching the avenue half past the hour
Dodging the drunk, he’s a staggering fellow
Grabbing a smoke from the stack on the corner
Begging a match that just isn’t the same
Identical twins from a different mother
Thinking the postman holds most of the blame
Belting a chorus while changing their trousers
Pressed at the seam near the fine zigzag stitch
Hiding the spot that is worn in the middle
Caused by aggressively scratching an itch
Checking the fridge just to find it quite empty
Not even leftovers left over there
Hearing their stomachs now growling profusely
Hoping that none on the sidewalk would stare
Reaching for handles of brass alabaster
Gathering things at a grocery store
Paying in cash with a currency foreign
Offering nickels, they don’t have much more
Pork chops on Sunday and sweet apple cider
Pushing their cart over ten city blocks
Still they are known for their colorful fashions
Vagabond brothers in plaid patchwork socks
Written for the Zany contest
Sponsored by Frank Herrera
Categories:
vagabond, humor, imagination, nonsense,
Form:
Rhyme