The Sophist
2015-06-09 12:00 am
I have grown with the band, When I couldn't sleep, When I lack intrinsic wake. When I watch them take the world; I feel I do the same. Symphony for a pilgrim's soul, Divine beyond these finite words, I dream to see them live. That bond will never break. Forget not, Those tunes will never leave my brain, Akashic records play forever; Even in my grave, I'll always love those men; So much it's prolly gay.
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Gord
2015-05-15 12:00 am
A standard Cheshire cat, Attacked for the manhood; Leaves, my grass drowning, Dry philosophies, dowsing; The Station Nightclub fire, They leave my ass browning, With steeds stood laughing; Horse jokes abound: Human life masticating, Human jokes around, Running is for the horses, Desires aggravated.
Gord
2015-02-04 12:00 am
Voice 6: No man plays sport with a god, Sans future sporting warts of frog. So can it be, in the course of wrong, Lies retort the support of a cause? Change lies about, but why bother? Energy costs in dollars, So am I to be in this world? Where there is no king under god, Nor a czar for the godless, Only flattened, artificial sod, Tragedy and rape for the goddess, Upon which we clap in full form. How am I to remorse, or reverse decision? Upon a world which would deny procession. In my opinion the wheels still turn. Minor character: I see. Minor character leaves.
Gord
2015-01-29 12:00 am
Voice 1 [name] lies slain, with no equal, Peerless upon the battlefield; No sword could cleave, No arrow shot could find peace, Only freedom. Now only the beast remains free, Feasting upon our arrows' fleeting; Damage so immense, I see no fleeing, Alas, only further death. Voice 2 Begone, for I fear not cancer. [name] does not meet demands; Will being not to die as asked of. Voice 1 Cannot a voice reach thy ear? Cannot a man be slain by sword, Common for the man of little fear? A million miles lies between us. Voice 2 My man does not fight to falter, Nor sing songs of issue paltry, Yet, alas, at last I hear him not. Only cheers of men which he fought. Voice 1 exits.
The Sophist
2014-10-30 12:00 am
Doll Robert in a sailing shirt, Ever lurks through souls deserted, Tall akward leaves a trail covered, Never hurt but he scared the girl.
The Paraffin One
2014-10-08 12:00 am
Depressed, never to make lasting impression. A denizen of hope to never make the finish. Yet gladly they have made no procession, A gentleman leaves, not extincting the fish; Yet, gladly the simple fish onward, Unrealized is their colony of cowards, No love and no goal worked toward, Fools with lofty goals pulled Earthwards, Nobody cheers as the people awe. Nobody cares as the people stand jaw slack. Nobody leers in care as they're not the law, Nobody fares well, so they want old law back. However the rulebook of old is lost. Common sense now too far past is post.
Aharon Yosef
2014-10-05 12:00 am
Soul filling everything, You emerge from all, Thus filling my soul. Earth is mine mazily, Will you leave me here, dying? Between the shallows and the sky. Nights gallop passing me, Birds peck out the stars, Thus we fall so far apart. Crystal moon, it waits in peace, Softly as mine eyes take autumn, No crystal flakes that taste the breeze, No barcarolle to be sung solemn, Casting nets emphatically, Thrashed by your oceanic eyes, Thus reprising my demise. I create when I embosom keys, Muster up thoughts I pull from, Throwing mine out to the wind, Zephyrus mine soul in tandem. Soul filling everything, You emerge from all, Thus tearing me apart.
The Paraffin One
2014-10-02 12:00 am
Apocalypse they prepped for never came, For mother never even prepared for birth, All, Among the leaves rot the same, Yet none bother to even feed the earth. For all that shoots becomes hostile, Especially in the face of a newcomer; Lowe the god that shoots the tile, Bottle similar to that of his newborn. Quoth the bottle: Leave my spirit, No man burdened by free will, Suppose the throttle is under skirt, No man burnt will be free to chill. Suppose we see our freedom filled, Then who benchmarks freedom stilled?
The Sophist
2014-08-12 12:00 am
Bulwark for a king's depression, Surely there is not. Within the vast divine impressions, Introspective thought. A cirque carved in a sick obsession, Leaves a body fraught. Torn apart from mind's aggression Coldness forced astop.
Gord
2014-07-22 12:00 am
I am with my peers. Although you forge careers, In favor o' honing craft. It leaves them bereft, of talent. Dreamers dreaming dreamscapes, Of dreams they never even had. When will they part with inaction? Or finding meaningless meanings? While meanwhile the bridge burns backward.
Gord
2014-06-11 12:00 am
I dander, To her I cling tightly, In her I find me. In me she finds her; So clothesline or a ligature, Is just a state of mind being. At least, that's what I'm seeing; So I pander, I find the back end of a hand, Which leaves me more filled with anger. Yet everyday I manage. Until I found out the sun is dangled, So perhaps too, the moon is dangled, Leaving me in anger. My love in the clutches of another, My whole life fandangled;
The Sophist
2014-06-10 12:00 am
As acumen abjects, Objectors expect to see; Families dissecting tragically, A death in the humanities, Favor to the selfless vanities, That favor self-indulged reality, Unfavoring the human breed, With all due respect, I don' respect the scene, I don' spect to pass unseen, By turning 'round in leave, I'll levitate with ease, Every package needing fleet, Sans rest sleeping on my feet, Life absurd in retrospect.
The Sophist
2014-05-15 12:00 am
Prithee those afore me, Leave or die away, If only for a moment, Prithee chance to meditate.
Gord
2014-03-13 12:00 am
No choir of angels come, this victory feels meaningless. I leave her behind, I favour to run, they know not, nothing important, of mocking the birds, or humming at bees, of hitting your son, wife, or your daughter or anyone else, anyone if the father pleaseed.
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.
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-05 12:00 am
L'HIVER APPROCHE Il fait chaud. Curtains, like the evenings, Being drawn earlier. Cyclamens, on the window sill, Leaning towards the light. Dark before dusk. Leaves falling by the second, Whipped up by the winds. Temperature droppin' With the sinkin' sun; That spends most days, Hiding behind clouds. Half moon present In the failing light At four thirty. And it's not yet November. Dusti Rodes (2010)
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
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)
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