Truth and Reconciliation

Well I suppose the truth is

We haven’t reconciled have we?

For all the aches and acres

Given and taken

For the fire in the water

And the itch in the sheets.

Doing new things with language

We made education rhyme with genocide

Until every one of your forest spirits

Cried out in unison

‘Why?’

Some with anger some with grief

But always the same question.

Why?

Why when you gave fish and bread 

Did we sell it back and call it kindness,

All in the name of one 

Who did rather different things with loaves and fish.

Why?

In a land so full of water

Do you have the only sullied wells?

I wonder, did the salmon tell the bear

You were no longer in the waters?

Did the bear tell the ravens

You no longer tread among the cedars?

Or could the raven, when he pecks the salmons eyes

Know what it has seen?

Well at least now there is one day

To give the struggle a name

To remember and be ashamed

Of how we took your fucking lives away.

- Vagabond Prophet

For truth and reconciliation day, September 30th 2021.

Didn't mean this to sound aggressive, I just don't want to publicly post about inky's private business. Would be happy to talk privately.

Winnipeg

Flatter than a heartbeat

On a dead man,

The last time I tread

Those acrid plains

I wished I was dead too.

Plagues, pestilence

Flies and frogs,

Swarming to every place

You could possibly wish to relax.

The clouds of blood suckers

The amphibians distributed

Across a freshly cut lawn,

Piles of insect corpses

So thick as to need a shovel

On the front porch in the morning.

All the plagues of Egypt

Made for themselves a home here,

Swirling vortex of suffering

In biblical proportions.

This is the weak spot

On this dragon scaled nation,

This is Canada’s appendix,

For no amount of gold

Will I revisit

The museum of black mold.

- Vagabond Prophet

‘Write about a city you never want to see again,’ for @tristamateer ’s prompt for day 10 of NaPoWriMo.

Nativity Part 5

Then it all happened in an instant

The last push was pushed

My hand was squeezed

By a might I didn’t know she had.

He came screaming past

The chasms of fate

Brandishing no scepter

Wearing no crown.

A boy child that

Looked like any other,

Except that I knew better

Even the animals did.

What a strange manner

You chose from on high,

That your strength and splendour

Would come as one so weak.

Many knees were bent that night

And many heads were bowed,

Later I heard that wise men came

And shepherds who’d seen

Angels singing in the hills.

I heard that a heavenly light

Had guided them here

To give gifts

To this most fragile king.

I don’t quite remember

For my head never left the ground

My knees never straightened

And all I could think was,

He’s here!

He’s finally here!

The great Son

Of the Great I Am!

He who parted the Red Sea

And protected our people

With pillars of fire in the night

Is finally here!

I didn’t even think of Mary

In an instant secondary,

Not that I didn’t care

That she would heal or not,

Rather that hope itself

Was in the room,

So how could I despair?

Upon seeing his face

And slender form

Wrapped up in cloth

All fears and doubts

Simply perished,

And left in their place

Only wonder

Only praise

Only adoration.

This is Christmas

This is joy

In this precious little boy,

Here is hope

I see it plain

That by this child

Death may be slain.

- Vagabond Prophet

- There you have it everybody, my attempt and the Nativity story from start to finish from Joseph’s poetic perspective. I truly hope some people enjoy this.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Nativity Part 4

We’ve arrived

And my head has been counted

The census respected

Yet now we’re rejected.

No place to sleep

In need of shelter

And the stars that shine above

Are brilliant and I adore them,

Though the breath they blow at me

Chills my bones tonight.

Oh Lord find for us a place

To rest our heads,

For she who bares the one

Who made the wind

That bites my cheek this evening.

How can I dare to draw breath

And fail to provide a bed

For the Son of Man

Who we hope will

Chase away every shadow

And set free every captive?

Oh a stable where we can lay down!

I thank the stranger

For this strange provision,

But all I feel is shame.

My lover squat down in the hay

As the pressure began to build,

The time is now for her strength

That I hope is greater than mine

That has only brought us here.

Among the dumb beasts

That watch us from their mess

Lord have mercy on me

For what I have allowed.

That I would let this happen,

For my messiah born as babe

Into manger where

The mule could step upon

the author of his hooves.

- Vagabond Prophet

Nativity Part 3

By laws decree we travel far,

Many strides from Nazareth

To Bethlehem will be taken.

With every footprint Mary makes

I worry it’s too much

To make her labour

When labour is so near,

I am filled with fear.

Fear that the throes

Of quaking need, of urgency,

Exodus from the womb

Will find her in a tomb.

I shoulder what I can,

And though we have little

The arms I bare don’t suffice.

Oh dearest Lord

If you truly have your hand on her

Spare her the exhaustion

Of constant turmoil

As the saviour of all men

Is jostled to and fro.

Some strength could you lend me?

These desert winds might end me

Find me safely come

To the home of my fathers

And a place to birth this child.

- Vagabond Prophet

Nativity Part 2

Oh she is with child!

A child not of my seed,

And though the blazing one

Who smelled of holiness

That smokey bloody wonder

Tells me of a plan

Involving Son of Man.

I am yet filled with fear,

This came to me in dream

However peculiar and foreign

And unlikely to have been

My own mind it was,

Dreams have misled me before.

My doubts must set aside

As unimportant as the dust

Which settles on fields in drought.

For if it’s true and the one

Who grows inside her is to save us,

If she is full of fullness itself,

The page which the author

In his sovereignty chose

To pen himself on,

Than what treason would it be

For me right now to leave?

Never before have I felt such fear and doubt,

And never before have I known

So completely, that my own thoughts

Have no importance at all.

When the creator puts his hand

On the one whose hand I hope to hold,

What choice can there be?

- Vagabond Prophet

Merry Christmas everyone.

Nativity Part 1

I am a simple man,

Having come from a long line

Of simple men with simple faith

Of a God beyond

The length and breadth

Of my underwhelming mind.

Beyond my comprehension still

Is why he saw fit to place before me

This beauty, this woman

This good and lovely one

Who would pledge herself to me.

A fine mother she will make

And together we will take

The first footsteps

On a lifelong path towards

Unknown futures.

My loins burn with desire

My love kindles a fire

For the one I will call mine

When wedding bells do chime.

- Vagabond Prophet

- This is part one of my fledgling project to tell the Christmas story as it unfolds from beginning to end from Joseph’s perspective , through the lens of poetry. I hope people enjoy it, drop me a line.

I’m still rather proud of this series.

Hi everybody, this is a song I love by Gord Downie that I thought I’d take a shot at covering. It’s rough work but I hope you enjoy it all the same.

If the file doesn’t work the link is here.

https://drive.google.com/open?id=117eQKPoXfhSZ_fZ9IYNx6SrAwG44zteq

- Vagabond Prophet

144 Hours

You rode into town a most glorious king

Riding on most humble of beasts,

We adorned the very street

With garments and garlands alike.

We fought to get a glimpse,

We pushed to touch your feet.

Now this, how did we get here?

We’ve now begged for your death

Begged a murderer free.

You’ve been whipped,

You’ve been beaten,

And most of all

You’ve been silent.

In 144 hours it changed

From a mob kissing your sandals,

To a mob spitting in your wounds.

We’re a fickle bunch

Most of us just wanting miracles,

Some believed your claims true

And some more afraid the same.

Can I just say thank you,

For ever thinking us worth it?

When I come knocking at your door

After breathing my last

Please don’t take me in,

Only to toss me back out

144 hours later.

- Vagabond Prophet