Gord

2014-08-27 12:00 am

My hero lacks discourse, 
Decisions made lack loss.
My hero lacks mustard,
Dry bread lack lustre.
Meat tastes like horse.

Gord

2014-08-21 12:00 am

No gain for loss,
No pyrrhic victory,
Due course.
No force of sympathy,
homeopathy, anthropology,
from the horse.
No, mostly poor choices.
Voices ringing with phones dead.

No voices in his head,
Scream morality.
of course.
No soldier gains a victory.
sans cost.
None recognize the courage,
of Hailey's comet.
So the gunfire blazes onward.

Amongst the slain, are the slain.
Those who shoot have bullets same.
My Deschamps is but modified Spinoza,
Which I modify to fit in holster,
As exactly as I imagined her,
Far above a reasonable caliber.
For a man who lacks resources,
For as a woman he lacked chorus,
Pestilence amongst the formal courtships.

Gord

2014-08-21 12:00 am

I innocently sat sidelined,
While sidewinder missiles,
Blackened and filled the sky.
They saw no oversight.

Then calamity, personnel,
Call out and rome fell,
The claim don't prose well.
Well, I suppose they don't.
But I never was no poet.

The Sophist

2014-08-07 12:00 am

Wave functions collapse,
Pitch blackens attack,
There's pressure in here,
Still, floating, relaxed.
Motion an act,
Motionless shadows expand.
World is but a Starship 3000,
Stand still with inertia intact.
All purpose for this study is incredibly wack yo.

Gord

2014-07-31 12:00 am

The wings and bonds of summer upon us,
The warmer months warm up on us;
Summer denounces winter, for lack of trust,
The lack of faith in its cold heart disgust summer.

W'ould bring upon us a greater bond,
Causes desperation euphoria then falter;
To fly upon the ocean, with lack of knowledge,
The lack of which is its fold into carnage.

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

2014-06-25 12:00 am

It all seems fine, but in the contents of Hell,
In the contents of Hell we find ourselves,
In these confines, context reveals,
It all seems fine, take no notice of flaming steel.
False conflicts too real, long to be alone teenaged.
Reconciliation unreal, plans set and are sealed locked.
Fools say both true and false can be nice,
Consistent and lacking of.

Gord

2014-06-25 12:00 am

It gets better, not in the context of health, 
In the context of health we need some help.
In this complex, contents are sealed. 
It gets better, complicated of locks of steel
Cause continents to kneel, or to be a lone teammate.
Re-invigoration repeal, cancelled and revealed false.
Truth of anything else would be nice,
Instead of the lack thereof.

Gord

2014-06-20 12:00 am

Truant of answers they ask questions.
How dare you darken a world?
How can you blacken a pearl?
Life lessons and cheap metaphors.
By having sex with your girl,
After her father finished with her.

Gord

2014-06-16 12:00 am

Those with arsenic bedfellows, exposed.
Due to the TV show they gained exposure.
Closure to a chapter of chaos and rapture.
Posturing to a new hope, classically,
In hope that he masters poseur culture²;
How dramatically he captures folk,
Beards sip wine in¹ balcony of their brother.
It's the framework of laughter;
Silently I laugh as they excuse them both³,
Rendering their will less valid, excusing oath;
Adopting a framework of passtimes,
Instead of finding, lying among those guilty,
Chastising the filthy for soiled torn clothing.
Discarding carelessly the heart of an oak,
Instead of seeding they favour blind hope;
Sans man, would the trees still grow?
Forlorn will animals flourish?
The hands of man conceive the future, though,
Often he lacks the means to nourish.
The man will scream of price of grain, though,
Often he just lacks the means for omnipotence.

Footnotes:
1. latin for 'on the'
2. i.e. hipsters
3. unnecessary explanations given

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

2014-04-11 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

2014-04-10 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.

Gord

2014-03-27 12:00 am

Sandwiches,
I lack the dishes to cook, so,
Bun, Mustard, Mayo,
Ham, Cheese, Bun, on a plate.
Here what I'm saying?

Gord

2014-03-07 12:00 am

I am the Koala that eats eucalyptus.
Additively good as cigarettes is.
I embrace my lack of education,
I can never become king of the matrix.

I am the Human, who also thinks of eucalyptus often.
In my dream I can see leaves, each just as delicious as the last was.
I barely find time to write rhymes,
I am busy gathering more eucalyptus.

I am the prophet, sought after and brought forward.
My eucalyptus addiction has brought me fame and regard.
Retards were entertained by my antics, and I danced with the stars.
Afterwards I dashed back to an apartment, ate eucalyptus for hours.

ENVOY
God, do you hear me?
I beckon thee for leaves.
Not just for me, but for all the people.
The greenest Euc from the finest of trees.

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

* 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)