Gord

2014-03-18 12:00 am

I pause for an applause, but silence fills the room's divide;
They don't like my lines? Well I'm the new pasty wino,
I came here to expound how I... then I left the game to die;
Like the game did to me with crack cocaine,
Which it turns out I like;
You'll niggas don't even smoke crack, viper provides.

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

* The driving force within - I don't know the meanings, I just feel the feelings *

The kick inside,
Gives the reasons to write.
It's the sign of the writer,
Not the fighter in me.
Or maybe it is.

It's all here.
That which has been written,
Honed and pared,
To give timbre to the tomes.

The fears and frustrations,
The high days and holidays.
The black days and the blank days.
The literary diamonds, the golden nuggets.
All the bum lines and the b******t,
Of poetic wisdom, and otherwise.


Dusti Rodes (1997)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

Windows

 I was still but a boy,
 When my people first started horsetrading,
 With the white man, Bill Gates;
 For livestock to be used on the cyber plains.

 Ninety Five was a poor breed,
 Made up of mixed bloodlines.
 Favoured by the white man.
 They know nothing of horse stock.

 Ninety Eight, though mixed with broken mustang;
 Were a bad breed, skittish, having to be hobbled often.

 ME were ponies that found much favour with the Pawnees, as pack-horses.
 They did not ride well.

 XP are better, their bloodlines come from the wild mustang herds,
 That frequent the vast plains.
 Apaches, the best horsemen, in creation;
 Use them to great advantage.

 The Vista are good animals but unpredictable,
 Causing their users many problems.

 But I have heard of a new breed,The Seven.
 It is said to be the result of mixing wily mountain mustang herds,
 With the speed of the white man's Arabian stallion stock.
 Creating a truly unique workhorse.

 I shall get one and find out if this is true.
 They say that with such a beast,
 I shall need all my rodeo skills.
 It is yet to be seen,
 Only time will truly tell.

Dusti Rodes (2008)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

MASTERCLASS - A Poet elaborates

 This could be called a Performance poem.
 It contains examples of the art of poetry.
 It has degrees of Irony
 And I think it shows
 This artiste's truly biting wit.
 Others just say despairingly
 I'm really full of S**t!
 (That's the limerick!)

 There are poems
 Within this poem
 In which I take no recourse
 To neither rhyme, nor do I measure meter.
 And in the abysses and crevasses
 Caused by the use of blank verse
 You'll find I'll often teeter.

 I'll now demonstrate my art
 With the able assistance
 Of just twenty-four playing cards.
 And when I'm finished
 I'd like a start
 Of at least a hundred and fifty yards!
 (I'm an old man)

 *Display cards and say-(counting off)*

 A poetry reading.

 A poet reads,
 A short poem
 He has written.

 Eight lines only,
 Two dozen words.

 Three word poem.

 Ironic and Sardonic.

 (Thank you. and Goodnight!)

Dusti Rodes (2002)