Gord
2017-10-19 08:56 am
Pond upon oceans, A death of water, Little men upon thrones, Their hearts of flower, My life but a tome, My life a tower; Stairs to climb, With life inactive; Above the clouds, Time spent sunburnt, Cowards; My designs immaculate, Eating flies as flax, Confusing images, In place of facts. Again the future lost, Pipes accost the ground, The ice storm comes; Some go into town, Some stay lost, Together same, Both die apart.
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Gord
2017-08-25 11:58 am
Materialism shoddy, Outlook potty, In a world of rocks, I wish for a mouth chalky, Ground filled with chalk. Curve my bell aptly, Lord of the shinebox, Grant me world gaudy, Ending with gold trim, Upon a golden hem, Golden sheets, golden beds. Golden nails, Golden boards Golden floors. Wife scenic, Life ironic, Post Modernism.
Gord
2017-03-21 12:00 am
Flowers lace the sill, Stone frames of lifestyle, Sagging windows in vogue, Stolen valor of masonry, Following sanctioned power, Also stolen. Perhaps I play the fool, Pen in hand, Man of head, Felled in mind. Thinking you would see me again, With love timeless. Tired eyes of the tire fires, Loving fights in the shallows, She lacks enacting desire, Not inadequacy. Big fish never leaves home, Aptly. Living to throw, Never catching. Pursuit of unkempt bastards, Told only lies, Keeping only pictures, Stones still held higher, Designated only pitchers, A Fighter drowns afterward.
Gord
2017-03-03 12:00 am
Partridges fly, Above the land they admire, Moon rocks to the scientist, Fertility given to a goddess, Pointless admiration. So begins desire, The bird flies higher, Further from the ground, Wherefore no dreams to mire. Society jobs to a miser. My job is too dry, Hands cracking, without water. Voice loud enough to deny it.
The Sophist
2016-03-30 12:00 am
I can see her; kissing now. My Melita; buzzing round. In the country, In the town, In the streets, And on the ground. On the subway, In the suburbs. Skipping supper; Back street clubber. Just a number. Body of stats, Sizes, Dimensions, Hobbies. Pride; Absentia. Lies she said, And I believed them. Yeah? Did I believed them? Yeah. She did too; Watching me receive them. Not well. She buzzed away, Asked if I could leave her. Not today, I chased, Now I still can't see her. Now I'm still left waiting. Thoughts of honey, And my Melita.
Marcus Bales
2016-03-20 12:00 am
Clevelanders are practical: they see A chance to make some money off the rich And near-rich who make up the GOP. We want it to go off without a hitch And keep the fearful bastards spending free For rooms and food and drink and sex for which We'll smile and hustle, taking every trouble To earn big tips and charge them more than double. The Trump supporters think that they are clever Well, let them think that everything is sunny; We Democrats are smart enough, however, To make sure nothing happens that's too funny While we make sure our principal endeavor Is separating Trumpies from their money. We march here to an economic drummer; It's going to be a profitable summer. They say that violence may be Cleveland's diet If Donald Trump expresses his frustration. Not to worry, though -- it will be quiet. Not even Trump's most fascist agitation will prompt the local Democrats to riot If Donald doesn't get the nomination: There just is not enough white trash around To get a good disturbance off the ground.
Gord
2015-11-11 12:00 am
Sages of the weary art. Common ground beef, Butcher incompetent. Trees at ground level, Full stocks, metal jacket, Content if passion bandaged. Rambling speak, How does the pastor manage, A sermon a week? He lies to his sheep, Tells them of black men.
Gord
2015-10-06 12:00 am
As tradgic as future sound. Ground eventually hit tarmac, Inverse of the ultimate, Cut sleep, Cut meat, Cover rent, paid in freedoms. Beyond bent metal is bent men, Tragically beyond them the concept. One has freedom in their hands.
The Sophist
2015-08-04 12:00 am
A tale of two lovers, Who just couldn't chat, Agree on a child; So they cut two in half. Half of a heart and a torturous act. Kicked kids who were down, In the back of their knees, While they lay on the ground, Begging, "Help, please", Raising their funds as they cough and they wheeze. A tale of two brothers, A matter of fact, Who know what they want, So they plot and attract. Mending their hearts from the acts of their dad. Kicked kings who were thrown, On their backs with an ease, To be cursed to the town, No longer pleased. Wandering streets eating scraps of raw meat. Until the two brothers, One gaunt and one fat, Built a global chalet. The plan isn't bad; Physically wait for aversion to pass.
Gord
2015-05-06 12:00 am
Voice To explore the belly of the beast, Is to die for what you believe in. Countervoice: Explore the mouth of a dog, Finding nothing, move on. I implore a decision by partisan. Voice: As if I were to run ashore autistic, Circumventing a sky of no direction, Upon sunken ship of squalid condition. I prepare for no blockade partition, No handkerchief can adopt misdirection, So no thief can hold a cloth of gold. Countervoice: Mention again of the god-dog. Who sits at the feet of us all. Sub servant religious dogma, Poverty being stomping ground, If man is to answer a challenge, Who is to call him down?
The Paraffin One
2014-09-18 12:00 am
Classlessly the entire generation asks, Perchance who is to breathe this air? Perhaps they know not of gasses, How easy they are to acquire, wherever. Why not just call someone a thief? Why not a liar, or simple cheat? For selling someone a leaf, Calling gold that found among peat. Couldn't ignorance be but a plea? With no common ground to stand, Everything you see marketing fleas, Ticks suddenly drop in market demand. Concept, is a concept if you understand conception. The epitome of tomorrow claim they never got the lesson.
Gord
2014-07-30 12:00 am
The illumination now seems like magic, Flashing fights amid darkening background. Giants no longer able to wish to fight, Only to die to be back among the pack, To re-ignite, to fight from higher ground. Ironically battle is lost by those with the foundry. Their heaven lacked the fortifications necessary.
The Sophist
2014-05-06 12:00 am
Brown the new black, White the new Arab, A new wave of terror, The whole world is scared of. A new version of false flag, By creating false nations, Causing in artists a self-flagellation, All these rebellions are government run, Occupy is government run, The Arab Springs are government run, Benghazi was government run, Movies are made using government funds, Syrian Opposition on The Simpsons in 2001, A decade later formed in Syria, Why so much talk about guns, Alcohol, war, and marijuana? Using themes to denigrate people, In the very grounds that they run. Leaders were raised on Hare-Abian Nights, Now they kill Arabs for fun.
The Sophist
2014-04-10 12:00 am
It's not easy being green. It's not easy helping people make their own disease. My name is Unimportant; I carry scopolamine flowers, And I pay nothing for it. My name? I'm Confused; I carry scopolamine flowers giving greetings profound. Playing God of the hour, Fleeting bodies abound. Falter and fumble and fall to the ground; Witnessing light of a paradise found. Leading the blind, With my feeble eyes, Misplaced moral outrage, Attempts to rewind. To see druidic days, Where there's bodies unfounded. Peat bogs set ablaze, Simple murders unsounded, Lacking cause, Mental haze killing thousands, Our future disgraced, Pelves smashed and heads pounded.
Aharon Yosef
2014-03-25 12:00 am
The Lord, Change not the world, nor plans forget regard, Ground shifts beneath multibillion, Your God.
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-05 12:00 am
Picking up the Pieces The wind ripped up my roses, Tore down the tomatoes, Mangled the mint; Crucified the coriander, And the carrots. Belted the beans, Both French and Runner. Obliterated the onions, Lashed the lettuces; Bruised the beetroots. The mighty sunflowers sagged, And the potato heads were Pulverised to pulp. As for the apple blossom, It wilted with the weather. The snap-dragons snapped, The foxgloves fought well; But only went a couple of rounds; Till they too, joined the lupins on the ground. The hollyhocks held their heads up, When even the willow waivered. And I am left, Picking up the pieces. Dusti Rodes (2006)
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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