The Sophist
2015-09-10 12:00 am
Day 1: No stoic women and no false metal, Living the life, Inside of a kettle. Hopping and jumping, Trying to escape. Grinding my teeth, While the symphony plays. "Does it feel great?" "Yeah, it really feels great." "Now what should I do?" "I'll cry the next day." Weeping, Watching the moon start to settle. Disappear too soon below false nettle. "With such regret I will miss when I die, So I dream to escape the world I deny." Day 2: I sleep; The moon and my mind both settle. I no longer jump; Steam fills my kettle. These stoic women; Fawns for false metal. Living my own life; Fit in fine fettle.
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The Paraffin One
2014-11-04 12:00 am
Should I advance beyond, With no progress made, Let my name not be forgotten, Scorch my name in the grass, Make sand of the raised glass, Where class be feigned.
The Sophist
2014-10-29 12:00 am
Throw your freedom to the wind; Enslaved to throw again. So intelligent he looks, Though even though he sinned, This man you would defend. Written in the books, Vices will be trimmed, Virtuosity amended, Sheet of truth been shook, Giving common men their wings, Free to fly ahead, Travel on by hook or crook, Approve or you rescind, Find your freedom in your music, Letting go of other things.
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 Sophist
2014-07-04 12:00 am
He speaks in subterfuge, He makes myth from animal bones, 'scribes visions of mothers viewed postnatal, He calls them "future you". He claims Caesar's final breath found you. He sees a subtle use, And has you build his thrones. He's too busy to view. He gives you your fill, You attack at his illusions, 'til your confusion is ill. I write folk songs for fools. Without steps I reach your homes, Crying disses of another's views most fatal I call them "false truths", I hand out bauble knives to the Fountain Youth, I burn the stable spruce, And make off with the stones, I take the dragons too, I live just to kill, I attack at your confusion, Pushing your illusions downhill.
Gord
2014-05-29 12:00 am
The rates remain, In fact, Let the rape remain, In tact. A Genghis plan, No time for mathematics, The Queen's virginity remains intact. The people's impassivity remains fact. Humanity needs a savior, The mimicry drains that. A finality, For in the end, in synchronicity, Invincibly the choir sings. However dismissively, Lyrically they sing lit matches. For historically we lived like bastards.
Kodyboi
2014-05-07 12:00 am
You have to swear Swear to love loving me, This trailer will last forever, We must have a story-book ending. With a happy end game. I swear to never go away. I swear to never put aside, The things I'm gonna say. To the stagehand, I will never confide. Use your eyes only to look at me. Use your piss-soaked, whore mouth, Only to kiss my whore lips. We are branches of the 21st century. You can laugh only if you laugh at me. You can cry only if you cry for me. Forget what you're condemned to be. Can't you see? You filthy cur, You always were, You always will be. You used to Willoughby so nice I should see a doctor, Who could keep trains from hitting me. But A jealous woman would suffice, She makes it easy to see coffers. She knows I'll defrost to keep pace. Opinion will change, but at steep cost. It also may take a while, So smile for the time being. I'm feeling poor in the stomach, My head is spinning and I feel like a fool. I think it's about time I change the rules.
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.
The Sophist
2014-03-19 12:00 am
Hermes carries Lamb, Across his shoulders, Across timeless sands, More he travels; Still more land. Crying out in hope, Kriophoros left his home, Carried Lamb eyes to our souls. Mighty messenger of Gods, Of all the Heavens and Below. Calamis never same again, Good Sheppard waits for Lamb, Prepared to spill blood, For the better of the herd, For the chance to understand, The voice of the Absurd.
The Sophist
2014-03-07 12:00 am
Bueller, Bueller, Bueller Pews faced to view the fooler Tools taken from the tooler Put online to try and school her Austerity, Austerity, Austere A cry that no-one cares to Words with fares to blare through Worlds unfair to tear through Heaven, Heaven, Above A thought I think the world of If nothing comes from nothing What are acts of love?
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-05 12:00 am
Reflections on the demise of a Neighbour Everywhere here Is full up with junk That isn't really so. The building of a couple's lifetime. These possessions that are left Are all there is to show. The winged ducks Pots and pans Brooms and mops The crystal decanter with its glasses Projector and screen Slides taken of foreign mountain passes Planes and trains Books on stone polishing, birds, gardening and roses Videos and stills of Formula One heroes Transfixed in winning poses Sewing machine, curtains Cups and saucers Things that should have been handed on To beloved sons and daughters That never materialised. The log box, embellished in brass Figures of snails and owls Made in Caithness Glass Squirrels, dogs and hedgehogs Porcelain men and women Music boxes that play tunes While in the cutlery drawers Fish knives, glass rolling pin Even silver apostle spoons The collection of records, cd's and tapes Recorded by artistes, many long gone A multitude of stereos and tape decks To choose to play them on. Clocks and timers Wallets and watches TV and twin tub Clothes airer and spin dryer Pencils, pens and paper (by the ream) Plastic bags in all sizes Enough for several lifetimes Drills and saws Fishing tackle Fly, sea and coarse Full blown sou'wester sailing suit And around in the garage Long wader boots An iron gate Wrought with his own hand All serve to measure The mark of the man. Dusti Rodes (2004)
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-05 12:00 am
' Act of Faith ' The Weaving of the Web The Poet's Perception Caladbolg One Sword. Taking two hands to wield. Rainbow ruler of all others. Smiter of mountains and of hills. Made with molten faerie gold. Fashioned on the forge Of Fir Bolg giant, Balor of the Evil Eye, Defeated at Moytura, By the wiles of Tuatha de Dannan Magical warriors. In reprisal for the death of Lu of the Longhand, Son of their King. ' By this Sign, so shall you know me! ' "Remember this, Sire, And use the information well; For they plan to kill my Liege" So spoke the Lady of the Lake. " 'Twas the Vessel with the Pestle, That bore the potion that was Poison. And it was the Flagon emblazoned with his Dragon, They did fill with the brew that is True. But the serving-wench did slip, The platter fell to the floor And did crash on the flagstones there. The Vessel with the Pestle was smashed. Shattered into a thousand shards. Now the Flagon with the Dragon, Contains the potion that is Poison; And the Crystal Chalice, That was procured from the Palace Holds the brew that be True." Act of Faith I feel very vulnerable. I haven't put this much trust In Anyone or Anything, For longer than I can remember. Only time will tell If this act of faith is justified. The Artist's Explanation I have always been a fan of Arthurian legend, and in the end decided the ultimate act of faith, was the search for the grail. I have mixed up lots of ideas within my painting though, here is the official explanation. The hill on which she has reached the pinnacle, is Glastonbury Tor, but a thousand years ago the glow of what is now Glastonbury shines below her. In the sky there is the constellation Orion, this symbolises the king of the fairies, Gwyn ap Nudd, who legend has it lived on the Tor before being insulted by St Collumb, and in doing so left the Tor to forever hunt his hounds across the winter sky. Instead of the ruined church that is on the Tor now, I thought a small standing stone might suffice, and embedded within the stone in a similar way to the sword Excalibur was embedded in a rock, I have placed a wooden chalice, the moss on the rock and the shamrocks, also give the chalice a bed on which to lay. Shamrocks being symbolic not only of Ireland, but also the holy trinity. It is also a trefoil, which is the symbolic of Awen, which is the druid symbol for inspiration. On her wrist is a bracelet, which has fallen from the chalice and magically clings to her, the bracelet is silver like the moon with a fleur de lis (another symbol of the grail, and Mary mother of Jesus, coupled with the holy trinity). The lady is wearing nothing more than a simple white jacket and is naked below. She is also blindfolded, and therefore has to accept trust and her faith to protect her from this vulnerable position. She has come to the end of her quest and has found her grail, purely by way of faith, and is now tired and weary but still proud and undefeated , she is genuflecting to its wonder. The sword has two symbolisms, the first being that it was once broken and has been repaired. (This relates to the story of Galahad, repairing the magical broken sword, from the Fisher King stories, near the end of the grail quest) and the design of the sword I am using is unique in such that it is a copy of the original sword used by the genuine most famous knight in English History, Sir William Marshall. The long grass has various dandelion clocks settled within it, one has burst its seeds, sending them cascading across the painting, the dandelion means many things, including flirtatiousness ... However it is also in gypsy lore the symbol of transition and ascendancy from physical to spiritual. One last thing is that I have signed the painting twice, once in my usual way in the bottom right hand corner, and the other being the symbol of Rowan cut in Ogham on the standing stone. (My name of Ro being short actually for Rowanswood which is my bardic name.) - John Ogden (August 2010) The Druid's Interpretation The story of Bride or Brigid is close to so many people and there is a longing, especially from women today, to return to the balance there once was between men and women. The main story in these parts, and sort of on Beara too, is that all life somehow came from a womb and this once upon a time brought about the reverence of the goddess. The first two trees of the Ogham alphabet seem to guide this with Beith the Birch being the first life on earth and eventually the protector of women, and Luis the Rowan being the dragon's fire in all men who would burn rowan to bring the spirit of the goddess into them. For guidance, confidence, passion,bravery and focus especially when in council for trade, treaties, and sometimes preparation for war. Bride's symbol was the sword, in the story of the creation of the four Celle's of instruction, the first symbol, the symbol of imbolc,the first fire festival of the year, first quadrant of the Chaldean astrology chart. A tree of life, as above, so below. The sword created from fire, extraction of metals from ore, fires that were fuelled by the labours of men. The sword created by virgins, virgins by not yet having child, and not through no having sex, that would once one day be given to their mate. A founding of the tradition of the dowry today. If the male mate was slain and together they had no sons as heirs, the woman would take back the sword to be head of the household until another mate was found. In comes Patrick, a name so close to Patriarch, the incoming of the domination of the male hierarchy. The call to revere the male deity. When the man of the family was slain and there were no heirs; the woman, and any daughters, were the property of the chieftain. To serve as slaves or be appointed new mates, often in treaty.The sword was thrown into the lake or river to be passed on no more. The tradition of Bride, or Brigid, was eventually slain, and the tradition of Patrick took over. It is said that the legendary race of Formori never had women. They were men of the sea who knew how to extract gold and make rings.They would lure the Dannan or other land caring women with rings but for the sole purpose of breeding, not relationships, and any sons born would join the Formori. The legend is that Bride married Bres to try to return to the balance, that may be an example to the Formori, but it was not to be. In your picture this comes across as a woman either by the Formori or the Patriach demands of the ruling male deities ... but nobody could take that sword of balance away from her. It was not going to the lake !!! The standing stone to me is symbolic of the 2nd Cille of Instruction, who Bride is said to have taught Cian, son of Anu. The origin of Salmaine, that became Beltaine. Beltaine, one of the two times of the year the salmon swim up river, the second quadrant of the astrological cycle, the partnership and mating. The finding of the new true mate to pass the sword to. .... and the choice of blessed water to bring back life and fertility to make that possible. Oh, the blindfold? Another legend is that before Beltaine, women would approach the pool of Lasir blindfolded. And then after a blessing with water from the pool, were allowed to take off their blindfolds to have a vision of the man that would be their mate on Beltaine day. Lasir's legends are like Bride, except where Bride and Brigid led a herd of cows; Lasir led a flock of sheep. So when sheep are sheared at Beltaine time, there is a honoury toast to Lasir to ensue another blessed year ahead. Interestingly today, by the pool / well of Lasir ,there is no longer a standing stone, but a tall stump of an Ash tree that was felled there. Also in Lake Meelagh nearby, Bronze and Iron-Age swords have been found, by folks who were looking for the legendary Dagda's cauldron which is said to be in there somewhere. Not legends that are well known away from Co. Silgo, yet have travelled to be made into other stories. Of course , people of Co.Silgo made their own stories from what travellers told them too. Another insight? Dusti Rodes (2010)
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-04 12:00 am
Runaway Staying at the safe house, In Leeds. Secure from the ponces, And the pimps. Dressed smartly All in black. Determined that She's never going back. It took five whole days Before she could even Mouth her name. Was it through fear? Or was it through shame? Another seven passed Till she could speak, About the atrocities She had been through. And it took another long week To pass her by; Before she ever found, The strength to cry. Dusti Rodes (2009)
Gord
2014-03-01 12:00 am
The wheels of progress stand idle; Men stand idly by while smiling; Politicians planning kingships while Kings devising the downfall of the talking; My wheels fly dragging the ground behind them; Idle hands will be chopped off desires; Deny this and fate is brought to the light while dying; Crying relatives will not rebut the sounds of the choir; Desires are heard, disregarded and bound to the sire;
Devadwip Sarma
2014-02-27 12:00 am
I wanted to fly, But my wings were vanished. Last night I saw lightning in the sky. The desert was crying. The light are whispered - Silence is an amazing art ! Silence is an amazing art !
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