Lynn

2021-07-27 10:45 pm

what sleeps in the forest beside the highway?
what lays its small head on dismembered takeout boxes and curls up beneath plastic bags emblazoned with ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’?

does it give thanks for small polyurethane luxuries?
for the refuse it calls its refuge?

what feeds on the grease and fumes from the roaring mechanical parade? 
does it lick its lips afterwards?

what learns to cross the glimmering cement - first timidly, then wanton and triumphant after practice?

what watches?

what does it notice?

what emerges from the forest beside the highway, large and lumbering, to repay the generosity of its benefactors in kind?

Gord

2020-06-11 05:50 am

The bar too low,
A life in limbo.
Civil man elicit,
Dance too rigid.
Cancer, victim, 
Lance too frigid.

Is life another rhyme?
Saved for another time,
or just a bunch of lies?

Head and shoulders,
Knees and hipbones.
But does god see soles,
Planted into the beach?
How does god see souls,
Managed funds and stealing?
While reaching into homes, to take his piece?
A plastic man, made for shelves,
Laughs filling his fantastic needs. 

Kody

2020-02-20 06:33 am

Plastic bags to carry
Milk in plastic jugs
Plastic bags of cherries
Plastic plates with plastic cups

Milk in plastic jugs
From a plastic bin
Plastic plates with plastic cups
No plastic bags to put them in

From a plastic bin
Groceries with no papoose
No plastic bags to put them in
Markets say it's bad to use

Groceries with no papoose
So we can heal the prairies
Markets say it's bad to us
Plastic bags to carry

Gord

2018-12-14 08:22 pm

Walk ambles beyond,
Talk stumbles upon,
To write another poem,
Ideas like a fawn.
Appealing siren song,
My pen misguided,
My Ken to Barbie,
A life, component plastic,
Abdomen firm, mind naught,
Opponent, you cage her, 
For I cannot.

Gord

2018-05-11 07:30 am

Rhetoric plastic, poetic, exhausted, flat,
Writing financial, desperate, jotting of man,
Jotting of women, writing like Hopkins' cat.

Knocking, hawking, a life exhausting.
Like a bat, man wishing to live robin,
Honor lacking, yet adapting cotton.
Promises not lacking, action falters,
River flows, close your eyes,
Wake up to another life.

Gord

2018-04-24 03:17 pm

Poster of an omen, toking,
Dreaming by a plastic ocean,
Most fast forward, hopeful;
King of post, tasks chosen,
Still lives Midas, hands golden.

Lapland where they dig holes,
Smoke weed and dance poles,
Kings of the foal, antsy, cold.
The older they grow, though,
He loses his power, cowers,
Curses feeling, eats pantry.
Banishes his people of necessity,
Carelessly manages feeble himself,
Paddles the plastic ocean, relieved;
Departs common and flowers nothing.

Gord

2018-04-04 05:14 pm

Poster of an omen, toking,
Dreaming by a plastic ocean,
That most fast forward, hopeful;
King of post, tasks chosen,
Still lives Midas, hands golden.

Lapland where they dig holes,
Smoke weed and dance poles,
Kings of the foal, antsy, cold.
The older they grow, though,
He loses his power, cowers,
Curses feeling and eats.
Banishes his people of necessity,
Carelessly manages feeble himself,
Paddles the plastic ocean, relieved;
Departs common and flowers nothing.

Gord

2018-01-31 06:56 am

Letters written of nonsense,
Inner conflicts, profits,
Constantine of outfits,
Proud of their holes.
Opposite, of continents,
Sinkholes, swallowing,
Mere weathering problems,
All they do is disclose.

Imagine a world insolvent,
Overpopulated and cold,
Where fistfuls of dollars,
Are better off.
Plastic like the ocean,
Poetic hopeful, Scotland.
Politically motivated,
Heart emplaced.
However honest, lies of fate,
One defends an idea flagrant,
Upon a hill of nothing sacred,
Fairness being the continent.

Unless one wishes a life content,
In a country of many ferrets.

Gord

2017-04-27 12:00 am

Foreign art plastered,
Partizan attitude mastered,
World politics blunt,
Our pastor burnt,
Along with his frontage.

Decorum not fantastic,
Sheets plastic, drapes plastic.
Their hearts taken, affront,
Given pacemaker suns,
Along with fromage,
Some 21st century 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

Postcard from Spain

The deep blue Med,
Bleeding red,
With green seaweed.

Ten thousand immigrant flies,
Travelling in on the wings
Of the Sirocco;
From north Morocco.

The power of the Siesta Sun,
Making the sand in my shoe hot.

Luscious lips, not bruised
Neither battered nor burnt,
Grappling with grapefruits.

Paradise Beach,
Paraded with parasol palms;
Waves breaking
On a wind-kissed shore.

I may be bathing later,
I am still not sure.

A lone bathing beauty,
From the Lone Star state,
Ear to the phone.
Southern Belle;
Listening to Western Bell.

Had to go and see
My mountain,
Standing stark
In darkest Dakota.

Aqui,Casas de Lujo.
Here, Luxury Houses.
Cornish Cream,
Mandarin Palace.

Urban graffiti
In an idyllic setting.
Perfect paradox.
Jet plane trucking
Leaving tyre tracks
In the bright blue sky.

Sun-kissed shingle.
Sitting on a man-made rock,
The sea has shaped
To blend in with the shoreline.
Concrete clusters;
Indistinguishable,
From indigenous icons

Seaweed green, but yesterday,
Bleached red,
By the unforgiving sun today.
Granite granules,
Marble monolinths.
Sculptured saline symbols.

Yellow bouys bobbing,
Effortlessly.
Looking like a line of sweet corn,
Positioned precariously
On a willow patterned plate.

To my right,
A multitude of people,
To my left,
A hundred more.
But I sit here,
Surrounded by the solitude of silence.

Alone, with only my thoughts,
For company.
'Cept for the gentle breeze,
Whispering words of untold wisdom.
Gleaned from eons of eavesdropping,
On its many invisible travels
Around the globe.

The unseen listener of many conversations,
Keeper of Confidences,
Storer or Secrets,
Librarian of Lies,
Treasurer of Truths.
Spreading the gospel of God,
By the Mediterranean Sea.

I went away
And wrote.

Warm winds,
Helicopter hovering,
Gentle gyrations.
Drenched dog,
Bedraggled by brine.
Dappled writing,
Caused by the sun
Through the brim
Of my hat.

Beach-combing bum,
Scouring the shoreline,
With a plastic bag,
because of the hole
In my pocket.

Gone is the moment
For forced photography,
A thousand photos,
But only one picture.

Stranger on a foreign shore,
Leaving only footprints
In the sands;
Taking nothing
But memories.

Beached rowboats;
Wooden rafts,
Made from discarded
Wine crates.

Dusti Rodes (2002)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-04 12:00 am

A Modern day Cowboy.

 " But signor, if he is the best,
 With the Gun, AND the Knife;
 Then with whom does he compete? "

 " With Himself ...."

 ( Scene from the film - The Magnificent Seven )

 Perfoming with puppets,
 Plied from papier mache.
 Drafting drawings,
 Scribbled from sketches.
 Making models,
 Worked from wood.
 Crafted from clay.
 Moulded meticulously
 In metal.
 Pummelling putty,
 And plasticine.
 While leaving puddles
 Of Plaster of Paris.
 Working with words,
 In a wonderful way.
 That continues to paint
 Personal pictures,
 Framed in people's minds.
 Potter, Puppeteer,
 Painter and Poet.
 Writer & raconteur,
 Teller of tales.

Dusti Rodes (2007)