Green and yellow,
Lime of sunrise before,
Orange in front,
Rhymes on the board,
Queen of Saba goes to North,
Cross with rainbow,
From Bethlehem to Luxor,
It signifies no slay, no rob,
Shoot the sheriff of sorrow,
Rightness of heart not wrong,
Notes are colors,
My song and psalm,
The road of hope,
God of love above,
I don't stop like arrow,
The sword one on one,
Icon of one vagabond,
The world around,
Stopping the pale albatross, this storm,
Like a contractor the Patriot,
But precise, Ivanhoe, more,
Gone and not gone,
Noe with the Dove.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They travel without maps—only
the rhythm of the walkways
and coffee stains on edges of napkins.
They carry crumpled metaphors
in their pockets that they
snatched mid-flight from passing trains,
each stanza a temporary shelter.
They trade sonnets for soup
in dimly lit diners, syllables simmering
next to weak broth. Their ink stains
the borrowed pages of the world~
never owning, always belonging.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dust
forged by wind,
not roads—a cornflower blooms
in cracked asphalt, whispering move
Feet
never still—
electro fused to earth's pulse,
mapping constellations in mud
Sky
always vast—
horizon a blue promise
that tastes like rainwater and rust
Home
just a word—
sewn inside coat lining,
worn thin where the heart presses close
Alone
but not lost—
the moon knows his shadow
by name, calls him kin
Give me the poverty
that enjoys true wealth
And the joy in believing
— that nothing is free
(Dreamsleep With HDT: September, 2025)
dear vagabond
dazzled by wanderlust . . .
blind to my tears
Our hearts romanticize the vagabond.
To walk away from all that brings you down.
It’s true we’re free to get up and be gone.
In search of new horizons to be found.
Always snipping at the ties that bind us
And doing all you would just as you may.
Worries can all just be left behind us.
‘Cause in the morn we simply walk away.
Dodging all responsibilities now.
There’s nothing holds you down or brings you back.
Thinking and just doing as you please now.
All you might need you carry in your pack.
But this, my curse, my cross: to always roam…
Cannot you feel my loss: O! Where is home?
Rose petals blown
By North wind sing
Drift to and from.
As the twig sways
Blown gush of win
Flowers falling.
Ripe red apples
Eaten by birds
As reapers watch.
Dried leaves afloat
Flowing stream
Going to sea.
Find your own waves
In the sea or in the sky
Don't mix emotion
While floating in mid air
Go with the flow
As you wander why
Life is a vagabond
In this flowing stream.
"When thou tillest the ground, it shall not henceforth yield unto thee her strength; a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth." Genesis 4:12 of the King James Bible
Wandering nowhere
Weary to find home
worn-out and anxious
worried, guilty of
waywardness from God…
Willful, soul feels
worthless as faith
wavers, seeking
way to the Lord…
Watchful for
wisdom, I'm
welcomed to…
Where God
wants me…
Win!
April 1, 2024
4th place, "Vanish, Voyage, Veiled, Vagabond Words" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France; judged on 4/7/2024
“In chaotic times the madness of the drifter mind
follows the footprints of the vagabond dreams”-
Quote by poet
The blue hills cascaded down the verdant slopes
in the rhythmic ripples of the tinted topography,
cradled the charisma of the humming hamlet
that once harbored my home and my dreams.
With the sliding shadow of the cotton cloud,
scaling the halcyon heights of the cerulean sky,
my gallivanting dreams soared up high afloat
with the colorful kites I loved to fly in the blue.
The sparkling stream flinging up the fluid pearls,
flowed with flamboyance with my roving reverie,
girdled my teenage landscape in embracing loops,
set in vagrant meanders of gliding garland of fancy.
The paper boats I made with the motif of my dreams,
drifted away in the current of the stream’s silver trail
to the distant dreamland destination unknown,
and on these I perceived my drifter fantasy sail.
The surging storm swept across my turbulent time,
the capsized boats sank, the snapped kites flew away.
I turned into wandering driftwood dislodged from root,
searching the itinerant mind for the vagabond dreams.
The vagabond hears
a nomad's song,
his footsteps follow the wind,
seeking sweet freedom
in the fire of wanderlust,
burning chains
that would keep him bound
in the shadows of doubt;
under starlit sky and in morning light
the traveller finds solitary refuge
on the neverending road.
I have lived a life in vagabond shoes
aimlessly wandering without direction
and have wondered about all I could lose
from the weeping of dangling imperfection
Still, I've journeyed across unseen places
and dared to go where others would not go
seeking beauty in green untamed spaces
to see the new horizon's brighter glow
I've seen red hanging from the sky's valance
when the dawn's light merged with the dark of night
and felt the dawn's red sky create a balance
as my vagabond soul has taken flight
"The Vagabond life is the logical life to lead if one seeks the intimate knowledge of the world we are seeking." Richard Halliburton
The vagabond walked down my street.
He was a pleasure to meet.
He told me how far he had come,
And how he enjoyed living like a bum.
In Africa, he found where the Nile River began,
Located in a country called Sudan.
The vagabond found tall Pyramids to explore,
And the elephants and giraffes were hard to ignore.
Next, he moved on to Spain,
Where he found himself in a cool, refreshing rain.
He saw nudity on the beach,
And in Running of the Bulls, he was just out of reach!
Next on his list was Brazil, via boat.
In the Amazon River, he took a float.
The vagabond cheered and yelled at a game of football,
And danced the night away at the Rio Carnival.
Finally, he traveled through Mexico to the USA,
And that is where I met him today.
He said his travels are far from being done.
The vagabond will travel to each state just for fun!
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.
It all started when I moved to the West Coast
And lived on a San Francisco Street called Post.
An experience on Post Street forever changed my life.
Until then, I did not realize that my heart was lost.
Nevertheless, I found my heart in the soul of a vagabond.
I was a believer, but too blind and busy 'to show deep love'.
That gentle man taught me things I thought I already knew.
My 'people love' was far more shallower than I realized.
Before him, I never knew my heart contained so much stone.
Reuben, the vagabond, challenged me to go above and beyond;
His heart was lost, but so was mine in a different kind of way.
He was alone, homeless, and hungry when God sent him my way.
Moreover, God knew that each of us had what the other needed.
Encountering him forced me to do things never dreamed of before;
To pause and put 'Love in action' in ways I'd never done before.
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