Don Blanding: The Vagabond Poet

Some Lines Scrawled on the Door of Vagabond’s House

by Don Blanding

West of the sunset stands my house,

There… and east of the dawn;

North to the Arctic runs my yard;

South to the Pole, my lawn;

Seven seas are to sail my ships

To the ends of the earth… beyond;

Drifters’ gold is for me to spend

For I am a vagabond.

Fabulous cities are mine to loot;

Queens of the earth to wed;

Fruits of the world are mine to eat;

The couch of a king, my bed;

All that I see is mine to keep;

Foolish, the fancy seems

But I am rich with the wealth of Sight

The coin of the realm of dreams.

I found the book, Vagabond’s House laying on my friend Powell’s coffee table and couldn’t resist curling into her big white sofa for a read while the relentless rain washed the memories from Kailua Beach’s sands with yesterday’s footprints, leaving a blank canvas for tomorrow.

I read the dedication and smiled:

To the restless ones

To all the gallant frantic fools

Who follow the path of the sun

Across blue waters

To distant mountains

I dedicate my book.

He wrote this book for me. In 1928. 

I love that about books, the transcendence of space and time, how the words, the thoughts, the very heart of a man can reach through lifetimes and touch mine. That’s a miracle, if there ever was one.

Don Blanding is well known as The Vagabond Poet; in his day, he traveled to all of the places I’ve come to love best, across Europe and Central America before settling in Hawaii, where he kindly left one of his books for me to find.

His poetry sings to my soul. The simple line drawings he penned to accompany them captivate me. I’ve fallen in love with a man who was gone a decade and a half before I arrived. I love that about books.

Looking for a poet to inspire your vagabonding? This is your guy.