Gord

2014-03-26 12:00 am

Wagonwheels, they do appeal,
My stomach reveals lessons.
Six is my limit.
I should not eat a seventh.

Aharon Yosef

2014-03-25 12:00 am

The Lord,
Change not the world,
nor plans forget regard,
Ground shifts beneath multibillion,
Your God.

Gord

2014-03-24 12:00 am

Another lover, to cuddle up with,
that doesn't mind the pickle breath.
Another 8 days of love,
Before asparagus piss ruins a date,
Before I eat a whole lemon cake,
And a bag of Doritos,
Or was it Frito Lay?

The Sophist

2014-03-21 12:00 am

Hermetic Hymns fill his head, 
Unwell-read, 
Thoughts in pericope, 
Polemically said.

Honesty overdue, 
If I'll ever be great, 
I'll have learned some things too, 
To Hell with the Ganges, 
My mind bathes in You.
The Steerageway,
Poetically Youth,
Polemically True.

Gord

2014-03-18 12:00 am

Her fifth incarnation in filth, 
The first tragic Buddhavista.
The last magic singer.
The last female singer to open her mouth
and not eat since after Christina,
The first entertainer to entertain us since
the entertainment era entered the picture.
Pictures need to go back to the silent era. 

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-13 12:00 am

From 'MOONSTONE'

 (Prelude.)

 I have a secret.
 I am the last of my race.

 We existed in peace and harmony,
 For many eons of millennia.

 Even before the first formation
 Of the Order of Jedi Knights.

 Then the Emperor ordered
 The testing of the Death Star.

 The rest is history......

The Sophist

2014-03-07 12:00 am

Death of Cupid strewn loose,
And the putrid excuse;
Stupidness youthed in the ruin of Use.
Abstracted views abstracting rapid abstract logic,
Abstracted the Truth;
Abstractly vapid and loose.
And so now I live recluse.
I used 'abstract' too much,
And killed Cupid via noose.
I have a pact,
I tattered and abused, 
I packed and hid, scattered in the spruce.
I hate all I come in contact with.
I hate to introduce.
I hate you all like my old friends.
You all act too recluse.

The Sophist

2014-03-07 12:00 am

A life pre-mortem;
Death of The Sophist that is;
Dying of boredom.
Deaf ears of the Quietude;
Hear tunes but abhor dem.
Good, there's more for 'em;
In a song they can hate through,
Than the femme de la femmes.
De la silence we dance to;
Scrotal Tongue's creme de la creme;
An online forum.

Gord

2014-03-07 12:00 am

I am the Koala that eats eucalyptus.
Additively good as cigarettes is.
I embrace my lack of education,
I can never become king of the matrix.

I am the Human, who also thinks of eucalyptus often.
In my dream I can see leaves, each just as delicious as the last was.
I barely find time to write rhymes,
I am busy gathering more eucalyptus.

I am the prophet, sought after and brought forward.
My eucalyptus addiction has brought me fame and regard.
Retards were entertained by my antics, and I danced with the stars.
Afterwards I dashed back to an apartment, ate eucalyptus for hours.

ENVOY
God, do you hear me?
I beckon thee for leaves.
Not just for me, but for all the people.
The greenest Euc from the finest of trees.

Gord

2014-03-07 12:00 am

Teach me to breathe again,
Teach me to fish among the bears;
Until boars bearing teeth sheath their wares,
and thus keep secret to themselves, cares;

I care naught, to teach me, teach me not;
Those that let me rot gave me teeth;
and then taught me of freedom through proxy;
Thus keep secrets to yourself, forget them not;

In age I will not be forgotten,
A new age will dawn upon them,
A swirl of value, morality is drawn in;
Only remembered are those who ascend to godhead;

Gord

2014-03-07 12:00 am

I just happen to be like abstract logic;
Tacked on at the end of powers of ten
To let you know I'll be right back on this;
I just happen to be like you express notation,
A subtle reference to exceptionally large creation;
The closest I'll come to actually seeing the painting;
I happen to be like two celibate arrows connecting;
The inner sex shun.
Like two chaste fates elope and create one.

The Sophist

2014-03-07 12:00 am

Hoeryong Concentration Camp,
Saul-ri, North Hamgyong, North Korea.
Google Maps can see it;
The place where he was raised.

Hooks through shoulders dance;
Three generations relieve it;
Crimes against human spirit;
Humanity crazed,
Choose to not believe it.

See Kitty Genovese,
In a nation void of peace,
Cries out for help.

Markets open and diseased;
Meth soaked in teas.
Get high;
Accept defeat.

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

STORMY WEATHER

 Them ol' rain clouds is rollin' in.
 Thunder is brewin',
 Lightin' is gatherin' in the sky;
 It sure is lookin'
 like we is gonna have
 one hellava storm,
 Bye'n'bye!


Dusti Rodes (2010)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

WOLFGANG

 Harley riding,
 Snuff taking,
 Mah Jong playing.
 German Hell's Angel.
 Holding court daily,
 From his pool-side seat.

 The family man,
 Playing with his boy.
 Joking with his wife.
 Making instant friends,
 Of the strangers that he meets.

 Sharing a day to themselves,
 Doing nothing in particular,
 But everything in general.


Dusti Rodes (2009)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

In a Japanese Vein

 Koi

 Fisherman,
 Solitary, seated,
 Beside the endless water.
 Wherein the single specimen
 Silently swims.
 Casting a line that leaves
 No trace on the still surface.


 Bonsai

 In Japan, it is Bonsai,
 In England, it is August.
 It will soon be the Fall.
 In both.

Dusti Rodes (2011)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

Memories of Menorca

The solitary star
The lone gull
Lack of light
dark and deep
Guarded by the lion-dog
In two-tone green and black and white
Part Chihuahua, part Pekinese.

Sunrise over Citudella
Purple and pink
Blues and browns
Age old ruins
Built of rocks
That are tumbling down.

Out of the stillness
Came a rustle
The wind whispered "Morning"
Gull winging, effortlessly
Sparrows busying in their daily task
Of feeding their families.

No different from other mere mortals
Who stand and observe
Through peephole portals
On life below and above.

Pylons, all in a line,
Taking power to the people.
John Lennon would be proud.

Illuminated cars, kerb crawling
At dawn's half light;
Wondering whether to switch off
As it is no longer night.

To hell with sunrise
Watching the clouds come up,
Shrouding the stars
With their whiteness
From the deep dark blue
Of Menorcan night.

An old boy, reminds me of myself,
Lone party goer, maybe?
One hell of a walk
From Cala Forcat
After our session at Night Fever.
Sun rises over Citudella
And Cala Blanes.

Rabbits running,
Ants busy, busy;
Relaxing perhaps,
For a jam sandwich
Carelessly cast away.
Before the heat forces
Them to siesta,
On a Menorcan morning
At the end of June.

A lone songbird,
Chortles its wakeup tune;
My bag, bathed in Menorcan sunlight
Casting shadows of strangest hues
The old currant bun
Promising a day of brightness.

Painted by light,
In Nature's brightest colours,
The single rock on the lawn
Looking like a monolith
From eons past.

A donkey, braying,
Radio, playing
People, singing,
And speaking in Spanish.
Then, Rick Astley,
In English.
Never going to give you up.
Menorcan memories.


Dusti Rodes (2002)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

Picking up the Pieces

The wind ripped up my roses,
Tore down the tomatoes,
Mangled the mint;
Crucified the coriander,
And the carrots.
Belted the beans,
Both French and Runner.
Obliterated the onions,
Lashed the lettuces;
Bruised the beetroots.

The mighty sunflowers sagged,
And the potato heads were
Pulverised to pulp.
As for the apple blossom,
It wilted with the weather.
The snap-dragons snapped,
The foxgloves fought well;
But only went a couple of rounds;
Till they too, joined the lupins on the ground.
The hollyhocks held their heads up,
When even the willow waivered.

And I am left,
Picking up the pieces.


Dusti Rodes (2006)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

A Day in the Life


I Morning

Up early for a Sunday
The clock says eight
But even that's late
For what we have to do
And where we've got to be

Breakfast hastily eaten
A schedule that has to be beaten
The taxi comes just on time
The clock strikes the half nine
The train will leave at ten
So we have to be there then


II In a railway waiting room

People sitting
Waiting for the train
Some just there
To get out of the rain
The sun is starting
To shine now
Making the outlook
Better somehow

The fire
Glows brightly
Offering security
In its warmth
There must be a hike
Somewhere
By the amount of people
Going there
Dressed in their anoraks
And their boots
A passing express
Gives warning toots

Waiting for the train
To friends
Still far to go
Before our journey ends
Although having already
Come this far
Still there are miles
To be travelled
By car
Sitting patiently, waiting
For the train
Marking time
To the pouring rain


III A ride through the countryside

At our destination
We are met
Commiserations
Hoping we did not get
Too wet

Outside the station
They had parked the car
Comfortable seats
Our journey
Not to mar

We are off
Through the countryside
Making quite a pleasant ride
Of our quest
To the coast
Never really deciding
Which we prefer the most

Ever onwards
We are drawn
Towards the outskirts
Of Eastbourne


IV Eastbourne

Eating eggs
Hard boiled
Liver sausage sandwiches
Cheese and ham
Fried sausages
Oranges too
What a sight
For people to view

Throwing stones
Into the sea
Stopping to watch
The tide roll in
Then a walk
Along the pier
Perhaps to stop
For a cool glass of beer

Buying ornaments
Made of glass
Playing the games
That made us laugh
Throwing balls
Into walls
Listening to the radio
In the warm

Then on again
It was said
Towards the crags
Of Beachy Head


V Beachy Head 

Climbing up
To the Bell Tower
Pausing to view
A lonely flower
The long climb
Winding a few
The breathlessness
Well worth the view

On looking out to the sea
So calm
One could scarce believe
It could do so much harm
Then suddenly
The gunshots
Warning us of the coming rain
So we quickly make our descent again

The rabbit droppings
In the tufted grass
Is the sight
I remember last
The gulls wheeling
On the wind
Showing aerial acrobatics
That Man will take
A thousand years
To conquer


VI Newhaven

When the tide
Is full in
It is a facade
To walk along
The esplanade
At Newhaven

For the angry waves
Batter the man-made wall
Persistently trying
To make it fall
Spraying
Unwary travellers
With showers of stones
And the flying
Sea spray
That rusts
Even the lamp posts
Within a month

The road to the west
This is our quest
Pass the ox-bow lake
On the river
That meanders
Through the open fields
Filled with
Sweet smelling air

The road takes us
Past the harbour
Where, the ' Chichester Star '
Lies anchored there
Moored at her rest


VII Brighton

The Palace Pier
On a Sunday
Even in March
Full of people
Having fun

Some lie on the beach
Catching the sun
That hides
Behind the clouds
Of the rain-filled sky

But here we do not stay
Perhaps I'll return
Some other day
The time has come
Not to linger
Drawn ever onwards
By a wandering singer

Dressed in sandals
And in jeans
Singing songs of the
Changing scenes
Sentiments felt
By myself
He did quote.
He sang,
Whilst I wrote


VIII Shoreham

Dark, dank and dismal
Grey and grim
Stands the power station

The side, the day-tripper
Does not see
The squalid surroundings
Of the industrial side
Where the rubber factory
Takes the coke works
For its bride

There, beside a mountain
Of metal scrap
Stands a fellow
In a cloth cap
Surrounded by
Carcasses of cars
Burnt out
By long cold fires

Wasteland covered
With prickly briars
Rubble strewn around
Sweet papers, magazines
Stones cover the ground

The road carries on
Pass the gasworks
To playing fields
Where people sit watching
Others using their energy
To a useless end

A steel girdered bridge
Spans the road
Along by which
The river still flowed


IX Worthing

Having high tea
In the lounge
Sardines, rolls
Tea and toast
Watching the sea
Leave the coast

Playing the pin machines
With pennies
Reading the paper
To find the news
Desperately needing
To use the loos

Off on our trek again
Running from the
Fast oncoming rain


X Half a league .....

Destination somewhere
In the west
Selsey, probably
At the very best

Time, like the tide
Rolling on
Light of day
Has nigh nearly gone

The lights burning
Along the road
Turn from the palest pink
To shimmering gold

Eve draws on
Darkness, soon to follow
A level-crossing
That isn't so level
In fact, the road
Looks like more of a bevel

The road becomes
Winding and long
Making us remember
The young minstrel's song

Following the line
Of cat's eyes
Broken only
By the sound of sighs

A solitary star
Guiding us, as of old
The weather becoming
Increasingly cold

The long boring night
Is broken
By the bright lights
Of the big service station
At Crawley

Say as they might
To me, the most welcoming sight
Was that of The Thorns pud
At Horley

Liquid refreshments
For parched dry throats
Although there was nowhere
To hang our coats

Having once
Quenched our thirsts
The road leads on
To Billinghurst

Then on down
Cowper's Lane
Just as it starts
Again to rain

In the comfortable warmth
Of her home
We are again
Free to roam

Tea for three
And one for coffee
Arguing who'll get to eat
The very last toffee

Onwards then,
Homeward bound
The car really seems
To leave the ground

Till the lights of Croydon
Are encountered
And as we are at our door
" It was fun, we must do it more!"

The two of us
Climb the stairs
Once again
To all our cares

Very quietly
Into bed
Nothing more
It has all been said.


Dusti Rodes (1975)