Gord

2015-12-08 12:00 am

Chance choirs made from wolves,
Lance fire no longer, proper,
Atlas' wait, the world evolves,
Society decays and dissolves,
Great heroes fall to the gossiper,
Sitting improper, upon gossamer.
Intelligence to fall en mass,
The spider man, revered for candor,
Perspires to fight the fault finder.

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.

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.

The Sophist

2015-05-13 12:00 am

A charge upon thee,
Assault upon my person,
Trigger of my dignity,
Myth'll make it worsen,
Find two and two as three,
Head hung beneath a merkel,
Abhoring Greek,
Abhoring Roman,
Abhor mythology.

Abhor to write or speak.
When weakness strong,
And braveness weak.
And as we sleep,
No longer fly,
No longer laugh,
No longer climbing trees,
Our dreams are gone,
As a treat,
We put pure reason in our mouths,
Infected with disease.

Veins infected too,
Running to my finger tips,
Swelling to the moon,
Back into my wrist,
Swaying to the tune,
In need of amethyst.
To cure me of my drunken state,
Kiss me with your teeth,
Make me feel your pain,
Then kiss me with your drunken lips.
Burn the greatest books,
Whisper greatest stories,
Slowly back away from bliss,
Lying down,
Accept defeat,
Merrily,
Ideas are but temperless.

Gord

2015-02-11 12:00 am

ACT I:
The brother of the first protagonist  challenges the first antagonist to a duel, during which the wife of the first antagonist interferes on the battle causing the brother of the first protagonist to be slain. The right hand man of the first protagonist slays the first antagonist in revenge, during which the wife of the first antagonist flees. The right hand man of the first protagonist is injured, and takes a much longer period to reach home than the wife of the first antagonist.

The wife of the first antagonist spread false rumors of cheating on the side of the brother of the first protagonist, and takes a secret lover as her new husband.

ACT II:
A long period passes and the first protagonist agrees to battle both the first antagonists wife and her new husband, who looks to regain the honor of his small kingdom against the wealth and influence of the wealthy protagonist.

During the battle, a man who looks alike to the first protagonist (second antagonist) shows up and watches over the battle as the first protagonist slays both the first antagonists' wife and her husband. As he celebrates his victory, the second antagonist slays the first protagonist with an arrow, and his right hand man disposes of the bodies.

ACT III:
A short period passes with no word of a victor on either side and the wife of the first protagonist has a breakdown, and she dies just before her husbands funeral.

During the ceremony the second antagonist shows up and declares that he is alive, and had just fallen into a river during their battle after slaying them both. A great celebration is held in his honor during which he does not question where his wife is until the right hand man of the first protagonist mentions it, which raises his suspicions. The Right Hand Man of the first protagonist is demoted whole the right hand man of the second antagonist is promoted.

ACT IV:
The second protagonist (RHM of the first protagonist) attempts to gain evidence against the second antagonist, however, the second antagonist falls ill and dies. The second protagonist gains evidence of the truth at the second protagonists funeral, but chooses not to reveal the sensitive information, and instead plans to slay the right hand man of the second antagonist, although he has reached a high ranking position since his arrival, especially as his name was left a large inheritance by the second antagonist.

Gord

2014-09-02 12:00 am

I transform retribution,
I collide with an enemy,
Destined for fusion,
Corroding my memory,
Crashing the computer,
That is me.

I open on pretense false,
In hopes to gain my loss,
Yet no fate goes uncrossed,
No face goes on unmarked,
No bullet grazes,
They self aim and kill marks.

In honesty,
I hope for their retribution,
Not believing what you do,
I find no institution for truth,
Investigations reveal soot.
To conceal boots under sock.
Truth should be implied,
Secrets shouldn't even be whispered,
When no secret knock is employed.

Among Imperials, two faces clash,
Destroying the child middle,
Purpose born was to protect class.
Among the tyrants, 
A sleeping dog,
His brother opposite,
A sleeping god, 
Purpose forlorn and meaning lost.
Shoot the gun across, regardless,
Trees grow from the river,
Implying a garden should exist.

Yet at the bottom I find no solace.
No mythical beast of which to conquer,
Nor mythical flower of to tame beasts.
So no feast among mythical followers.
Sewn feet no longer bother to move.
Brooms no longer even bother to sweep.

I see Cost front by the citizen,
Expected which are also to clean.
Past participle's partisan cuts so cleanly,
No partisan is left opposite to thee.
Clearly, No god laughs,
Sincerely, No god falters,
And no human shots cast,
Except into human carnage.

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.

How do we create such a melody?
Such harmony of utter melancholy.
How do we classify such insanity?
Such discourtesy on our society.
Such, bullets access and exit quickly.
Thus is the mark of beasts.
Thus a heart no longer beats.

Almost lack of mention was lack of faith.
Remembered and forgotten to become same.
All lost the castles of old days,
Only sandcastles remain standing,
Reminder of temporary management,
Of how well that pays.

I depart to vent,
Find myself post-traumatic,
I start to mention,
Find myself post-dramatic,
I mark myself bent,
Find myself post dragging.
Hoping to move forward,
Forgetting that lost in battle.

I sigh,
I realize that's not possible.
I stand purportedly screaming peace,
Screaming bullets purportedly corpse.
I stand in face of uproarious force,
Screaming should-haves,
Scoring for would-have,
Who now will manage.

Tired, I cast aside,
Casting stones seems now juvenile.
Especially in a world this finite,
Who needs to choir for killing time?
Button press' jest as being less vile,
Truth as masked chide,
Who now will bandage?

Gord

2014-08-28 12:00 am

How do we create such a melody?
Such harmony of utter melancholy.
How do we classify such insanity?
Such discourtesy on our society.
Such, bullets access and exit quickly.
Thus is the mark of beasts.
Thus a heart no longer beats.

Almost lack of mention was lack of faith.
Remembered and forgotten to become same.
All lost the castles of old days,
Only sandcastles remain standing,
Reminder of temporary management,
Of how well that pays.

I depart to vent,
Find myself post-traumatic,
I start to mention,
Find myself post-dramatic,
I mark myself bent,
Find myself post dragging.
Hoping to move forward,
Forgetting that lost in battle.

I sigh,
I realize that's not possible.

Gord

2014-08-26 12:00 am

Let god know I denounced.
Have it be first word of mouth.
So his command can cast doubt,
Provide shelter, sans house.

Let angels know I pray ascension,
Prithee be the small good remaining,
Ironically the faith of god wains,
His couch no longer provides training,
Only a paper trail of patronizing.

Gord

2014-08-15 12:00 am

Among Imperials, two faces clash,
Destroying the child middle,
Purpose born was to protect class.
Among the tyrants, 
A sleeping dog,
His brother opposite,
A sleeping god, 
Purpose forlorn and meaning lost.
Shoot the gun across, regardless,
Trees grow from the river,
Implying a garden should exist.

Yet at the bottom I find no solace.
No mythical beast of which to conquer,
Nor mythical flower of to tame beasts.
So no feast among mythical followers.
Sewn feet no longer bother to move.
Brooms no longer even bother to sweep.

I see Cost front by the citizen,
Expected which are also to clean.
Past participle's partisan cuts so cleanly,
No partisan is left opposite to thee.
Clearly, No god laughs,
Sincerely, No god falters,
And no human shots cast,
Except into human 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.

Gord

2014-07-25 12:00 am

The red sand on the red planet.
A new home for those disbanded?
The pack is no longer accepting of animals.
Acceptance is a past participle,
Placing indiscriminates in wheelchairs.
Athletes teaming, forced to be there:
It's more austere for those committed.
Picture this: A world full of autism,
With no conviction to tackle the problem.
As in, 
Extremism only applies to what I love.
Only the things I love matter,
No matter to kindred doves,
No pitter-patter,
No kids in love,
 because it's considered disgusting.
Life only applies to what I want.
When I want.
So give me the rights of the fully retarded.

The Sophist

2014-07-03 12:00 am

Another victory means I'm undone,
Wars are lost where battles won,
I can no longer fight with spirits dead,
The bards asleep, the songs are done.

Pyrrhus produced a record for fun,
Ruined industry in one fell swoop,
Breaking critics' thumbs,
Sounds of cyanide group hit number one.

Perhaps best to join the opposition,
For fear that death becomes my own position,
My army met attrition,
Attrition proved a worthy foe.

But if they come, I must not go,
For I doth know, sky hide not sun,
Nor drums, moon, cloud or snow.
I'll shine bright 'til my gallows strung,
I saved the Kingdom; 
Now I'm scum.

Gord

2014-05-14 12:00 am

I no longer scribble rhymes,
Rather my squiggles deny harim.
I charm snakes to pilot pilots.
Writing to merely appease the miser:
Metaphor of all those wiser than him.

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

' 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)

Gord

2014-02-28 12:00 am

In defiance, with pious hands;
To work like the common man;
but with plans more defiant; 

Losers to immolate in self-defense;
Slingshots no longer topple the Giant;

Fire deep inside her wished to deny it;