Best Vagrancy Poems
I bent down to pick up a penny from the frozen ground.
I could smell myself, the acrid stench of sweat and soot,
the taint of vapored vagrancy
that marked my movements, masking me from the reality that used to be.
I hate me and what I am, more than you could ever think to,
but more so becuase you do, with your limp laughter and scared stares.
I never knew my life never needed me to know it could all go away in a single day.
I see it all through dirty windows draped in singed eyelashes and gutter grime,
the pathetic gazes from afar as another afternoon of sale shopping and shoe sizing is ruined
by my appalling appearance.
"How dare you be here! What's wrong with you?"
"Go get a job you junkie, you slob, just jump a bus so you can't disgust us with your sewer
shoes and hard luck blues. You deserve the dirt and a kick in the teeth from the steel-tipped
toe of a jackboot too. No one wants to see a scummy sack of crap like you, bending down to
pick our scraps off the frozen ground."
The helping hand of man slaps the taste of humanity from my mouth with each volatile volley
of acid arrow analogies angrily slung and fired furiously from the bows of bastard
businessmen and bleach blonde bimbos.
My weary wounds fill with the sea-salt of sarcastic statements and unflattering finger
gestures from frat boys as I bend down to pick up a penny I found on the frozen ground.
"Head's up means luck," Abe smiled at me, and suddenly my thoughts began to run
differently.
I took a long look at the lingering light of one of the sweetest sunsets I had ever seen, and
the simplicity and majesty washed over me.
There was no use in listening to abuse and accusations and obtuse observations any more.
I was being shown a door.
Wrapped in the warmth of the amber and amethyst glow, I finally smile for a little while and
close my dirty windows against the icy winds of waning words.
Tomorrow, someone will bend down to pick me up from the frozen ground.
Categories:
vagrancy, angst, death, loss, sadme,
Form:
Prose Poetry
He stumbles on the subway
Initially I cringe
I'm put off by the way he smells
From alcoholic binge
He mumbles incoherent
I start to feel ashamed
I slide my hand in my front pocket
Fumbling for some change
But I don't think he's asking
And now I feel confused
Why suddenly he's deathly still
In contemplative muse
It's then I sensed my pity
That's founded in this thought
This vagrant's smell is rank with failure
Surely mine is not
But just as surely comes the notion
That my thought is wrong
That maybe this man's always been
My equal all along
And in my mind I contemplate
Why I refused to see
My world won't be so bad a place
If love is given free
And so my judgment loosens as
I know not where he's been
A brotherhood in harmony
Absolves the need for sin
I owe this man his right to freedom
The same that he owes me
I spare myself the cost of pain
And simply let him be
And from that moment on I'd ponder
My inner vagrancy
But was it me who smiled at him
Or him who smiled at me?
Categories:
vagrancy, brother
Form:
Quatrain
I strut the lane of vagrancy
With breaths choking from evening’s plea,
As lampposts dip across the night
When love undone grates my delight;
Reflecting scenes... a cracked marquee.
Trapped in the void of emptied lea
A begging howls... my cries decree
For sparks to glow, to take new flight!
I strut the lane.
On narrow bends, I find no glee
Against clogged lamps, an eve’s debris
Oblivious to new morn’s rite…
While ravens croon with all their might,
This heart nailed bears dusk’s agony.
I strut the lane.
rob carmack's Oblivion Contest
12/10/2015
* oblivious---4 syl count
Categories:
vagrancy, absence, sad love,
Form:
Rondeau
A day of the leaf, is carried in the wind,
and this cold December night, will be warmed by the lights of the Bohdi tree
I shall scrawl out a letter to a stranger, against the vagrancy of my own soul
Stretch out my arms to make a friend,
and think of that, which exists beyond my self
This turning of the leaf will make me whole
When I am done, I will put down my pen,
and learn to be content,...
to leave the soft-fingered words alone with the stars
For all things are united by the spirit of the heart
I will dampen the fire, and turn down the lights, climb the stairs to a peaceful sleep,
assured at last, that united by the light,
my soul will keep, and that I am one among the universe.
I will reach that place by reaching my hands across time and space,
and by possibility of leaving our world a more gentle place
As I brush away the leaves before the door
I must also brush away a selfish dust
For I was born to live with a fallible heart.......
If I were to strive to turn this leaf
and leave the world better for having me sweep
I will keep alive, that peace, of which before, I may never have known
A day of the leaf, is carried in the wind
The turning of the leaf will make me whole
And I have grown
_____________________________________________________
11/26/13 For Deb's Contest: "Happy Holidays"
Categories:
vagrancy, happiness, holiday, peace, universe,
Form:
Free verse
snowman three meters high
an inelegant formation
of grizzled snow packed in lumps
needing refinement
stubby tree-branch arms
glutching fastened balloons, blue and yellow
bobbing in the wet licks of wind
snowman towering, gently twisted
desperate grit to thwart a winter's thaw
as blue and yellow balloons bounce near an icy chest
like a slow tempo beat of heart
plundered sense of capture
quirky
resilient balloons
scripted bits of childhood charm
not yet swept aside by tempest
nearby
snatched away by breezes
one red balloon traces the street gutter
like a beggar foraging returnable cans
red balloon smitten with blotches of mud
deflating in the mercenary chill
its gentle sway like a cheeky concept of self
unrestrained
in the vagrancy of night
Poem composed February 7, 2023
Categories:
vagrancy, allusion, imagery, wind, winter,
Form:
Free verse
Granma's free stone peaches
have to be on the truck
the grocery store was just next door,
it didn't seem enough!
Because they ran the RailRoad
Rock Island ~ it sounds tough
and Granma needs her peaches
that grocer better scuff!
The Midwest's little giant
went everywhere on time,
and Granpa's heavy RR watch
it really had to chime!
They parked the train in the next block
the men stayed where they could
to eat and sleep for twenty-six
a place was understood!
It was the 30's dustbowl
and vagrancy was deep
but with the rail still rolling
some decency could keep!
People kept right on coming
the atmosphere was bleak
but for the land, some humming
within gave them their break!
Those 26 were something
held on for all their worth
to build the land from nothing
and rail by rail ~ upsurge!
The red man there ~ stout, manning
while destiny came first,
progress was still in planning,
was Iron Horse their curse?
Granma's today not fanning
their errors in reverse,
the ladies keep on canning,
their goodies are their nurse!
The PAULS were the family Railroad people of the late 1800's and through most of
the 1900's. Now the Sioux Falls, South Dakota freeways spill in every direction
in the same area, and direction of the Rock Island. And trucking has become
pursuant to the economy!
Categories:
vagrancy, on work and working,
Form:
Light Verse
I Can Breathe … IF You Let Me!
Woefully, from the days of our patriarch Kunta Kinte, to this century;
They have tried to strip us of our name, our dignity and our ethnicity.
It’s people like us and the weight of an unjust system that’s the problem;
They are sorely hindering our men and women, our people’s emblem.
The constant victimization is stifling, suppressing, and suffocating;
For the strength of beautifully coloured, melanin skin, we are suffering.
What is it? Is our overwhelming culture threatening their ‘supremacy?’
What’s their cause? Is this their statement, “Our life here is like vagrancy?”
Why!?! Why are so many significant people and organisations silent?
For our people also was justice, impartiality and equal rights surely meant.
They wilfully allowed a dog much more privilege than our melanin people;
They gave us “equal” opportunities, but at every corner, placed a steeple.
They cry intimidation, resisting arrest and feeling threatened, out loud;
But, it’s a solemn travesty that our people struggle just to strut proud.
When we hold our heads high, they kneel on our necks, to break it;
Every people give benefit, but, as a divided ‘world’ we can’t profit.
When will they get it? When will this blatantly racist anarchy end?
“I can’t breathe;” this gut-wrenching tweet everyone needs to trend.
“Black lives matter” just as much as every other life, most assuredly;
These grave injustices must be speedily eradicated and not voiced implicitly.
Rally people, rally! All people! We need thorough System reformation;
Our people’s dignity, ethnicity, and rights have suffered enough deformation.
End
By: Dion Penville
Categories:
vagrancy, bereavement, betrayal, black african
Form:
Rhyme
I inhale temptation;
shrugging shoulders of
mortality.
Suck teeth stained
with indifference;
While copyrighting
my daydreams.
I’m an American Badass,
low class, white trash,
with expensive delusions.
I get impatient with repetition,
So I shovel spiritual vagrancy into the
mouths of my peers
with metaphoric spilled beers
and ashy mouthed proclamations
of a wandering disposition.
I sing songs tied to the same ragged beat,
the one that makes the speakers
bleed just as much as the crowd.
Heavy Metal rants,
just sharp enough to rip
the pants of your morality
… but, just for the night
In the morning the truth of why
you’re here, and anything else
that seemed unclear…
will be hanging low,
just over your head
like ripened fruit;
Fighting gravity the
way you’ve been fighting
responsibility…
It’s right in your face.
Like heavy elbows in a mosh pit.
Your stomach is curdled,
soul a little sick,
but your eyes have never
been more focused.
You understand what is important:
The friends willing to toss a full
beer,
brave the circle pit,
pick you up, dust you off…
And throw you back in
with a smile.
The Scars you’ve earned,
and the blood you’ve saved.
The pain you’ve felt,
the joy shown through busted lips
and scabbed knees;
the chaotic calm of life lived
on the brink.
The Circle Pit Sanctuary.
Where the lost can rage,
and be at peace.
Where the broken
find the truth in the
lies of their lives.
Where the hopeless
can strike at the wind,
and fall against muddy Earth,
to be picked up by
a brother,
by a sister,
by the music of
the anger being
purged from a spirit
that might not have
otherwise made it
….to the show.
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
Categories:
vagrancy, anger, emotions, friendship, introspection,
Form:
Free verse
He was raised by different indigenes,
After being embedded in specialized tissue,
Those moments were tough,
And in fact, it wasn`t easy for the mum,
Did you recall that point the dad was contemplating in hard times?
That was all about their child’s successfulness to arrive in a failing world,
Perhaps, the couples never stationed their class on dignation and confidence,
Because all over their positions were seen panic and indigence,
From the prime time of their worthiness,
The family had their story written on board of joy and gratefulness,
Effort opened door for the child to be learned,
The child was impelled to stay victorious bit by bit when knew she was grabbing a career she always altered,
Like a joke said by a drunkard, it was just a meep rimmed,
Panting untimely was due to dribbles from blowing wind,
New season arrived when the family got asserted to be placed on broken home,
Everyone had no choice than to feel alone,
Except the child who chose to climb the ladder before she broke her heart bone,
The ladder was “drug addiction life”,
It was “immoral life”’
Then what else?
“Desertion”, that was the significance of the ladder,
On a wrong path the child walked, joined a queue that laid a faulty hand making her a blunderer,
Who advocated a topic of caring for her?
Nobody searched for her whereabouts,
Since both parents were remarried, she was left in a drought,
It`s very sad, because her life turned into a bout,
After sojourning in vagrancy,
She was shot on the field of robbery,
And now her body is still in the morgue,
Whilst investigators inquire about what went wrong.
But who deserves the blame?
Categories:
vagrancy, adventure,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Peterson was his name.
Pied Piper was his fame,
Led kids down dark path with his flame,
Smokin pot and singin songs with no shame.
They dropped out of school, lazy and lame.
Now, vagrancy is their aim.
Sleepin and smokin weed, their game.
But Peterson felt no guilt and no blame.
Categories:
vagrancy, addiction, corruption, philosophy, satire,
Form:
Monorhyme
I know my way around this town of debauchery.
The streets and the boardwalk all have familiarity.
After all, I have played many games of Monopoly.
The things I see everywhere are not a bit strange.
There are several vagabonds asking me for spare change.
The images of furs, jewels, and sports cars are a fantasy.
The things that are real are deception and vagrancy.
Here is one solid concrete fact everyone should know:
There is no place to collect two hundred dollars for passing “GO”.
For most of the night, nobody has been able
to make his point at this cold craps table.
Each time the shooter takes a pair of the dice,
the outcomes have almost always not been nice.
Will the luck turn around? I have plenty of doubt.
Right after the bets are made, along comes a seven out.
Those fools in the casino are making their wallets a bit light.
What else can be expected on this typical night?
Well, here is a guy that will shoot the dice from the don’t
He wants to see a seven out, and hopes that he won’t.
From the choice of five red cubes, he only needs two.
He has to take those bones, and send them on through.
He is even laying big odds against himself to lose.
The house gives each player the freedom to choose.
What do you think happens? The schmuck makes his point!
This is a typical outcome often found in this joint.
Categories:
vagrancy, games, loss,
Form:
Rhyme
Here again, on the the crest of the eve,
the sound of them...calling out to me
Their sound of arrival, coming from the crimson sky
The ceremonious cry as they frame the V
Causing me to lift eyes upward
Canadian geese, heading home in springtime mode
I need not fear, their steadfastness is proof
The voice in unison against the vagrancy of altered mood
In the sureness of the morrow
When I shall think and speak my thoughts
When I eat a meal, and do my daily chores
Exclaim of the budding branch before the door
I will have assurance of a miracle
I shall make laughter out of bafflement
And meet the wind...and watch the day's declining
For when the geese appear again in the fall
Southward bound, honking with their timely voice
I'll know once again how to feel the comfort of the plan
My assurance that is in the telling of the flight
To feel how certain is their autumn calling
To feel how certain is their return in spring
And when all the world fills my thoughts with doubt
And when all the world fills my heart with fear
I am sure enough to lift my eyes
Canadian geese, who cause my eyes to lift to the evening sky
With a song of assurance of His love...
Categories:
vagrancy, autumn, hope,
Form:
Free verse
When devouring a hot chicken pie
An advertised flat caught my eye,
I would hazard a guess
Judging from its address
That the asking price wasn’t too high.
I collapsed in a state of deep gloom
When the landlord denied me that room,
He said “Nothing’s worse
Than a chap who writes verse!”
Within minutes I started to fume.
After snatching some six hours of sleep
I thought I should challenge that creep,
For with scant explanation
His discrimination
Might cause a young snowflake to weep.
I knew I should counter his crime
With an angry yet passionate rhyme,
He was powerful and scary
And so arbitrary,
And his property’s well past its prime.
My letter, dispatched the next day,
Employed words that I’d rather not say
(They are not in the bible),
Then he sued me for libel,
So his rent I’m not able to pay.
So the lesson is easy to see -
Do not venture to write poetry.
It could end in defeat
Then you’re stuck on the street,
Simply begging for coffee or tea.
Categories:
vagrancy, business, conflict, discrimination, hate,
Form:
Limerick
Remember how you used to skip a Stone and watch the rings appear,
to follow the sun.
Smooth as silk, that an Angel has spun.
Makes for fluid thinking when
the mind thirsts in it's ilk.
For Mother's milk.
For the Father's tidings
Binder rings
A novel read
Of your mind
Nature's Novelty
Binds you to it's juicy mystery in kind
Conjoined concentric rings following after each other.
Like thing
to
like thing.
Rings that bind to your imagination.
They capture your memory,
leaving the residue thumbprint of
the moment, there forever.
It pairs you with wisdom as you reflect in it's sightings,
Angelic visitation, moonlightings,
and transformation, solicitation.
You are your own destiny.
Your own princess or Queen. Infallible.
The lawyer of
The laws of the Urban Jungle.
It's all just science and chance,
Incident of
happenstance
accidents' technicality-
that appears and gives in your hands
nothing for nothing.
But empty plans.
But where is your place and your reason, to be.
Your body, your choice, your current, and your grand design.
Need not be
under scrutiny. Right?
The fittest survive.
Power cables to the throne.
Empowered electricity, let the bodies hit the flow. Right?
But never ask why.
You have an emptiness. You have a
reservation in your soul to an abyss. Planting dark seeds.
RSVP,
R.I.P.
the lips of Deaths kiss,
planting its spiritual AIDS,
Viral- non binary STD ( binaural beats )
Whispers of freedom from PP.
No responsibility glitters like diamonds empty and cold.
Glitters freedom
like the panning of fool's gold.
So.
Prospect those stairway caverns to the Pipers Magic Kingdom For Sale. Sold.
Sole property. Soully under, sovereign autonomy. No vacancy. No vagrancy. NoCosign. Usery. Counterfeit.
Deeds. Auction. Double blind.
Rinse. Repeat. Rewind.
Categories:
vagrancy, abortion, angel, anti bullying,
Form:
Epic
What says the silence between us now
With dour acoustical deadness?
Roaring waves of invisible vagrancy,
Breaking down the white rock transparency
Heavy and burdened with leadenness.
And all that is unspoken screams
With clinical padded-cell madness,
Hissing clues in a deafening vacancy
Falling flat as a pancake melody
With an albatross-fated sadness.
What says the silence between us now
With love raped a dialogue soundless?
Splitting hairs with a dumb antipathy,
Lit up like a cross-wired Christmas tree
With its circuitry spitting and groundless.
And whatever decays behind us breathes
With lungs cursed of punctured tissue
Telling tales of an undying chemistry,
With a quick-fire wit and repartee
You and I left the lonely issue.
What says the silence between us now
With our feelings insidious as cancer?
Hung upon a mutual reticency,
What means it to you, what means it to me?
Even God can't conceive of an answer.
Categories:
vagrancy, life, loss, lost love,
Form:
Verse