The Sophist

2014-08-25 12:00 am

New day intrinsically.
Prone intrinsic sleep,
A world so strange,
It mocks the sane,
Or so it seems to be,
As two arrange for three,
Plan the day,
Hours wane,
So one can live in peace,
Intrinsic wake so suddenly,
Search for cables in a rage,
Time is locked away.
Twenty minutes after three,
Moon falls soon from the trees,
Longing for to stay,
Now not time for play,
I clean myself and peace,
Work for eight or so at least,
Bike home,
Bus if there is rain,
Smoke a bowl then meditate,
One by one prepare the feast.
Deranged I aim to vaguely please,
People bitching in my face,
Keeping up a steady pace,
Intrinsically return to sleep,
New days for eternity.

The Sophist

2014-08-15 12:00 am

We walk, sleep, and love at same time.
Never touching same land,
Maybe we have seen same clouds or birds.
It's super deep; seabed at high tide.
Such height to withstand;
Able to perceive high twos as thirds.
Gifts like Hebe; she gives a young mind.
Youth-centered slow man,
Thus in dreams; youth in ancient worlds.
I derive order from a simply beautiful life.
Beautifully skilled stoneman,
Carving life for himself in beautiful strides,
My woman is a strong plan sublimed,
Though I'm sure a leap could suffice,
With her I see that without her I'm blind.

The Sophist

2014-07-30 12:00 am

Once a me wan't blissing his kings.
One said, "You bring me down fool,
You'll be the next that I fling."
I know not the world, 
But knew he could toss,
He flung fools via sling.
I'm no albatross, 
I thus fear the sea;
Whose direction it faced. 
As a favor for me,
If only poor kings flung us fools to their dreams.
I dream of a land filled with kings being fool-led.
Currying favors for an all-curry feast with warm drinks
 and stale bread.
Instead I packed my bauble knife for that night I fled.
In stead understanding this king was a beast with no
 heart in his head.
Once I peaced though I pissed on his rings.

The Sophist

2014-07-21 12:00 am

See depths of apathy,
In lengths of hair,
Like half of me there,
Other half in'other room,
Gaping blankly it stares there too,
Too, too, thoughts like lasers shooting off
 in my mind,
See depths of beauty filling my eyes' seas,
'splayed 'round the front of my being,
All this beauty is mine,
Even you are in the bounty,
You are the wind, the sail, the boat beneath
 my feet.
You move me.
You are a seed that grew toward this
 ever-falling tree.
Freedom gnaws at nature,
A crutching being what's need.

Gord

2014-07-03 12:00 am

Soul searching, to quench my thirst.
Burning coal. Dense smoke. Smouldering.
Yearning whence, we control the hearse.
Returning self-control and sense,
Only to those left shouldering.
Soul surviving artist dreampt the worst:
All of my love to her,
All of her love in return.
All for I have yearned.
Once dreams do I now incur,
Nightmares embraced with au revoir,
Left to die without concern.
Simply to never again be reborn.
Chorus Sings.

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.

The Sophist

2014-04-25 12:00 am

Self circled in dirt,
Drawn via stick,
To conjure Lapland giants,
Keeping them sic,
Self free from hurt,
To conjure vagrants and larrikins,
Doing battle in mine eyes,
Cain's mark upon my lamb skins,
Letters in twine.
Speaking names in droves of demons,
Melodic tunes 'twixt thought and time,
Emblems of the saints and spirits,
'Mephisto, please, appear and rise!'
Ut appareat et surgat Mephistophilis!
A basilisk thus clouds mine eyes.
'Switch form you beast, but please don't die!'
Smoke appears to change the guise,
'Return to me Franciscan Monk!'
By magic I am blindly drunk,
Mephisto doth appear to me,
Apparently, he says, with ease.
But apparently his own volition,
Per accidens he blessed my wishes.
'I charge thee wait upon my life,
Do what Sophist shall command,
Be it moon to fall from night,
Oceans all to swallow land,
Orient wife with adjunct girls,
Harvest the seas of opulent pearls.
Surgat nobis dicatus The Sophist!
Pray devoutly to the prince of hell,
Confounding home with Elysium,
The Sophist;
To Whom Sophist dedicates himself.'
Conjuror laureate beyond control,
Mephisto a piece;
Mystery whole.

The Sophist

2014-04-21 12:00 am

In the name of women's rights,
Two young men get pissed and die,
By the blade in his own hand,
By the rope he himself tied.
In the name of women's rights,
To never find out why,
To never hear converse opinions,
A mental homicide.
Bitches screaming loudly,
'til their voices touch the sky.
A lot of them are guys,
Barring men from their own brethren,
In the name of women's rights.
Hoards of them unite;
Birds in search of civil war,
Spread their wings in flight,
Planning only in the sun.
They tear away the night,
Blocking doors and bearing torches,
Forcing entry via fight.
As such, I fear I might,
Find my way to unknown speaker,
And be confronted via knife,
By fanatics without wives,
Or fanatics without husbands,
Living stark perverted lives.

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.

The Sophist

2014-03-18 12:00 am

Dwelling in the desperate,
Hermitage of my heart,
Life is apparent, 
Yet it appears to be not,
As it seams,
Cupid's eyes blinded by cloth yards,
Shooting at places unseen,
And all the arrows' arc,
Landing on me,
Heart changing by second,
Changing more in between,
This Cupid gone blinded,
Young, fat little fiend,
Now days pass idyllically,
Lost in the breeze,
Days Simon Iff spends searching the trees,
His goal has been set,
Simple Simon sets free,
Hiram Abiff in the woods on his knees.
Arms cut from body,
Both hands full of dandies.

The Sophist

2014-03-07 12:00 am

Hoeryong Concentration Camp,
Saul-ri, North Hamgyong, North Korea.
Google Maps can see it;
The place where he was raised.

Hooks through shoulders dance;
Three generations relieve it;
Crimes against human spirit;
Humanity crazed,
Choose to not believe it.

See Kitty Genovese,
In a nation void of peace,
Cries out for help.

Markets open and diseased;
Meth soaked in teas.
Get high;
Accept defeat.

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

WOLFGANG

 Harley riding,
 Snuff taking,
 Mah Jong playing.
 German Hell's Angel.
 Holding court daily,
 From his pool-side seat.

 The family man,
 Playing with his boy.
 Joking with his wife.
 Making instant friends,
 Of the strangers that he meets.

 Sharing a day to themselves,
 Doing nothing in particular,
 But everything in general.


Dusti Rodes (2009)

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-05 12:00 am

In a Japanese Vein

 Koi

 Fisherman,
 Solitary, seated,
 Beside the endless water.
 Wherein the single specimen
 Silently swims.
 Casting a line that leaves
 No trace on the still surface.


 Bonsai

 In Japan, it is Bonsai,
 In England, it is August.
 It will soon be the Fall.
 In both.

Dusti Rodes (2011)

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

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

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)