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My Name Is Prophet
by Scott Utley
My name is Prophet, but they call me, "hey, you!" I am a penniless drifter, shod
poorly, diseased and despised. I sing for a seat near the hall down the path to the
shed used by swine. I'm gleeful with joy for any place to dine. Crafty by
circumstance, I am blessed with a spark of divine mind. I trade hope for shelter.
I barter truth for a comfortable lie. I feel privileged, indeed, honored to share my
most cherished possession with whatever lurking beast or saint there may come a-
knocking on the door of my rice-paper heart. The possession I speak of is my inner
light; my love, the most powerful force in the universe. More often than not, I
possess neither food nor shelter. But light has never let me down. My huckster mind
can convince me otherwise, nevertheless, shyster thoughts be damned. Belief does not
make an invidious fantasy real. Those evenings I am cold, angry, lonely, rejected, and
filled with remorse for coming to this place in the first place, are the same evenings
I forget to be grateful. On these occasions, nights crawl painfully slow to that
trickster called dawn. What I lack in essentials I make up in wisdom. Vagabond wisdom
is priceless, so I give it away for free. I must. Like my father before me, I stand
hunched-back, just as his father before him. My deformed stoop is the result of an
incalculable weight I carry upon my shoulders. My mother was born in Hell’s Kitchen.
My father was orphaned at the age of two in the dank Mississippi poverty that knows no
equal. Tragic obstacles for both of them, to be sure, but triumphantly overcome with
passion, ideals, and love. But even born deformed and senseless is easier to bear than
this weight, this soul numbing weight. I fear the worst should I stumble or fall. I
fear for the innocents striding between land and the cobalt blue seas. When I fear
it’s because I’ve abandoned gratitude. Sometimes my unbridled dejection paralyzes my
connection to God. It is easiest then to dismiss divine light as a dreamers
hallucinations run amok. And I do. Yes, I do. I dismiss like a diva.
08/11/2006 Posted on 08/12/2006
Copyright © 2025 Scott Utley
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Mara Meade on 08/12/06 at 12:25 AM Good Lord... where did this come from? Slapped ME up 'side the head and then made the count. You won.
Fsv lines?
Those evenings I am cold, angry, lonely, rejected,
\
and filled with remorse for coming to this place in the first place,
are the same evenings I forget to be grateful.
AND
But even born deformed and senseless is easier to bear than this weight,
\
this soul numbing weight. I fear the worst should I stumble or fall.
I fear for the innocents striding between land and the cobalt blue seas.
When I fear it’s because I’ve abandoned gratitude.
Sometimes my unbridled dejection paralyzes my connection to God.
It is easiest then to dismiss divine light as a dreamer’s hallucinations run amok.
And I do. Yes, I do. I dismiss like a diva.
So... you snuck into my boudoir? Gads, this is about as "real" as you can get.
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| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 08/12/06 at 12:55 AM Fantasmagorically cool! I am riding Mara's coat tails when I repeat that there are so many great lines in this. I love them all, but the rhythm of "I sing for a seat near the hall down the path to the shed used by swine" just lifts me out of my reading glasses. This poem is to read and reread and reread. "When I fear it's when I've abandoned gratitude" - oh, how true. I am humbled.... |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 09/30/06 at 02:01 PM I'm very pleased to see this as POTD!!! |
| Posted by Karl Waldbauer on 10/05/06 at 06:54 AM Very good work, Scott...and congratulations on your POTD. |
| Posted by A. Paige White on 10/06/06 at 01:21 AM Oh Wow! How did I miss this one? Awesome read. Congrats on POTD! |
| Posted by Nancy Ames on 11/08/08 at 05:31 PM Wonderfully spiritual poetry, Scott, expressive of the divine paradox of the supremacy and humility inherent in the best of human consciousness. |
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