The Sophist

2014-08-28 12:00 am

A generation mugging for the camera,
Ban them,
Have all their shows cancelled.
Fight their right to put life at a stand still,
Investing in communes of every-day shills,
Pushing brands in their hands while they're dancing on pills,
What have you to say if they're killing themselves?
Porcelain dreams putting dirt in the well,
Laptops so hot they deplete all their cells,
I believe this is better than hell,
A step above;
Below everything else.
I believe we can rise above self.
Rather than die just help everyone else;
Setting up systems to help after death.
I'm reading from cues I'll admit.
There's someone else there;
He can't write;
I can't think;
I'm too dumb;
He's too quick.
A perfect man split.
Think, think, I need another answer,
Before this beauty becomes burden,
An innovation longing for the grammar.

Gord

2014-08-13 12:00 am

I transform retribution,
I collide with an enemy,
Destined for fusion,
Corroding my memory,
Crashing the computer,
That is me.

I open on pretense false,
In hopes to gain my loss,
Yet no fate goes uncrossed,
No face goes on unmarked,
No bullet grazes,
They self aim and kill marks.

In honesty,
I hope for their retribution,
Not believing what you do,
I find no institution for truth,
Investigations reveal soot.
To conceal boots under sock.
Truth should be implied,
Secrets shouldn't even be whispered,
When no secret knock is employed.

Gord

2014-08-01 12:00 am

Out in the doldroms, it's just a cold world.
Winds of change brew but die in a wave fold.
I'm incapable of change, 
You're incapable of the same.
So it must be predetermined, 
Hard determinist actors mimic a proper stage.
Lately I've been looking for a cage,
To preordain my life to hide from slaves.
Complacency locks people in a cage,
Claim preordain is to lie of the blame.
Out in the cold world, you make your own.
Ride the wind or die in a wave fold, 
If you're incapable of change,
Often your life is predetermined based on status,
So if the last thing I see is a image phallic,
Last thing they see from me is one right back.

Gord

2014-07-25 12:00 am

The red sand on the red planet.
A new home for those disbanded?
The pack is no longer accepting of animals.
Acceptance is a past participle,
Placing indiscriminates in wheelchairs.
Athletes teaming, forced to be there:
It's more austere for those committed.
Picture this: A world full of autism,
With no conviction to tackle the problem.
As in, 
Extremism only applies to what I love.
Only the things I love matter,
No matter to kindred doves,
No pitter-patter,
No kids in love,
 because it's considered disgusting.
Life only applies to what I want.
When I want.
So give me the rights of the fully retarded.

The Sophist

2014-07-07 12:00 am

Hating rap,
Via rappers hating freestyle,
Respecting the art,
Seeing nothing worthwhile.

A new look is what's need,
Art lied, we need focus,
Rap needs Lied.

The Sophist

2014-06-25 12:00 am

I swing about a bauble,
I scream about all belief,
And claim it to be fallible,
I run to where the light doth scramble,
To a place where all the truths are false,
And dreams are able, and soar about my bauble,
Radiant light of torch-lit dragon stables,
I sing in fable, and swing about my bauble,
All the dragons burnt alive by gas,
Spilled off tables knocked and set alight.
The old king has no ace to punish strike,
Now that dragons are not able to end life.
A workforce overthrows the king unable to know why,
A mutiny by accident with baubles as our knives.

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

2014-05-10 12:00 am

Education in some countries is just pure sophism,
I decree to stop this,
This writ from the wrists of the Sophist,
The Prophet of Modern Economics decrees fatwas,
I decree a fatwa on stockpiling gross product,
A fatwa on Gucci, Prada, Dolce & Gabanna.
I decree a fatwa on the arms race and the misconduct and
 misappropriated actions committed by the powers meant to
 help us.
Or at least help make shit less like a world of make-shift
 shiffs chaotic,
With less false promises to put less narcotics,
In the streets, our food supplies, and antibiotics,
All these soup lies make me vomit,
World spirit will not die,
But it crawls,
Dragging body behind hands,
Counting months in brief mnemonics.

Kodyboi

2014-04-15 12:00 am

A spark of excitement,
The riot van quietly rolls silently.
A flash of light, A firefight ignites.
Tonight is night, and it seemingly flies by.

To wake up in a daze with beauty deified,
In an illusion, or a pool of your own blood, useless.
Truncheons let loose and looser yet the coppers too.
Two men's fates hastened to a slate,
One an enemy, and one of the state.
One to die in his place,
One to die as a lopper, name in disgrace.

Aharon Yosef

2014-04-14 12:00 am

Vested in reality,
Blood of beasts and saints.
Destin blind with empathy,
Believing self divinely great.
And I suppose that's fine?
I mean, Hey;
What of judgements cast as mine?
Howbeit, 
What of judgements cast as they?
Pretending watch though eyes are blind.
Lay my head in shallow water,
Watch my face in clouds pass by.
Let me drown as hallowed fodder,
The message, 
Nearing.
The message,
Fie!
Simple timeless truths elude us.
Clouds in our heads,
Dreams in our skies.

The Sophist

2014-04-11 12:00 am

You stole my fucking stones,
And now I want them back,
I'm exhausted for no reason,
And I doubt,
I doubt your mind's on track.

Where are all your pyramids?
I've never seen a one,
I'm angry all damned season,
And I know,
I know you're still undone.

I'm damn tired for too damn long.
Millennia since pyramids,
Meager wage preventing treason,
And I believe,
I believe conspiracies in myriads.

To stand back and reflect,
Drowsy,
Erect,
Accomplished,
And now we are the Iliads.
Worthless,
Lacking respect,
All shit.

New hands smacking old elect,
Lousy,
Inept,
Unaccomplished,
Yet the common ride on chariots,
Horseless,
Acting intact,
Shit polished.

The Sophist

2014-04-06 12:00 am

Now I'm alone,
My plans fall through my hands,
My plans falter my plans,
Ditch-dogging philosophers,
Diurnal bemoan,
Unified spirit,
Plods as it tries,
Not to grovel and heave,
Unable to die,
Hand firmly on heart,
Swear tell not a lie,
Humankind curses nix,
Shant invention decry,
For those who know me,
Easy going guy,
Steed Spearhorse,
A nobody,
Unable to kill a man,
With no body.
Triangles illuminating,
Intercepting, dissecting,
Emanating, reflecting.
Nervously wrecked,
Fuck-up of the hoi polloi,
A boy torn from life,
Tearing back at the tears,
Falling drunken sufficed,
Your plans fall in your hands,
Your plans are your plans,
You fall alone,
Your all alone,
And I'm Alone,
To Die Alone.

Gord

2014-03-10 12:00 am

Clowns out and claiming to command towns,
Cowards crown each other to a throne,
Known owers comb until they receive loans.
Mound surrounders manage again, to crow currant.
Furthermore the Kmart manager needs a quality check.
Its impossible when get a rifle if you're 19 or less.
No Columbine situation is a concern of mine,
The town cisterns for sale, and someones buying it.
So I started a militia, mostly dudes and guys.
For parting power of governmental figures.
I outsource mostly for costly screwups and lies.
My block is full of assholes, that I despise.

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

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

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

A Week Away

A week away
A cottage in the Cotswolds
Solitary single socks
All in a line
On parade

Hands like hooks
Feet that throb
Barms and breezes
In Blackpool

Fortunes found and told
Tramlines
Scarring the seascape
Soaring seagulls
Hawk-like hands
Flaying feet

Seagulls that screech
Mayhem in Mablethorpe
Being Stumped in Boston
As to which way to go
Kiss me quick
Squeeze me slow hats

For edible orifices
Wonka's Willies
Trams travelling
Towards the Tower
And down the Golden Mile
From Fleetwood

North and South Piers
Sandcastles
Big and small
Towards Town
Postcard pictures
Picture postcards

Pencil drawings
By computer
The Mere at Marton
Limousines
And lycra-clad mirth-makers

Mobster's metal machine
Made from a Mini
National Savings & Investments building
Blocking the breeze
And the light
Standing in it's shadow
Comfortable caravans

Laughter from Leighton
Jokes from Jamie
Sparkling grape juice
All the way from Grimsby
Via the M18

Panoramic views 
From the highest motorway
In Britain
Deep dales
High Pennine peaks
In Yorkshire

Rain and sunshine
Traffic build-ups
In Blackburn
Blues in Burnley
Families fighting

Four-pint pitchers
Of foaming ale
Mussels and whelks
Oysters and orange squash
Cockles and crabs

People driving
Dangerously long miles
Without falling faint
Of fatigue
Passion in the Pennines
The castle moat

Golden sands
Tilting telegraph poles
Going up
And coming down
Steep steps
To silver sand

Shorelines stretching
As far as the eye
Can see
Whirling wind turbines
Whitewashed windmills
Scattered over the Northwest frontier

Unfurled flags
Flying furiously
In a westerly wind
Cod and curry sauce
Pen'orth o'scraps
And pots of mushy peas
Wrapped in writing

Mablethorpe Messenger
Blackpool Gazette
Cotswold Courier
Yesterday's news
Today's chip wrappers
Tomorrow's waste.


Dusti Rodes (2006)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

Postcard from Spain

The deep blue Med,
Bleeding red,
With green seaweed.

Ten thousand immigrant flies,
Travelling in on the wings
Of the Sirocco;
From north Morocco.

The power of the Siesta Sun,
Making the sand in my shoe hot.

Luscious lips, not bruised
Neither battered nor burnt,
Grappling with grapefruits.

Paradise Beach,
Paraded with parasol palms;
Waves breaking
On a wind-kissed shore.

I may be bathing later,
I am still not sure.

A lone bathing beauty,
From the Lone Star state,
Ear to the phone.
Southern Belle;
Listening to Western Bell.

Had to go and see
My mountain,
Standing stark
In darkest Dakota.

Aqui,Casas de Lujo.
Here, Luxury Houses.
Cornish Cream,
Mandarin Palace.

Urban graffiti
In an idyllic setting.
Perfect paradox.
Jet plane trucking
Leaving tyre tracks
In the bright blue sky.

Sun-kissed shingle.
Sitting on a man-made rock,
The sea has shaped
To blend in with the shoreline.
Concrete clusters;
Indistinguishable,
From indigenous icons

Seaweed green, but yesterday,
Bleached red,
By the unforgiving sun today.
Granite granules,
Marble monolinths.
Sculptured saline symbols.

Yellow bouys bobbing,
Effortlessly.
Looking like a line of sweet corn,
Positioned precariously
On a willow patterned plate.

To my right,
A multitude of people,
To my left,
A hundred more.
But I sit here,
Surrounded by the solitude of silence.

Alone, with only my thoughts,
For company.
'Cept for the gentle breeze,
Whispering words of untold wisdom.
Gleaned from eons of eavesdropping,
On its many invisible travels
Around the globe.

The unseen listener of many conversations,
Keeper of Confidences,
Storer or Secrets,
Librarian of Lies,
Treasurer of Truths.
Spreading the gospel of God,
By the Mediterranean Sea.

I went away
And wrote.

Warm winds,
Helicopter hovering,
Gentle gyrations.
Drenched dog,
Bedraggled by brine.
Dappled writing,
Caused by the sun
Through the brim
Of my hat.

Beach-combing bum,
Scouring the shoreline,
With a plastic bag,
because of the hole
In my pocket.

Gone is the moment
For forced photography,
A thousand photos,
But only one picture.

Stranger on a foreign shore,
Leaving only footprints
In the sands;
Taking nothing
But memories.

Beached rowboats;
Wooden rafts,
Made from discarded
Wine crates.

Dusti Rodes (2002)