Aria Rozo
2017-08-28 03:53 am
The coming winter should mark the death of my love, yet there is nothing to kill. For her unspoken words burn deeper than sunlight, light The Eclipse could not seal. The torrent is relentless Shakened, awake is the sea A sacrifice asked of fate For every victory Yet I've lost And so, you, I've won only for the smallest of eternities
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Gord
2017-07-13 01:16 pm
Past tomorrow I see no lecterns. The horse speaks, lack luster, Words worthless, and everyone taking pictures; Girls wet as many pitchers, Barn doors close windowless; Blissful peace again, Silencing planes overhead, Standing tall as clouds, Power small as a child, Foreign tongue, power bottom, University educated, Now you've got 'em. Maybe whispered tomorrow, Today lives in industry, Claws large as the gut, Staged imagery for one; Paper mimicry of a doll, Feigned apathy of a sun;
Avreen
2017-07-07 06:24 am
I sat under the tree glancing nearby, hoping to find someone who could see me cry. Dreaming about a happier place, I stood up and walked speeding up my pace. I saw a girl sitting on the green bench looking as if trying to hide, Just like me maybe no one was there by her side; and with loneliness surrounding and head down she suddenly looked up gazing around. Seeing her face, I turned back in trauma and saw something which I could never forget "Why do you look back? This agony and pain ruined my life Its about that rain of acid which turned my cheerful life into a life so vapid". With tears all gone, I held her head high "there is no need for you to cry." You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen and I am not lying because I totally mean. All punishments for the guilty are too small, it is now time for him to fall. I then realized that in this world of misery and sadness, there is a lot to see Even the acid victims have the right to live just as a common girl like me.
Gord
2017-01-19 12:00 am
Those who kill another standing, Are said to be of stone and iron. Bean counters politic to the throne, Are somehow revered and desired. Despite their lack of remorse, And passionless fire. Their life a metaphor of climbing, Smelly, poor, and small minded.
Trey Scott Wharton
2016-03-24 12:00 am
Sound. Light. Vibration. Energy. Symbol. Letter. Word. Sentence. Paragraph. Writing. Lyric. Song. Dance. Therapeutic. Healing. Perception. Transparency. Emotion. Existential. Esoteric. Darkness. Light. Duality. Mirror. Truth. Art. Life. Death. Fear. Love. Awareness is vital. Knowledge is power. Art is life. I am a part time self sustained independent investigative journalist. I am also a writer and I like to put my ideas into poetry and art. My focus areas: to analyze, measure and expose corruption, manipulation, exploitation and extortion within corporations, governments and religion structures. I love my job. =D ♡☆ So. . .in Star Wars. . .do you ONLY blame the evil emperor, or do you acknowledge the Storm Troopers part in the atrocities too? Now compare that to real life. The Empire HAS NO POWER if there's no Troops to follow the evil orders of the War Mongering Elite Banksters. So let me get this straight. You think it's bad for our taxes, money, and time going towards free and proper education, free food, free health-care, free energy, and housing to our own nation, but you're perfectly fine with a fake Federal Reserve ponzi scheme bank that's a private owned mafia organization driving us into debt slaves, and funneling our money into Isreal and going to war with almost every country that's not us to steal their land, gold, oil, and drug reserves? And if we say we should spend our money on us and Peace, you pull out the bullshit card and call us slackers and that we have to earn and slave for our shelter, food, health, and energy. Sometimes, you have to stop being politically correct, stop being nice, stand up and say fuck you and your war mongering, and your stupid. Quit excusing people's actions. Your patriotism is a joke. You blindly follow the lies of the Elite, and don't even research what the industrial Military Complex does with your taxes. And your blind patriotism supports the canon fodder churning out of young men to die early at commands of rich old men lusting for power. The whole entire system needs uprooted to follow the path of Peace. ☆It's time for the end of the Rothschild-Rockefeller Empire, the Federal Reserve, and for Israel debt.☆ The United States government and it's military IS the terrorists. Let me say it again, with no sugar coating. . .ahem. . .THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT AND IT'S MILITARY IS IN FACT THE LARGEST MOST CORRUPT TERRORIST ORGANIZATION ON PLANET EARTH. I am a pacifist and I will NEVER support war, mass murder, genocide, and institutionalized indoctrinated violence. I do very much respect our MISLEAD fallen troops, but I do not support our corrupt terrorist military. "Just following my orders" No, follow your heart. Support for the constitution of the United States includes looking out for enemies and threats both foreign and domestic, such as the terrorist cells within Washington DC, known as the Legislative Judicial, and Executive branches that prostitute war and indoctrinated institutionalized violence. I fight for Peace for all Nations and I will settle for nothing less. These wars are NOT for freedom. They are attacks on other countries, while they defend themselves. They are conducted for the bankers, the Rothschilds, the Rockefellers, for the Federal Reserve, the CFR, the IMF, for Israel debt, for Wall Street. For those leaders who profit from war and do not fight the battles themselves. For the evil greed of rich men behind the curtain and racket of war. For those who want to secure and dominate other countries oil drugs gold and resources. Politicians are puppets for the banksters and they won't change the game. Don't vote for those who stand for this. Send a clear message. Watch their actions, not their words, and see where their loyalty belongs to. Have them discuss the following: The Monetary System, The Federal Reserve, Fractional Banking, Rothschilds, Rockefellers, Bilderburg, Debt Slaves, Voluntary Servitude, the 14th amendment, The Basic Income platform, The Venus Project, International Monetary Fund (IMF), Council of Foreign Relations (CFR), and The Bank for International Settlements (BIS). I would love to watch them try to dance around these topics and try to distract you instead of actually addressing these issues. Peace is attainable. You just have to want it extremely bad. You have to want it like you want the oxygen to breath. ♡ Be warned, I'm about to reach out and touch your soul and your mind. Make sure it's lubricated. I have investigated. I look around the world and I'm exasperated. To be quite honest I'm nauseated. Countries and innocent citizens being annihilated. The money system becoming hyperinflated. Our water poisoned and fluorinated. Our food and air contaminated. Populations being dumbed down and heavily medicated. Our consent taken away in terms of being vaccinated. Women and children murdered, abused, appallingly fornicated. Laws infringing on morals and becoming overregulated. How in the hell do you not feel violated? Tyranny, famine and genocide being tolerated, incorporated and indoctrinated. Ecosystems being destroyed and violated. Animals, any species other than human initiated from birth into the human's horror of slavery and mass genocide and a daily basis. I see the injustice and I'm beyond aggravated. Even worse is our own government is behind many atrocities being generated! They decieve us and have us horrifyingly manipulated. This Truth is not false, it isn't hallucinated. Open your minds and you will see the Truth illuminated. This bullshit has me consistently frustrated. I've just gotten escalated, surely quite animated. The world's views are backdated, segregated and unnecessarily complicated. Our views on "wealth" has been sadly misappropriated. Why has the quest for peace been procrastinated and stagnated? Love and Peace has me fascinated. Mother Earth has me infatuated. Her Love has my mind wonderfully intoxicated. In any form, any medium, World Peace for all species needs communicated. People need to be compassionated and realize we are all one, not disassociated and discriminated. We need to get coordinated. Our minds need stimulated. This hate in the world has got me suffocated. Our message of love will make the hateful disoriented. The Powers that be do not have me intimidated. Their hateful opposition has me delightfully invigorated. Our cry for humanity needs to be illustrated. Your expectations for me have been severely underestimated. You didn't realize the power of my voice, surely miscalculated. I speak out and stand up for what I see, and I've become alienated. I've become isolated. My focus in life has been alternated. I'm liberated. Watch out, I'm opinionated. My mind is emancipated and sophisticated. I'm exuberated. I'm properly educated. My learning has become accelerated. My pineal gland is activated. My speech is articulated. My knowledge has accumulated and cultivated. My mind has just masterbated. My Truth is unadulterated. My Truth is authenticated and certificated. It cannot be debated, negated, nor be invalidated. My stance cannot be negotiated. People's ignorance has me unequivocally irritated. We are all meant to be loved, every species, not dominated. You should have seen me coming, should have anticipated. You should have appreciated. I cannot be compared, duplicated, or assimilated. I've studied the world and I've become acculturated. Everyone, we need to unite, our bodies, minds, and souls detoxicated. Our momentum will not be deviated. Our drive towards peace has become obligated. Powers that be want us depopulated. They want us fractionated, our minds distracted and fragmented. Powers that be want me and my voice incarcerated. And before long...I'll be nominated, legislated, after that inaugurated. Once I'm in office, war will be iradicated, violence eliminated. World Peace will be estimated, a new regime approximated. Tyranny deactivated. Hate evaporated. Black Ops secrets iradicated. I might be assassinated, but my message will live on, celebrated and circulated. The quest for peace has been reactivated. ♡ You speak in tongues. Surreal. I see through you. The veil. The curtain of forever. Illusion. Can it be truly so? Disillusion. I'm wide awake, Only to see the dream. I got the world on my shoulders Troubles rolling like boulders Throw dirt on me for mistakes No love in these high stakes I see through the games Guilt flows and blames Diamonds showering the mind Physical dimensions buckle and bind Truth distorted by distractions The future preys on my actions Delusions bring me to my knees Pursuit of happiness in the breeze Current rushing as I swim upstream Merrily merrily life is but a dream. The rabbit hole Investigative mole Tumble tumble Society crumble Fraud amuck Now your stuck Head full of doubt Fight to get out Once was blind Explore the mind Examine the pain Within cultural stain Authority a joke Let's peace let's smoke To be a good man lost Swimming in a satanic sea Devil's fire or devil's frost What the hell do you want from me Sitting here in contemplation Dreaming of my reclamation Change up style, I cry, I boast Missing what I miss the most Heart tucked safely behind my wall Hold resistance so I don't fall Stole my innocence from me jerk To get it back I'll have to work I see you, you sadistic fuck Counting time, on the side of luck You may hold me captive in your world But my heart will shine unfurled. I'll never join your dark side The light follows me in my stride I know your scared that I'll begin For you know you'll never win. Every night I go to bed Horrors running through my head Demons cheering like they've won I wish at night I had someone To wrap me up, hold me close Stroke my hair, love me most Whisper in my ear those sweet lies Sing me those sweet lullabys Tell me everything will be alright Help me get through one more night I lay my head down to rest. Hoping to escape you. Nay, foolish fleeting hopes You haunt me in my dreams. I wake and you haunt me Through my days. Day and night Yin and yang Around and around we go. You make me sad You drive me mad. Yay, I can never be rid of you. But yet if I could I would still never leave you I chase my tail I moan I wail But I will always love you. My heart sways My mind disobeys You hold the latch key Suffering on one bended knee I try to tell myself to resist Try to guide solely through the mist That lonely road through jungle wild You make me feel just like a child Forever reaching for destination Into your arms or to damnation A bond that cannot be broken Cosmic love, words unspoken. Colors of magic and mystery Your vision makes the tapestry. Cannot be duplicated nor compared Your impact, my heart unprepared. You know how to make light bend Darkness forever on the mend. Phantom Pain. The thing that's missing is the thing you feel the most. Makes it hard to forget. They say time heals all wounds. It's not healing this broken heart. Forever damaged. The Ghost in the machine. The phantom shadow. The delectable game of hide and seek. Peekaboo. I see you. Search and find. Finding answers only to gain more questions. Yin and yang. Round and round. Dark and Light. Esoteric and existential. Flow like water burn like fire. Everything all at once Balance and stumble. Rise and fall. The Game. The Dance. All we have is the Dance. Hold my hand. Be my song. As above So below Reap what you sow You are what you eat Stop eating meat Meat eating is the leading cause Of your death, disease and flaws Big Pharma and FDA With your life you pay They don't want you healthy Than they wouldn't be wealthy Stop believing their con game Research it or yourself is to blame Living the muggle Hustle and struggle Got a fast track dream Paddling life upstream Reap what you sow As above so below You are what you eat Savages killing for meat Humbled by the Truth Clark Kent in my booth Throw on the costume red cape The public will smear and rape Your name because you dare To rise above societies sick snare Plants have protein and health Public forgetting about true wealth Sacrificing a heart for a taste bud Squandering spirit growth in mud Do you now see the term mudblood? Humanity spewing genocidal flood. Zoos are cages, Humanity's prison Can't see it than you didn't listen Can't handle hypocrisy so hide In your butchery kitchen confide With your fellow savages alore Bang my name against the floor Healthy alternatives on the street In this game I got you beat Erect a wall and expect me to climb Truth through rhythm and rhyme. ------------------------------ "They poison the air They poison the water They poison vaccines For our sons and daughters Call it conspiracy But it doesn’t phase me Watch some world Star Hip Hop And see if I’m crazy Dumb upon dumb The dumbing down worked They can’t answer a question But they know how to twerk And before you think That you’re any better With your degree in hand And pocket protector Answer this You voting for left or the right Illusion of choice In a rigged fight Television for Multiple personalities One watches “News” The other “Reality” Both have the same owners Both have the same writers Both have the same purpose To kill our desires Working our jobs We are now so complacent Photographing our food Is now entertainment We can’t afford thrills We can’t even relax Can you even clear your head Without a Xanax Or Prozac or Ambien Go down the list Who gave us these issues That Big Pharma can “fix” They say harmful ingredients In such small amounts Can’t hurt anyone But it’s paramount 69 doses Of vaccines Is what’s on schedule By the time you’re 16 Pharmaceutical Lobbyists Are second to none In the past 7 years They spent $800 million That’s chump change in investment return Once you see Cancer alone is a $500 billion dollar a year industry As I mentioned before This is ONE of the ways They’ve taken control Of the people these days We pay to be poisoned I know that sounds nuts Got a computer Bill Gates thanks us Watch “Innovating to Zero” Gate’s Ted Talk stand To reduce carbon emissions A population control plan In his own words Here is the goal “If we do a great job with Vaccines, Health Care & Birth Control” Look at the millions of dollars He’s so generously given To make geoengineering A cure for emissions Look up at the sky Contrails, my ass Gates talks about sun blocking With sulfuric acid That shit rains down Into our water supply Seeps into our crops You can see the trees die Maybe I’m crazy Or maybe I’m not But there’s things that I notice That happen a lot Like when important bills pass It’s “sleight of hand” so you miss Don’t look at that Hey, look at this On April 18th, 2013 CISPA passed During the Boston Bombing During the scare of Ebola The UN passed What essentially is A Global Patriot Act You know, The Patriot Act, that excludes Due process for the nation And leaves extremist Up to interpretation Which leads to things Like TSA, Guantanamo Bay And invasions of privacy By the NSA If you have nothing to hide Why do you care about this Because of the things that make you A suspected terrorist Owning a gun, or precious metals Activism is too far Or rocking a Ron Paul sticker On the back of your car The “Read The Bill Act” Is proposed legislation That requires Congress to read Bills proposed for our nation Are you kidding me It’s not common sense To actually READ the bills Are you that fucking dense Oh, get all offended By the word I just used You should be offended By what’s in your food Reading the labels Of the food that we eat Requires a linguist To get a science degree I can’t pronounce Most of the words on the list Let alone know What the hell that it is They don’t want to label What’s GMO But have no problem labeling A race, religion or homo Labels on people To further divide To make us forget That we are divine I’m not a Socialist But I am entitled To my personal freedom And to protecting my child And I refuse to ask permission Before I speak my mind Like they teach the children in school Before they form a line Don’t get me started On education Our kids didn’t even make top 10 When comparing the nations But we were #1 In defense spending We’re the great war machine And the war’s never ending In all our high schools They’re trying to recruit The next generation To strap on the boots To protect our freedom But we are right here So why are they sending All our kids over there Bribing them With free education You’ll see the whole world While you bomb all the nations Protecting our freedom Or oil interest again Or use economic hitmen to establish A Central Banking System And when you come home After war messed with your mind You can live on the streets And commit suicide I mean no disrespect To those who’ve laid down their life For the love of the people They paid the ultimate price I’m just pissed off At the lies that are told By government puppets To get wars sold And as we’re on the verge Of World War 3 It’s our DUTY To question the powers that be But by all means Pledge your allegiance To a corrupt government Who stripped all our freedoms With the world’s highest Rate of incarceration Making huge profits For privately owned corporations Contractual agreements Are all in place To keep the cells full Of various inmates Doesn’t even matter If they’re violent or not Then promote thru the media That there’s a war on cops So that upstanding citizens Will then start to defend Our men and women in blue Who have swore to defend To “Protect and Serve” But that’s not the case at all Supreme Court ruled their only duty Is to uphold the law So it’s not to serve the people It’s to serve the state That’s why there’s more cops writing tickets Than investigating rapes I hate ending on negativity From all the above Because that’s not who I am I’m about peace and love And if your perspective is different That’s alright I’m not trying to argue I don’t want to fight And I’m not trying To change your stance But please research Cognitive dissonance It’s a hard pill to swallow At least it was for me But once you get past it It’s really quite freeing And frustrating, and depressing There’s ups and there’s downs But I’m thankful I know What I know now Because now I can try To help my kids To change how things are In this world that we live If you don’t hurt others Or infringe on their rights I’ll defend your freedom Till the day that I die We don’t need rulers to govern Because power corrupts Just defend one another And spread peace and love"
The Sophist
2015-10-26 12:00 am
Dreams in retrospect viewed. No different than the rest when in viewing. Knowledge dissecting truth into smaller units. Methodological skepticism without self-refuting. Meditations doubting everything true in fake fables formed during youth, phantasming a demon by which we're utterly fooled. We goofed; trusted senses fool-proofed with no proof. Jiving to a wonderful groove. We lived in the exterior world; above my demon's roof. Your senses are lying, your dreams are not separate. Even your innermost thoughts are a ruse. Have a good night at work, while away the time brethren.
Gord
2015-03-12 12:00 am
Voice 1: Voice 3 best friend. Not a yes man but extremely loyal. Voice 2: Wife of voice 3. Frail and cautious, loyal. Voice 3: First protagonist, rival of the first antagonist, husband of voice 2. Cautious but extremely loyal, very wealthy, especially in comparison to his friends. Initially friendly with voice 5 until the death of voice 4. Voice 4: Brother of voice 1, good friend of voice 3. Foolhardy and Quick to fight. Voice 5: King of a very small kingdom. Comparable wealth to voice 3. Foolhardy and loyal. Voice 6: Wife of voice 5, secretly the main antagonist, posing as a frail woman. Voice 7: Second husband and lover of voice 6. Regretful and contemplative, but loyal and easily manipulated. Voice 8: Antagonistic philosopher who uses his inherited fortune to travel and does as he wishes. Disloyal yet foolhardy and quick to fight. Voice 9: Right hand man of voice 8, foolish and easily manipulated by voice 8 and his false philosophy. Extremely polite and intelligent on his own, but loyal to his friends foremost in front of them.
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.
The Paraffin One
2014-10-02 12:00 am
Upon the throne, no one will falter, No deeper prose, nor dragon exalted. Asia proceeds onward in laughter, For the west has loans now defaulted. Conceding mass fortune to misspent wealth, Preferring concert above eating well, Discoursing doctors say priority on health, Referring to a disease that fell, Not preventative well being. Nor representative of the well read, For mass appeal is just seeing. The senses infinite within a small thread, Only known to those rolling with laughter, Callused so thick they survive the rapture.
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.
The Sophist
2014-03-12 12:00 am
Seek introspection elsewhere. I'm here to burn my hands on incense smoke, Telling God stories of my trysts, Of all the times he missed. To a world I doubt is there I'm yelling my plans to an absent bloke, telling God stories of my dick, Of all the dames I dream it chokes. Vocals crack on air, The priest is watching alone. I stare the beast in his eyes, and keep yelling despite. I draw a circle, a square, Triangle, circle, and begin to invoke, Two homunculi inside, The smallest circle defined. Behold, contrast and compare, Presenting the Philosophers Stoned, Their knowledge is blinded, And wisdom unwound. Priest still watching me stare, I rub ash on my forehead and go, To the front of the alter, No foot dare to falter, I scream and still nobody's there. <img src="https://www.aspoet.com/src/img/avatars/philosopherstone.gif" height=300 width=300></img>
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
' 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)
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-05 12:00 am
" This next piece of writing, contains strong sexual content material and graphic language. Many people find it both harrowing and disturbing. It depicts and catalogues a series of true-life events. The names have been changed to protect the innocent, of which there is one; the laws of libel prevent my naming and shaming the guilty; of which there are many." * Reader discretion is MOST STRONGLY advised - As it may easily offend. For this I make no apologies. Events like these are happening HOURLY all over the world at this moment in time, and society as a whole SHOULD be doing more to prevent such misery " ........................................ " IT CAN'T HAPPEN HERE, .....CAN IT?..." It's Sunday, She's staying at dad's flat tonight. She adores him; With the trust that is naturally instilled In a child. Dave, her father, Plays cards with his friends; While she watches, smiling. The pot is short; It's his call. He must make amends. Forty pounds is the bid. With a knowing nod, Colin folds his hand; And taking hers, Leads through the door To she knows where. The now empty bedroom That she sometimes has to share. Shush - don't make a noise; Your stifled cries, Will frighten the toys. Who sitting in silence, Can only watch. As Colin slowly unzips his trousers, And loosens his belt another notch. Her favourite doll, alone in the corner, Draped across the wooden chair; Can but bear silent witness To the saddening pain She experiences there. Next day, She is driven to school; By her dad. In a tatty Volvo. Be-spotted with rust coloured Splodges of primer paint. A stark anachronism Of Swedish sexual liberalism The grubbiness of the grey, Mirroring the semen-soiled nightdress; Of the night before. The paint spots, Ghostly echoes Of dried blood stains Splattered on the white fabric. Heralding her lost innocence; That she would need to wash out Later in the day. When she finally returned To the living hell That served as home. He pulls in at the pavement Saying yesterday was fun And that they should do it more often. He tells her to take care of herself. Sick joke, what? But no-body's laughing anyway. Deprived of decency By her father In that he doesn't even open the door. She rises from the well-worn seat And gets herself out Just like countless Whores before. In some final bizarre sexual gesture As he slowly drives away He also discards the now empty Crumpled, finished cigarette packet Aimlessly through the window Into the uncaring street. It in its turn, would be picked up By some scavenger hard up On his or her luck Anxious to discover If it held any small delight. And on discovering not, it would Be consigned as worthless rubbish And be discarded yet again To a life on the streets. Until eventually, battered and crushed By countless uncompromising souls It would cease to be recognisable For what it once was. Circles within circles. Such is the life we lead. Four friends, sit Sharing girlish giggles. Talking tampons and towels. Discovering the inward Functioning of females For the first time. Smiles, over sharing Secrets of sexuality With their mothers. But she's not laughing. Sitting in the classroom She is longing to tell, someone, About the happenings Of the previous night. To be able to unload All that crushing fear; That is building up Within her frightened frame. Afraid to go home, She hangs around after class Anxious to explain her reasons. But no-one is listening. Nor can they read The pleading in her scared eyes. So she goes home alone, again. Sitting watching television, A break from the drudgery Of endless days Doing household chores. Fear strikes her heart As she hears the key Entering the outside door. Because the washing has taken so long And about it, she cannot tell; The dust she hasn't cleaned From the TV Only causes her mother again to yell. Her anger quickly turns to rage; Followed closely by a beating, And another verbal tirade. Then follows the shouting And the slapping. The angry name calling Infers that someone is a whore. Leading to her being pushed downstairs And landing on the hall floor. She pushes Amy into the cellar cupboard, Then callously locks the door. Leaving Amy, cowering in huddled fear, Upon the dark, coldest floor. Later, in her room, Curled up, tearful, Trying desperately to block out the pain. Lies listening to her sad sobbing. She closes her eyes. Escaping sleep is not easy in coming; But further along the hallway, Someone else is. Urgently calling for Amy Beckons her to her mother's bed. There, between thrashing thighs, And deep moaning sighs, Amy is forced to give her mother Sexual 'head'. Coming home, To the usually empty house, She cannot help but notice The smart car Parked outside. Putting her key In the door, As she has done So many, many times before; She is met by Geoff, The new man, in her mother's life. On the surface He seems very nice. Picnics of strawberries, wine And chocolate ice. And even washing up, Afterwards. School sports day comes, Giving her the chance To exercise her rights As a child; To youthful fun. Sack race successes, Loud accolades. Hiding the depths of depravity, That lies dormant. Buried deep within. It starts with a present, At bedtime. " Put it on, and come and show us how it looks." Simple games, Amongst the adult friends. Pictures are taken. Childish at first, It soon turns nasty; Leading to lewdness and lechery. Removing Geoff's trousers and pants, While her mother looks on; And laughs. Then starts the painful ordeal Of nightly rape. And the utterances of the threatening lie That if she ever dares to tell someone It would surely cause her to die, After a time, She can bear no more Of Geoff's disgusting behaviour. Goes to her father's workplace Hoping on hope That he'll prove to be her saviour. She tells him all That's been going on; And could she come to live with him, Please? Fraught with anger, Fired by fear; He goes and gives Geoff A beating with a garden spade. In his frustration at failing To protect his daughter From this pair of human animals With their filthy habits so degrade. Then he storms out, Leaving Amy to receive Yet another beating From her mother. That leads her to being locked In the cupboard Once again. The broken shard Salvaged from the shattered Kitchen window By which her father had entered Proves to be the key To successful self mutilation To which Amy administers Readily. When the time comes To leave her old school The teacher's reports proclaim That Amy is both clever and wise. But they all still Just sit and listen While her mother Continues to tell The same pack of lies. How Amy sits reading Quietly, in her room, For much of the time. And how she's always Out playing with her friend; But that is untrue From beginning to end. The teacher says Amy could do With really coming out of her shell. Hopes that she'll enjoy her new school; And with that, she wishes her well. Sitting with her new found friends, Thinking that this place, Could indeed be really cool. Then one says, Someone is trying to greet her, From a van. Parked outside the school. She peers across the open courtyard. At her father, who's come to meet her. Full of reasons, Why he hasn't been more often. Excuses that money has been So short lately; Sometimes he hasn't eaten. Now he's come to take her out, About the true reason for his motives, There still exists more Than a little doubt. Having bribed her, With a Big Mac meal, With Coke and a Cadbury's Curly Whirly, He apologises that he has no more sweets; But if only he had more money, He could afford to buy her Lots of treats. Then the unsubtle suggestion, That she could really help Daddy, Just by working the nearby streets. Standing on a dim Lamp-lit street; In her denim jacket, And her flowery Short length skirt; Wearing virginal white gym socks, with matching plimsolls. Her long hair , shining, Looking very much her age. Having only turned thirteen, But for a little while. People, from which she Should get only love; Blatantly exploiting her sexual genes. Although she cannot spell Paedophile; She is painfully aware of what it means. " For a wank, charge'em twenty five quid, If they want a blow-job, charge them thirty" Practising that will corrupt her mind; Into believing love and sex, Is always something That is sordid and dirty. A sexperienced competitor, In these matters, Gives her, and her dad; What amounts to a friendly warning. This particular spot, Is her pitch. And her pimp Will not be so tame; So her father, Just moves on with her, To somewhere else. In his dubious quest It would seem he has no shame; With his repeated attempts, To get ' on the game'. The local lorry park, Proves a likely playground; For the sort of games, He has in mind. Providing a service, For all kinds Of men. The young, the old, and the lonely. Not the actual full sex, though: But just your blow and hand-jobs only. Making sure that the clients, Come in style; Being very sure to use a condom, All the while. He does a deal, Just for a full blow-job; " You know how, don't you, just go and suck his prick; It'll be all be over in a minute!" But it doesn't just take that quick. Squatting, She gives a blow-job To an unknown, Standing man. While her poncing pimp Of a dad, Sits smiling, In his grubby little van. Suck, suck, sucking, On a dirty, crusted, Foul-smelling prick, That's making her feel So, so sick. Wondering why it is That when you Want them to, they can never come Really quick. And when it's finally finished; She finds the smell of sweat and semen, Has left her feeling Really sick. Dave, buys her silence, With a fiver. Then he takes her back home; Double quick. Dusti Rodes (2009) POSTSRIPT TO ' IT CAN'T HAPPEN HERE. .....CAN IT? * " Children have the right to be listened to. The messages that they give us are often painful and disturbing, and challenge our capabilities to actually hear what they are in fact saying and take them seriously. Our conditioned instinct is to recoil from what we are hearing and deny the reality of what is being said. The act of sexual abuse of a child involves a fundamental betrayal of trust, and an abuse of power, which has devastating consequences for the child. Undermining the basic requirements of a child for relationships built on trust, that are both dependable and loving. This gives rise to the premise that children not only have to be heard but also need to be healed from the trauma of such experiences. The child's right to be respected as an individual person should be unquestionable; but it is a long way from being generally accepted within our society."
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-04 12:00 am
The Lady in Red Inspired by John Ogden's painting ' Be she a Falcon or a Dove ' ( 2009) Puddles of pigment Of red and white, Bloom like flowers in the artist's palette Likened to a small, wild garden. She poses provocatively, Dignified but still self-conscious, Against the wide blue screen That forms the night. Robed in ravishing red, She stands bathed In Lady Luna's soothing light. While the evening star Plays shimmering consort. She did not fail to see The symbolism held Within the artist's eye. The meanings of her life, Captured there before The paint could ever dry. The Venetian mask Behind which she hides, Masquerades the pain of her past, Blood-red. And the golden promise of things to come. Are reflected by the candle's gentle glow. Lighting the way to her future. Marley said we all create Our chains of pain. Forged one link at a time, By our misery. Hers was a string of Pearl. Individual incidences, Joined by circumstance; Seeking to keep her, Forever fettered to the past. But the key lies in the roses. Poetic echoes reverberating . Be she a Falcon or a Dove ? A raven-haired temptress, Or an angel of love? A scarlet woman or a painted Lady? Hence from now onwards, She will be known only, As the Rose. Dusti Rodes (2009)
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-04 12:00 am
In the Wind The lonely nights. They were the worst part. The long hours spent building the bike. Burning the midnight oil until the cold light of dawn took over the illuminations. He sat, oil-stained mug in his grease-decked ham of a fist. Java's best, steaming, burning his throat raw with every lug. Was this his thirteenth or fourteenth today? He couldn't remember now. The massive doses of caffeine failing in their allotted task of feigning off fatigue; the accumulated grounds covering the mug bottom in a remnant of Mississippi mud, deep, from down in the Deltas. The first finger and thumb of his free hand were deftly putting the finishing touches to the joint he was rolling. It was a little art he'd picked up during his frequent stays at Her Majesty's Pleasure at various establishments around the country. His makings lay strewn over the old table that served as totem-factotum to his needs. Diner, workbench, even pillow on multiple occasions over recent months. He raised the cigarette to his lips, and with a single action that comes with years of practise, sealed it with his saliva. With it now ensconced in his mouth, he reached for the lighter, lit it, and took a deep toke. The sweet smell permeated his flaring nostrils, while he drew down the smoke deep into his lungs. As he exhaled, his heavy eyelids closed momentarily. The necessary effort required to open them again proving too much in his tired state, he allowed his mind to wander. Where had it all started? When was it now? Pour quoi? The combination of drugs and fatigue was fast inducing sleep, which only served to confuse the thought processes he was desperately trying to assimilate to no avail it seemed. The auto-jumble sale in Birmingham, that was it! That's where he'd first seen the bike, and realised its potential. An ex-WD combo. A 1948 six hundred cc, single cylindered side valve, from the Birmingham Small Arms company. With a camouflage green paint job. 'Distinctive', the vendor had called it. Hardly Milwaukee Iron, but beggars can't be choosers, can they? He'd only paid two hundred quid for the lot. And the seller had thrown in set of front suspension springer forks from a 1949, M20. The 500cc model that the dispatch riders normally used in the wartime. They were standard equipment on both the combination and solo set-ups. And they were chromed already! Save him a fortune that would. He'd altered the rake on the steering to an inch and three quarters over stock. That'll give him that low-rider effect he wanted. Just like Peter Fonda's in the film. Dusti Rodes (2007)
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-04 12:00 am
Jazz Duellin' "Some people spend their whole lives, and not hear the sounds stored insides 'em. Forgits the notes, jist plays the music. We's alls gots 'em. Black notes, white notes, notes that's been done stretched, even bent ones. Theys orl ins there. It's hows youse use 'em, that's the trick! Whethers you beats 'em, till they is blue; or you coaxes them out gently likes fine wine from a bottle, it's up to youse. Some folks puts 'em in orders that mosts don't even finks of! And that's olrights too. It's up to youse. Jist gotta finds your own ways o' makin' 'em sounds... It's orls I kin tells yer..." He hadn't played the piano in a long time. Disillusioned, downed by the drugs, That ran riot in the community and company that he kept. He had drifted away. Somewhere. Anywhere. But there. Harlem could frighten even the strongest of souls. And he'd never claimed to be that. They called him Cajun. A remnant of time spent in New Orleans. The honky-tonks, the seedy bars and the backroom bordellos, That he had often frequented while down there, In what seemed now like a hundred life-times ago. But he was back in the old neighbourhood. He'd come for the funeral. One of only a few true people, He could call friend. Word spread like wildfire, as it does in these times, That he was back in town. At the graveside some of the old crew ambled over to him. Asking the usual stuff. How's he doing and the like. Told him they were holding the wake at Creole's Place that night. And would be sure pleased to see him there; The brother being a friend and all. When he walked into the Place that night, He was greeted by a sight he had almost forgotten. The air was thick with the smell of stale beer, Rotgut rye whiskey and weed joints. The lights, they were turned down real low. But people saw him standing there, And still took the time to say hello. He hadn't even been nowhere near a piano, In a long while. They had seen to that. Six years in the slammer cramps a man's style. Lithe fingers, gone fat. The used-to-be so supple sinews now taunt. He flexed 'em. They fought back. The spotlight on the stage area, Reminded him of those damned searchlights, That had sent their searing shafts of light skyward. Cutting into the darkness outside his cell, Night after night. Robbing him of the only escape available, To the inmates of the hell-hole. Where he had been incarcerated .... Sleep. Creole, the 'Fatman', on bass fiddle, 'Bleedin' Lips' Murphy, blowing blues horn. 'Skins'Duval, up there on drums. The Fatman called out, coaxing for him to come up on the stage. Most folk never really hear the sounds inside them. But some can't help but create, The music they were born to make. Cajun was one of those. He hears the roar rising from the void within. Like a volcano. Molten music, Stirring deep in the depths Of his frame. That must come to the surface, Like lava, straining to escape the confines. A piano is made of wood 'n' wires. Hammers big and small. Ivory keys that need gentle, Or sometimes even firm coaxing; To give their best or better. To some, it's just a piano, A boxful of sounds. A mechanism for making music. For others, like Cajun, It's an extension of the soul. The drums, they spoke something. Grumbled, mumbled low. Real low. The fiddle responded with a taunt strain. The horn blew for all it's worth. The note long and very low down. Somewhere deep, deep in the depths. They were having a conversation, Wanting Cajun to join in. To leave the safety of the shoreline, And strike out for the deep water. Then Creole started beating the box, With his waxed bow. Stacking the blues. Coaxing, urging, Cajun to take up the thread. Waiting for him to do things on the keys, That showed he was wading in the water with them. And Cajun answered them all. With authority. The dialogue became a monologue. The piano was doing the talking now. All everybody could do was but listen. In awe. The riffs and licks spoke with an urgency. They told of places, That none of the others had ever been to. Describing pain, that few else had ever felt. Diving to depths of despair, Unplumbed by mere mortals. But Cajun had been there. Seen the sights. And he was telling everyone. That which he had experienced. Reliving the roller coaster ride, That his life had been so far. And he took all those, Gathered there, that night. On the journey. Dusti Rodes (2007)
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