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The Vagabond
by Ken HarnischTonight,
The moon is my companion and the grass is my bed
Tomorrow
I may lay in fields of clover or in an open
Coal car where the dust of all that is
And was may tickle my nose
And insult my lungs
But still, still
I will be the vagabond
Last night,
I was a king or was it an emperor
Last year
Children ran into my open arms to be blessed
With warmth and a woman waited by a scratchy
Door to see if my lot and hers had improved
As the days grew long
But patience , alas, did not
And one night
I became and am a vagabond
Yesterday,
I saw a young girl texting her love and smiled
Today,
I think of asking her if, for a fee, she will
Send a fingertipped telegram to Fort Worth
To all those who remember me
To say I am alive, and free
And though dreaming some nights
In black sweats of scratchy doors
And the woman behind them
I have not questioned why
I am now and will stay a vagabond 09/16/2008 Author's Note: Your reply, M...and your turn
Posted on 09/16/2008
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 09/16/08 at 02:24 PM ...ken this is a TALL pome, an expressed 'i am i said', neil diamond thingeee, lovely word usage here, guy and the line breaks are smacko...the lilt of the piece has a mellow-grin mixed by the words...seems said with a shoulder shrug... |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 09/19/08 at 04:40 PM Text aptly reflects the title Ken. An enjoyable read that easily stirs my own wandering spirit. Cheers! |
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