Best Vagabonds Poems

Victory for Vagabonds

You might call them vagabonds
displaced ones from fiery lands
wading in a watery wilderness
of hatred, scorn and grief.

You might find them on the street
sleep upon a subway grate
with bags in loads piled in a cart,
the refugees of better days.

You could call them freedom travelers
left...

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vagabonds huddle 
round a charcoal burner - -
snow falls

Jack Horne for Carol’s Fire and Ice contest...

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Vagabonds – the lost Avatars


Virtual Vagabonds, avatars
lost amid the teeming Ethernet,
signal searchers illuminated
in the blue light of emptiness

Hobos of a cordless conga line
falling in and out of “bars”
fevered followers worshiping
at the altars of the asinine

Homeless thoughts adrift
in an itinerant infinity
collide with freelance feelings
weeping in crowded...

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Verdigris on bronze viv
anchors in mud’s delta.
Grim steps keep going…
A strange fear: the sea,
biting like thorny scrub…
On salty tears, a rodeo
nimbly rides, life’s pain
death-dusting the land…

Still seeking a fortress?

(12/30/20: ’98 Carver Mariner 350 DMS)...

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alkali streets
bleed with the dreams of
humanity, angels in
bootlegged Blahniks

flutter wings of
dubious intention
a silent wisdom of the gods
spills empty pockets ...

gilded pillars of
Olympus, brought to
ruin by pushcart
pariahs -

the tattered pages
life scribbles on -
a cursive profanity to rub
each nescient nose

sawbucks for
flesh by the warm
handful - strains of
the...

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I see the table at the cafe.
The food upon it looks so divine.
Should I pull up a chair, would they stare,
As I enjoyed a sip of their wine?

The aroma of mushrooms and steak,
Dance down deep in my throat,
As I sit curled up in a doorway,
Across...

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Footsteps fade where sidewalks end,
stories told in weathered skin.
Cardboard kingdoms, borrowed ground,
a life unseen, without a sound.

The city hums, its lights embrace,
yet shadows slip between its grace.
Hands once held, now pockets bare,
eyes that search, but find no stare.

The wind knows names the world forgets,
whispers woven...

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The peeping stars steal
the winning smiles of the moon
at the earth draped in its gilt,
like a pen takes control of heavy minds.
Midnight hours stroll
in the murmuring silence of the crickets,
like faint leaves in autumn end
strewn on shriveled pathways; or atoms of
unused talent in the bare...

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