Gord

2015-03-03 12:00 am

Voice 6:
Who plays Beethoven upon my door?
Truly he be hooven and poor morally,
For a husband just died in my arms.
Knock not or at least form formally,
For normally impatience is paid poor.

Voice 7 (whispers):
Quickly.

Voice 6 answers the door abruptly.

Voice 6:
You were not to arrive until morning!
There we could consummate cordially,
Declaring our love in the afternoon;
Could it be you interrupt my mourning,
Because you could not go without me,
And thus arrived in story too soon.

Voice 7:
I may have come too soon, 
But not over you, my love,
Never have I had such pain.
I request to have it again,
For I feel such remorse,
No man should be slain,
Lest by hand of a horse.

Voice 6:
Quiet, Guards hear the whining of dogs,
Horses not led by hand but by emotion?
Worker of ideals, concepts and notions,
Walking upon my silken floor in clogs;
If disgust in yourself is your only sin,
Can disgrace be upon an innocent facade?

The Sophist

2014-09-25 12:00 am

Decay and the rifle alone. Censored by Gods as 
cold winter snow passes men stuck in glop as 
it blows. Who knows? What the fuck does a soul 
call a home? Accepting ideals without gloves 
being shown. Refuting belief but still knowing 
that something transcends all of time, space, 
math, and the know-how. Gloating but feeling 
in pain for lost souls turned wayward, 
corrupt, or depraved by the fallout.

Take it in, as it turns out, by talking in 
strides with the crowds. Softly speak glop 
when it counts. Slowly speak up, and never 
speak out.

Gord

2014-09-05 12:00 am

Slane Girl
I wish I were
Giving head to my peers
All these feelings ecstasy brings
Lack of self control teenagers portray
No ecstasy feelings linger
No hand from my peers
Wish I weren't
Slane Girl

Gord

2014-09-05 12:00 am

I write oral histories,
Stories, opened on lies.
So everyone else a liar.
I'm not of their kind,
Though, I seem like-minded.
I seem to like it tough,
So your head and cough,
I've gotta do my job.

The Sophist

2014-09-04 12:00 am

Both sides support reform,
God I feel dumb,
Then I go back to watching porn,
That still too is dumb,
Ah, ugh, I'm wracking my poor brain,
Surely nothing can be done,
If something clearly is insane.

Begone to the pits of apathy,
Where men are fighting to succeed,
Be free from binds which binding me,
Lead me blind to blind society.
Truth be told it would be great,
To record sounds and meditate,
Without hoping to get paid,
Ad space isn't free,
We pity ourselves if ads are sent to peace.

We sent our brothers off to war.
Speaking of the fun;
Fighting for a rival hoard.
Dying in the sun;
Pierced by a brother's sword.
Ah, ugh, I'm wracking my poor brain,
Thieves thieved some time for fun,
Our heroes appearing more and more depraved.

To share the same disease,
Tortured through our dreams,
To decay among the trees,
Torment; a short and brutish piece,
Yet all of it is great,
Bleeding essence every day,
Alderson loop of disjunctive melodies,
Existence sings in remedies,
Never will the tempest ease,
Yet underneath there lay a silent tone,
Arranging scattered harmonies.

The Sophist

2014-08-20 12:00 am

All that follows may be cheap.
A 'squito bite from a 'siah kiss
No mas, this mass a mess,
'Spose we're 'spose to say we're bless',
Well bless it ought to fess,
A feeling for a million fools,
Is wanton for a prince.
Yet elegant amiss,
Fools dancing on the Sun's drying lips,
As though it were a tryst,
Forcing Cosmos to a fit,
Perhaps the sun is but a tool,
Reflecting light,
Projecting an abyss,
Perhaps there's dimensions we can't see,
We dream beyond 3D,
Yet teach it in our school,
Rest inside to silence screams,
Our origins never will be seen,
Although it would be cool,
All that follows may be cheap.

The Sophist

2014-08-07 12:00 am

My balls feel so significent,
Perchance so too my dick,
Refrain from touching it?
Shit,
Don't make me fucking sick.

Gord

2014-08-05 12:00 am

Complacency, 
A transformative lyric.
Appear differently,
Every time you see it.
Feel questions,
Appearance less glee,
It just gets to me,
Questions my career:
Rhyming a chair,
with chairs a little less green.

The Sophist

2014-07-15 12:00 am

Belly poked by intrauterine demise -
 infanticide - now I can poke her in her
 thighs. I fantasized that maybe the baby
 would have cried, or that I would have
 stopped it, crazy by the pain I feel inside.
 Now I swear there's nothing there. I lost the
 key to the divine.

I dreamed a life of orgies but my sex life is
 austere. Who cares? I drink nightly, and dream
 of an affair with a tryst. I jot prose for love
 not there and recite them to the one that I
 declare. I'm sick from life; to levy death is
 fair. I'm too sick to spread my sickness. Give
 them death, who fucking cares?

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

2014-05-02 12:00 am

If you think,
You are probably failing;
The system designed,
For Confusion.
Mass sanity waning,
Or so I find,
Mass devolution,
Mass losing of minds.

Give me death or give me liberty,
To build dreams out of my reveries,
To deny myself to occupy,
'Til all of land is free,
'Til land taxes aweigh,
Streets still paved and cleaned.

If you think,
They are probably hailing,
Controlling your mind,
With delusions.
If you are training,
To think 'Occupy',
That's mass prostitution,
Truly controlling your mind.

Give me death or give me liberty,
To build dreams out of my reveries,
Tell them at a campfire,
How good it feels to breath,
When I fly above the trees.
It's not awake to think,
The only way to stay cosane,
Dream vast absurdities.

Gord

2014-04-11 12:00 am

I log in online,
Most likely I'm confined,
   or retarded.
Online I can be anything I wanted.
Like I can be a dog,
and eat a dog's food,
I'm the average aspoet user.

I Have a sexual fetish,
With no sexual elements.
Eat clementine oranges,
Receive my erections,
Pointed in your direction.

Un-anointed poets are bereft.
The bottom of the page is best.
They re-post the date and the city.
Supplement updates how their feeling,
While they manage to omit their audacity.
Masterfully crafting their art: Re-posting.

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

2014-03-13 12:00 am

A clasp of green.
A feel alive again today.
My high is here to stay,
No Evergreen, Nor pine mine is.
EUCALYPTUS 
I found the fabled forest,
Large enough to raise my kin in.

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-12 12:00 am

NOT ALL ANGELS NECESSARILY 
WEAR THEIR WINGS AT ALL TIMES

Silly things.

What does your lipstick taste like?
How does it feel to kiss those luscious lips?

What would it mean to hold you in my arms,
And have yours in mine?

How will it feel to have our bodies entwined?

You have released pent-up passion,
That I had almost forgotten.

You have placed me on a pedestal so high,
The fall seems so far down.

I hope that my angel wings still work,
As I haven't had to use them
For such a long time.

Gord

2014-03-05 12:00 am

I feel like Bernie.
The way I sit among the living,
Not yearning for my turn again,
Yearning for a place to lay down,
Learning if I turn the bass down,
The treble will just sound louder.
Este Lauder is 80 dollars a bottle,
and I'm their top seller,
I feel like Bernie the way I Madoff.

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

' 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)