Gord
2018-04-12 05:46 am
His life a vine, with walls to climb, A sign of reeds, tall as the ceiling. It reads: peace on earth, healing. He easily remarks, needing, tired, With nobodies hiring he sings songs. Shouts at the crowd pink psalms, skimmed, Thinking along, forward and onward; Successor non, foreign legion stalwart. His heart a fire, with walls to climb, Passions fleeting, of paint peeling, With art to desire, of maxims meeting. Of dirt green, or fences mended, Grudge son's, however defenseless.
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Gord
2017-12-22 01:43 pm
Songs Synonyms, ideals integer, Mining mindful, crawling chronic, Words ironic, worries worthwhile. Silent as the wind, Tall as a child, Lifestyle sans desire. Flat as a minor, Primer climber, Reading wires, Scans feel like fire, Yet no ire legit, Life so swift, time so brisk, Irons tattered to bits, Squire denied his patronage, Choir so somber, violins singing, As if to start from a beginning, Would be a life so sad. Lambs branded, wrath grand, Laughing loud, farmer liar, Stanza stance awful stands, Awestruck by unknown view, New news of him: old news, Pandering Youtube, pandhandling, Fools loose lipped and no tools.
The Sophist
2017-05-18 12:00 am
Singing out loud For other people To hear it Feel it Steal the melodies I keep searching Myself For some meaning Breathing anxiously We just need some time to meditate and breath Like a tree our minds will open naturally Burning logs in the fire as we sing our songs at night Our thoughts oxidize, join the fire, and rise
The Sophist
2016-12-14 12:00 am
Whatever I did I did it myelf Fucked God and the Devil Miserable Accosting young rebels When I was a kid I sat on a shelf Hiding in darkness 'til I piss'd myself Not fearful of Argus A game where amid We sought and dispelled My mother found these Piss covered shelves No brother beside me She helped when I hid She'd hear if I yelled Instead she heard beveled Breakfast cereal Make music of rainfall Taking blame for the good Forsaking myself Fuck with God and the Devil I play songs as well Drawing crosses in trebles All over the grid I marvel at how When I look at these crosses They offer some help
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
Gord
2015-01-29 12:00 am
Voice 1 [name] lies slain, with no equal, Peerless upon the battlefield; No sword could cleave, No arrow shot could find peace, Only freedom. Now only the beast remains free, Feasting upon our arrows' fleeting; Damage so immense, I see no fleeing, Alas, only further death. Voice 2 Begone, for I fear not cancer. [name] does not meet demands; Will being not to die as asked of. Voice 1 Cannot a voice reach thy ear? Cannot a man be slain by sword, Common for the man of little fear? A million miles lies between us. Voice 2 My man does not fight to falter, Nor sing songs of issue paltry, Yet, alas, at last I hear him not. Only cheers of men which he fought. Voice 1 exits.
The Sophist
2014-07-30 12:00 am
Yawn, A boring thought, Moving on. Blah, The time we've fought, Force mignon, For nei' were strong. Plod, Reason/not, Such are battles, Which we ought, Discard to dogs, Trained to chew them. Humdrum, Through coral caught, Stone filled satchels, Path danger fraught, Mind's a fog, Not mad at you though, I'm only mad duly. Doldrums, I wish it would stop, I'm mad at myself, For letting this rot, I'm not just licking frogs, My croak at the moon shows, I only care truly, If you care about you. Pedestrian, Living life at the top, Panopticon cell, And fuck is it hot, But we sit writing songs, I croak at the moon slow, We make a pair fool-ly, Sympathetic, Two lives out of tune, At different ends of the spectrum, Beauty ensuing. Apostates to our parents' dreams, Too old for pride, But maybe peace. We'll love in long strides, A boring thought, Despite defeat, We still move on, Lows bolstering highs, Finding new regimes.
The Sophist
2014-07-24 12:00 am
Quick, snap some pictures so my friends can see my band. We don't have any good songs yet so they wouldn't understand without the glamour shots. Quick, take some stammered stills while I hammer shots. This will be the best band to make it the top without a strand of talent in our hands. Don't tell me how to raise my band. I know what music looks like; tactfully unplanned. I write Pizza Hut music like Ariana Grande. I expand, and so disband. My drummer had demands, and ignored my commands. My solo career takes stand. Quick, snap some more glamour shots so my friends can see firsthand depraved aspects of my brand.
The Sophist
2014-07-04 12:00 am
He speaks in subterfuge, He makes myth from animal bones, 'scribes visions of mothers viewed postnatal, He calls them "future you". He claims Caesar's final breath found you. He sees a subtle use, And has you build his thrones. He's too busy to view. He gives you your fill, You attack at his illusions, 'til your confusion is ill. I write folk songs for fools. Without steps I reach your homes, Crying disses of another's views most fatal I call them "false truths", I hand out bauble knives to the Fountain Youth, I burn the stable spruce, And make off with the stones, I take the dragons too, I live just to kill, I attack at your confusion, Pushing your illusions downhill.
The Sophist
2014-07-03 12:00 am
Another victory means I'm undone, Wars are lost where battles won, I can no longer fight with spirits dead, The bards asleep, the songs are done. Pyrrhus produced a record for fun, Ruined industry in one fell swoop, Breaking critics' thumbs, Sounds of cyanide group hit number one. Perhaps best to join the opposition, For fear that death becomes my own position, My army met attrition, Attrition proved a worthy foe. But if they come, I must not go, For I doth know, sky hide not sun, Nor drums, moon, cloud or snow. I'll shine bright 'til my gallows strung, I saved the Kingdom; Now I'm scum.
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-05 12:00 am
A Day in the Life I Morning Up early for a Sunday The clock says eight But even that's late For what we have to do And where we've got to be Breakfast hastily eaten A schedule that has to be beaten The taxi comes just on time The clock strikes the half nine The train will leave at ten So we have to be there then II In a railway waiting room People sitting Waiting for the train Some just there To get out of the rain The sun is starting To shine now Making the outlook Better somehow The fire Glows brightly Offering security In its warmth There must be a hike Somewhere By the amount of people Going there Dressed in their anoraks And their boots A passing express Gives warning toots Waiting for the train To friends Still far to go Before our journey ends Although having already Come this far Still there are miles To be travelled By car Sitting patiently, waiting For the train Marking time To the pouring rain III A ride through the countryside At our destination We are met Commiserations Hoping we did not get Too wet Outside the station They had parked the car Comfortable seats Our journey Not to mar We are off Through the countryside Making quite a pleasant ride Of our quest To the coast Never really deciding Which we prefer the most Ever onwards We are drawn Towards the outskirts Of Eastbourne IV Eastbourne Eating eggs Hard boiled Liver sausage sandwiches Cheese and ham Fried sausages Oranges too What a sight For people to view Throwing stones Into the sea Stopping to watch The tide roll in Then a walk Along the pier Perhaps to stop For a cool glass of beer Buying ornaments Made of glass Playing the games That made us laugh Throwing balls Into walls Listening to the radio In the warm Then on again It was said Towards the crags Of Beachy Head V Beachy Head Climbing up To the Bell Tower Pausing to view A lonely flower The long climb Winding a few The breathlessness Well worth the view On looking out to the sea So calm One could scarce believe It could do so much harm Then suddenly The gunshots Warning us of the coming rain So we quickly make our descent again The rabbit droppings In the tufted grass Is the sight I remember last The gulls wheeling On the wind Showing aerial acrobatics That Man will take A thousand years To conquer VI Newhaven When the tide Is full in It is a facade To walk along The esplanade At Newhaven For the angry waves Batter the man-made wall Persistently trying To make it fall Spraying Unwary travellers With showers of stones And the flying Sea spray That rusts Even the lamp posts Within a month The road to the west This is our quest Pass the ox-bow lake On the river That meanders Through the open fields Filled with Sweet smelling air The road takes us Past the harbour Where, the ' Chichester Star ' Lies anchored there Moored at her rest VII Brighton The Palace Pier On a Sunday Even in March Full of people Having fun Some lie on the beach Catching the sun That hides Behind the clouds Of the rain-filled sky But here we do not stay Perhaps I'll return Some other day The time has come Not to linger Drawn ever onwards By a wandering singer Dressed in sandals And in jeans Singing songs of the Changing scenes Sentiments felt By myself He did quote. He sang, Whilst I wrote VIII Shoreham Dark, dank and dismal Grey and grim Stands the power station The side, the day-tripper Does not see The squalid surroundings Of the industrial side Where the rubber factory Takes the coke works For its bride There, beside a mountain Of metal scrap Stands a fellow In a cloth cap Surrounded by Carcasses of cars Burnt out By long cold fires Wasteland covered With prickly briars Rubble strewn around Sweet papers, magazines Stones cover the ground The road carries on Pass the gasworks To playing fields Where people sit watching Others using their energy To a useless end A steel girdered bridge Spans the road Along by which The river still flowed IX Worthing Having high tea In the lounge Sardines, rolls Tea and toast Watching the sea Leave the coast Playing the pin machines With pennies Reading the paper To find the news Desperately needing To use the loos Off on our trek again Running from the Fast oncoming rain X Half a league ..... Destination somewhere In the west Selsey, probably At the very best Time, like the tide Rolling on Light of day Has nigh nearly gone The lights burning Along the road Turn from the palest pink To shimmering gold Eve draws on Darkness, soon to follow A level-crossing That isn't so level In fact, the road Looks like more of a bevel The road becomes Winding and long Making us remember The young minstrel's song Following the line Of cat's eyes Broken only By the sound of sighs A solitary star Guiding us, as of old The weather becoming Increasingly cold The long boring night Is broken By the bright lights Of the big service station At Crawley Say as they might To me, the most welcoming sight Was that of The Thorns pud At Horley Liquid refreshments For parched dry throats Although there was nowhere To hang our coats Having once Quenched our thirsts The road leads on To Billinghurst Then on down Cowper's Lane Just as it starts Again to rain In the comfortable warmth Of her home We are again Free to roam Tea for three And one for coffee Arguing who'll get to eat The very last toffee Onwards then, Homeward bound The car really seems To leave the ground Till the lights of Croydon Are encountered And as we are at our door " It was fun, we must do it more!" The two of us Climb the stairs Once again To all our cares Very quietly Into bed Nothing more It has all been said. Dusti Rodes (1975)
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