#vagrant
Wandering /
Through the storm /
Pining, /
To find my home /
So far, so far, /
To go. /
Still have yet to find my home /
So far, so far, to go. /
Still I, /
Still I, /
Can’t /
Let go. /
(—Se’ lah)
03-26-2026
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 12:23 AM UTC
vagrancy forms the pupil
loitering firms a study
a passenger of the seasonal influence
believe in the homeless
the pigeons and the litter
lovingly observe the unhandled gaps
in our gathered mouthings
believe in big babies
believe in display
the posters
walls
malls
the money bleed
that we are sincere to
and the signals that thread us
to one single box
invited and isolated
housed
unhoused
on vacation
and vacated
inattentive pupils
Mar 27, 2021
Mar 27, 2021 at 11:26 PM UTC
Standing on one foot
in the rain
Who is to blame
Holding out a hand
for a dole
or..... for another hand
to hold
to help go
People just passing by
Looking away
To avoid
eye to meet eye
Who’s to blame?
We hide in shame.
Shell ✨🐚
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 3:26 PM UTC
A lost hungry vagrant
on a train to nowhere
everywhere's his home
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII🚂IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
on a patch of hay
in the heat of day
he doesn't bother to get
on his knees and pray
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII🚂IIIIIIIII
everything he wants
is in his sweat and blood
the shirt on his back
and his matter of fact
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII🚂IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
no one can touch his
solitary freedom
even when burdened with chains
and in heavy rains
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII🚂IIIIIIIIIIIIII
he flies through time
known by himself
on a patch of hay
III🚂IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
in an empty, lonely cart
on a train to nowhere
wandering the face of the earth
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII🚂IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
yearning for Starlight💫
Aug 11, 2020
Aug 11, 2020 at 1:45 PM UTC
Wandering this lonely terrain
Trying to escape the nightmare I live
I yearn to fly away from pain
The ghostly love you give
Trust has become a scarcity
In our darkest hour
Someone wise once told me
Solitude will grant you power
I have no one, no belongings, no home
Reduced to a vagrant without your embrace
Feet and emotions fated to roam
Until they find their purpose and place
Nov 11, 2018
Nov 11, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
New York drowns in the California-made blue
The child of the voodoo kisses the sky
Her indigo ligaments are laid bare
While she falls, chasing smoking rabbits
She is small yet she soars
With her proportions falling on deaf heads
She remembers the knights of the dawn
Tangled in her gallivanting hair
Without knowing her doors
She noses her way through her window
The modest parachute travels
With the nomadic East
She recognizes heaven by taste
Knowing that she believes less and less
Seeing all without need for the travel
Ignoring the scrutiny of a gavel
Leaving in the morning
Not stopping until the fifth night
Learning for forty fortnights
Stopping to rest every second year
What a bright-eyed soul!
A sparkling visage
Adorning all her wanders
The world is at her command
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 3:07 PM UTC
I would rather
be a
wanderer
a belongerer
to no body
to no country
a loose end
than to bob
eagerly
at every tug
of the yarn's
end
whose
wound-up
mass
amasses me
a wriggled up
ball of
wriggles
I would rather
be alone
than
scooped up
in a basket
with others
of my
supposed
ilk
and held in
by the
over-under
wicker
edges
domed up
for containment
ominous
clicks and
scrapes
of my
destiny
clattering
and chattering
above
fraying
frizzled
frazzled bits
smoothing out
as my length
is tugged
up and up
like a long
slurpy
noodle
I would rather
be loose
and scrappy
and stumpy
and ragged
the one that
nobody loves
the discarded
refuse of a
more discerning
eye
than be made
surreptitiously
into somebody
else's
jumper
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 8:21 AM UTC
A little girl with hopes and dreams
An artistic mother whose smile beams
A burly father who protects the team
Family is as it seems
A little girl that is confused
A fighting mother who is always bruised
A father that now grabs the *****
Family is far from smooth
A young girl that can’t understand
A tired mother who sits on her hands
An angry father who only demands
Family crumbles like sand
A teenage girl with a broken heart
A single mother falling apart
A father lying asleep in a park
Family is far from the start
A teenage girl who sleeps around
A mother buried in the ground
A father who is chained and bound
Family is not profound
A young adult with pain on her mind
A mother who is still resigned
A father who was left behind
Family is redefined
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 1:40 AM UTC
A man in a tailored suit
A man eating rotten fruit
One divorced three wives
Two contrasting lives
One is a lawyer
The other a beggar
I’m sure you think of the two of them,
One is a hundred times better
He’s in fine garments
The other’s worn and tattered
One’s dreams came true
The other one’s shattered
But none of that matters—why?
How ‘bout you ask us, the maggot and the fly
Because in the end —and we say this without shame
A vagrant and a lawyer in death both taste the same
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 12:31 PM UTC
The greyness will not go
From my mind, from the world
A dome of haze surrounds this troubled town
Dense, thick, ****** into the ground and out to the sky
From my soul, from the world
I'm not so far from sitting with the wild eyed vagrant
Watching all hope walk away
From my heart, from the world
A cruel twist of fate this is- when it began
Troubles came from a solution
From my pocket, from the world
Thanks to inefficiency, from the privileged
I have no food coming
From my hand, from the world
Dreams of warmth and meagre luxuries
Seem so distant, so impossible
From my head, from the world
If I can't survive this month on air
I shall go from my home
To the street, to the world.
Nov 6, 2016
Nov 6, 2016 at 5:30 PM UTC
I live in a desert
My Dear.
With a loopy-eyed cat who bites
and a roommate who might as well.
All of my clothes are ripped and stained
and I don't know where I'll be working tomorrow.
The other vagrants and I
We can't afford to stay,
but we can't afford the gas to leave,
either.
The summers are too hot--
the winters are too cold--
and the days and the nights are too dangerous.
But we're here
and we're young.
And someone has to feed the cat.
Oct 24, 2016
Oct 24, 2016 at 2:28 AM UTC
She is just going.. going places.
She is leaving without any traces.
She is aimlessly travelling in search for something.
Like a vagabond, she is just wandering.
Try not to stop her, because she is actually falling.
Falling in love.
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
He wasn't a loner.
He was just a wanderer in search for a place where he could find peace.
His imagination was too vivid and wild. His mind was like a sphinx, impossible to decode.
His thoughts were a tangled mess of knots.
He was a mystery.
He was never able to seek peace but he found something intriguing. He met her.
Just like him - Wandering like a gypsy, with chaos occupying her mind.
She was like the missing piece from his jigsaw puzzle of a life.
Together they dreamt about all the magical infinities they longed for all their lives.
Nov 19, 2015
Nov 19, 2015 at 7:30 AM UTC
Bucket full of coins and lint
From pockets of the passing
He sits there staring silently
His sign board does the asking
Truth be told he only wants
Money for his drink
His sign expresses honestly
What the passers by all think
Why Lie, Need *****
is written on his card
But, to look this man right in the eye
Is really something hard
He doesn't smile, is dressed for warmth
Even though it is quite warm
I don't think it's for the weather
It's for his own internal storm
That rips apart inside his soul
A storm that no one's seen
It knocked him on a wayward course
He lost who he might have been
We'll never know just who he was
We only know him at this hour
For those who pass him here each day
He's known as Whiskey Sour
He sits there with his plastic tub
Watching people on their way
Whiskey Sour thanks them kindly
No matter what they say
A victim of his own devices
Or a victim of all ours
No matter where you walk and look
You will all meet Whiskey Sours.
Oct 26, 2012
Oct 26, 2012 at 3:38 PM UTC
The brimstones golden hunger, and leaking thoughts, the creeping delver lingers, haunts. Swelling faith, like flame to moths, truth re echoes like the sting of wasps. Cloaked man, from another land, faultlessly faithful in dying truth. Unhappy sinner, begs for refuge. Stirring again his thin sole shoes.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 8:38 PM UTC