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.
Category: Travel Writing