The Sophist
2016-11-17 12:00 am
It's you I want I just mean Do it Want me I'll scream Drown them More feelings Of wanting Longing For something Aloof Trot of the hoof Fall from the floor Land on the proof Smile at the whore Missing her tooth Trying to score Good times with the roof Ease to cool her Down and pass out Songs of abusers Speaking of peace Echo through darkness Then she falls asleep For something Standoffish I just mean It you whose the problem Not me I just solve 'em I can't be wrong 'Cuz I'm peaceful And honest And a really chill guy If you don't mind me talking At lengths just to show I'm not racist I'm mocking Their race 'Cuz it's funny Not Angry Just Loving That Pain From Above Automatic Dark static Creatures of habit Throwing outrage around Myself I won't have it Outraged at myself Myself never planning To be holed in a cell Living under you bandits You won't have it yourselves Yourselves being outraged At all of yourselves For all of your work Education and health Yell at your brothers Strangers Mothers Escaping from hell By throwing dirt At the world Insurmountable selves By the billions All with a version of self I'm doing it now Laying a seed To expand And develop I mean I just want to scream These guys I girl dog about I'm mad 'Cuz I'm me
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Gord
2016-11-15 12:00 am
Classical antiquity in his eyes, In the future he sees nothing. No hummus made of pain, No main containing animal. How will his likeness continue, With same vein, similar virtues? In the mind propaganda becomes true. Selling Kerchiefs with his likeness, The future becomes today, Yesterday's pathway impassable, Except for by train. A smile in the rain.
Justan Mitchell
2016-05-04 12:00 am
When my peripheral vision glanced at her she did not resemble the Queen of my dreams, not the Cleopatra whose footprints roamed across my back. Instead she painted her own impression upon me. And due to her own flare, I've grown tense to taste her plate of truth or dare. If you have not gathered the info yet, her Irish sunset over Germany before her floral scent approached me. Then I looked and her twinkle with a smile seductively manipulated the process to be hooked. And I am not speaking of the kind of love that "fictional" novels boast. In noticing her high esteem I could not retrieve in memory, surroundings that clearly reflected my wantings. Never to resemble a member of my mental figures of infinite atmospheres, and it is now clear, she was waiting just two steps to the right in the mid of night at a club for those who write. The next lesson is the next blessing, and I think she likes me too! But I'm not speaking of the kind of love that boast lust or that funny feeling from romance novels, not even the wish one makes as "Jeanine" awakes from her bottle. I am writing this for you. Your artistry equates to what my heart's song translates, and I can relate. The Proof of your mental weight has positive potential packed in places beyond superficial positions of great! All of this and I still can't pronounce your name, which leads me to say that I'm and glad my dreams have already been played way out across the intricate workings of Nature's space. And our collective destiny has been predetermined so what will becomes of it, is what we add to IT. Oh and by the way it is nice to know that chocolate is still love and that spirits still connect and grow, yes it is nice to know. Justan "Potential" Justan Mitchell Dangerous Soul Life
Marcus Bales
2016-03-20 12:00 am
Clevelanders are practical: they see A chance to make some money off the rich And near-rich who make up the GOP. We want it to go off without a hitch And keep the fearful bastards spending free For rooms and food and drink and sex for which We'll smile and hustle, taking every trouble To earn big tips and charge them more than double. The Trump supporters think that they are clever Well, let them think that everything is sunny; We Democrats are smart enough, however, To make sure nothing happens that's too funny While we make sure our principal endeavor Is separating Trumpies from their money. We march here to an economic drummer; It's going to be a profitable summer. They say that violence may be Cleveland's diet If Donald Trump expresses his frustration. Not to worry, though -- it will be quiet. Not even Trump's most fascist agitation will prompt the local Democrats to riot If Donald doesn't get the nomination: There just is not enough white trash around To get a good disturbance off the ground.
Gord
2016-02-19 12:00 am
Today is but a fragile future, Flying high above our own wisdom, Too humble to nurture our own lambs, Ouroborous of the past come from within. We would smile upon our cattle truth, Passing as the horses coming through. Alexander of the trade has gone forever, Accordingly should we also become nothing? It seems apt for our most static people. Hopefully to procure funds for a sequel.
Gord
2016-02-02 12:00 am
Sun shining, Days simply spend inside, Producing music, mp3 and wav files, Meanwhile I see my Aunt smiles, Her son shining shoes up in a crack house. I'm pretty sure she's looking for my 26 thou, So i ask her in the heat of the night. 'Tell me, How does the world look so bright, through dirty sheets and a black gown?' She replies down.
Gord
2015-10-29 12:00 am
Common amongst cannon is balls, Steel walls and inevitably, Grim death at the priory. Chance meeting inevitability, Trading stocking cap for beanie, Fortuna smiled upon him, Hammock soldiers now needy, Priority is the thugs have their street, Rather than classes chance meeting, Fleeting as their hatred may be.
The Sophist
2014-08-07 12:00 am
Don' be 'fraid just don' come back. Don' plan attacks on modern days. They don' like us 'cause we're free, If "free" means happily enslaved. Raped every day but with a smile, Hostility like Abu Ghraib, Graves stone but a worthless trial, We might as well carve frowning faces, Omit names and write words only in dirt. There just write "fags". "Junior pupil at a private school nailed by nerds." Then just laugh at it. Muslims aren't depraved, Lennon even spoke at large of living in a bag. It's freedom in a way, Think about it, Living without caste, Judged only by your spoken word sans judgement 'pon your face. They sort of make a case, I'll even take it off if you can find a private place, It's just less of a disgrace. To think my mid-pubescent beard could not effect my fate. Ignoring shit we hate, We could probably find a pace that we can all relate. Chill music but still rocking in your face, Fat bowl of potato dill salad I created. Personally, I like war with lots of laughs; It can be great. Nothing personal, but I'll crack 'spic and nigger jokes all day.
Kodyboi
2014-05-07 12:00 am
You have to swear Swear to love loving me, This trailer will last forever, We must have a story-book ending. With a happy end game. I swear to never go away. I swear to never put aside, The things I'm gonna say. To the stagehand, I will never confide. Use your eyes only to look at me. Use your piss-soaked, whore mouth, Only to kiss my whore lips. We are branches of the 21st century. You can laugh only if you laugh at me. You can cry only if you cry for me. Forget what you're condemned to be. Can't you see? You filthy cur, You always were, You always will be. You used to Willoughby so nice I should see a doctor, Who could keep trains from hitting me. But A jealous woman would suffice, She makes it easy to see coffers. She knows I'll defrost to keep pace. Opinion will change, but at steep cost. It also may take a while, So smile for the time being. I'm feeling poor in the stomach, My head is spinning and I feel like a fool. I think it's about time I change the rules.
The Sophist
2014-03-25 12:00 am
Dammit, why? Scenes go by when hips moved side by side, Striding by wayside before waving good-bye, Parallel shutting her eyes; My shoulders shudder when boats pass me by. Before air was too dry, Before I was too late to try, To crack a smile to the heavens wry, Asking why. Dammit, why?
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."
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