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"
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The Sophist
2016-02-22 12:00 am
The Sophist speaks of years forlorn. Breathing in the ears of corn. "What mercy does a savage make? What pity do the foolish take? They take one step, and nothing more." The Sophist speaks of emeralds. So green and dope for sure. So dope! So dope, Oh, And Green! For sure... Found but lost before, Lost for all eternity, Now He's found for sure. The Sophist still confused by waves, Playing seashells on the shore. Scarcely eats, Softly prays, The Sophist sings in uniform.
The Paraffin One
2014-11-04 12:00 am
This following poem addresses my peers: Clearly this year was reminiscent of past, In fact that nothing of value was cheered. Clearly this problem of chance is too vast, To ascertain we need a compass. None is available, so we fail by chance, Not lack of ingenuity to justify trespass, Nor the hypocrisy interacting with fans, No, some invisible god blocks our path; Impossible to pass, without empathy, Untold giants rest among the math, Turtles are shells, medicine is homeopathy. In regards to that, please take care. Next years forecast gives me quite a scare.
The Sophist
2014-06-30 12:00 am
I advise, 20 some-odd years of life, To adhere, To live for four more years, And the reason to live for; Four more years. Do I love you? I refuse to answer, So the answer's no, I walk home heart-broke, Coat-less in the cold, A propos of the wet snow. Carving names in cave walls with a bone, I plan a life before me in stone, Four more years for us all, And if the fall doth happen, Four more years for us all, I rise, Rags to riches and homeless again, No fear, In the four year plan. I devise, To never be homeless again, My reason to live for; My own device. If you want to run, I will take you there, Somewhere beautiful, Eclipses everywhere, Full-on inscrutable, Just live for four more years.
Gord
2014-04-03 12:00 am
I find fault at the way we speak. Common practice happens to be harmful. Why not cause change? Because It's not change you seek. You seek far less than mediocrity; Practice harder and ply a trade, Realize what it is to carry an armful; I find fault at the way kids speak; The common practices, owning Iphones. Of their needing to cause change. Of standing and telling me I'm the cynic. Standing with less skill than Dionysus; The propaganda industry only has 50 years; No readable peer review, judges or pundits. Industry fooling people into contributions. No revolution, strictly opaque movement. True knowledge occult only by emotion elicited. We just don't need a German Nazi Party revisit.
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)
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
2014-03-04 12:00 am
From ‘Blowin’ the Blues' #When a woman gets the blues, she hangs her head and cries, when a man gets the blues, he boards a train and rides ... # (traditional blues song, author unknown) Down in the Deep South, it can take three days to even SEE a train going through a station. Let alone have one stop there. I guess his story started on that fateful night back in sixty-three. Someone had just killed Kennedy. John F, that is. He was shot while driving in a motor cavalcade down in Dallas. It sparked off a whole lot of conspiracy theories for decades to come. Even after the death of J.Edgar. Maybe he took the truth to the grave with him! Who knows? I never really knew him then; I was but a little picca ninny on my momma’s knee, down on the plantation. Barely finished suckling on her teaties. Papa said he was ‘nothing but a no-good nigre,’ and wouldn’t mount to a pile of beans. Just goes to show how wrong some people can be. Sometimes Life can deal people a low card. With him it had thrown away the rest of the pack and was only using a deck of deuces and threes with an occasional four. And it wasn't shuffling them, too well or too often. He was what the white folk call 'coloured' not 'Black'. A mulatto and an albino one to boot. It was probably down to the unfortunate circumstances of his conception. His mother was 'Red' from Rhode Island. An 'easy lay' or so they say. But that was no good reason for her being gang-raped on the streets of Harlem now, was it? His startling appearance often provoked a strange reaction in most people. Raised eyebrows, spinal shudder and shoulder shrug of revulsion, or a sharp intake of breath on initial sighting were common. Standing a shade under seven feet, even with the stooping shoulders and strange way of holding his head slightly forward and lent to the left. Developed from years of attempting to listen with his good ear to what lesser sized folk were trying to tell him. His two hundred and sixty pound plus of bone and sinew barely covered by his leathery weather-wizened skin that had been exposed to the extremes of the elements for far too long. Long days of toiling at whatever work he could get. Bitterly cold nights spent in any shelter he could find. There wasn't any fat on that frame. Thirty-seven years of constant shortage of food had seen to that. Cody Jarrel, cut a vision once seen, that few would forget easily. If ever.... Cody sat slowly drinking the dregs from the bottom of the empty bottles left by paying patrons of the bar. He shuddered so violently, it wracked his frame to it's very core. Sheltering on the back-stoop of the Shanty Shack, from the rain that had been incessant in its task of soaking him while he tried to seek some sleep to rest his weary body throughout last night. It had succeeded, so he let out another shiver that clinked his spine. Down in the doldrums, yet again, the future was looking real bad for him. And little did he realise it then, but it was going to get even worse before it could get better. Much worse. Dusti Rodes (2007)
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
From 'Fixin' Fences & Paintin Pickets It’s all very well having a south-facing postage stamp sized front yard. Picturesquely encompassed by a white picket fence. But that makes the prairie outback a north facing wilderness that requires a multitude of feather-board panels six feet high by eight feet wide to prevent range wars with my neighbours. And after nigh on nine years now, they need painting. There's only one thing really wrong with this place in my opinion. The layout of the land. It's They say that there is something therapeutic about hand-painting fence panelling with a four inch brush. Long stroke up, long stroke down. Never side to side. Time spent alone with your thoughts. Having the opportunity to be able to meditate and commune with Nature. Well, after nearly three days of trying I for one haven't found what it is yet! Having spent most of the day sorting out the two compost bins, causing friends and family to hastily stand upwind of me whilst in conversation, I finally started my self-appointed task late Saturday afternoon. At the time the warmth of the Spring sun made the job a pleasant one, and even aided the drying process! But Sunday ... well, that was a whole different ball game! As I have said, the back area is North-facing. At this time of the year the sun doesn't get to most of it till much later in the day. so while to all intent and purposes Sunday's weather was beautiful, I spent most of my time shivering in the shade. And as for yesterday, Monday to you mere mortals, it was that cold all day that the brass monkey that had kindly offered to give me a hand had to have two emergency welding repair jobs! Come about three o'clock when I finally finished painting the interior of the fencing, all I was fit for was getting to a HOT shower in order to stave off hypothermia which I am sure had started to set in previously! When I was telling a friend about how bitter the weather here had become, she aptly described me as a 'human icicle'. All I've got to do now is start on doing the outside of the fence! Oh, Happy days! 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)
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-04 12:00 am
The Camden sessions I'd observed it for a while, His developing love affair, With the long-necked lady. Pretty in pale blue, Adorned in silver, Shining like the stars. The gentle coaxing to obtain Audible verbal response. The warm embraces, Fingers firmly plying Intimate places. To go where no-one Had ever been before. Or since. Alvin Lee? Oh, yeah, he was good, But he wasn't Smokin'. Fastest fingers alive, In my opinion. Eric Clapton? Rightly deserved the title, Slowhand, in comparison. And what Hendrix stole From Smokin's skills Is another story, completely. Long gone midnight, Silently sitting, slouched, On the sofa. Jist jammin' the blues. Echoes from deep down, In the Delta, reverberating. Needing no artificial amplification, Electric or otherwise, To portray the genius. Rampant riffs, Luscious licks, Complex chords, Paranormal phrasings. Rumour has it that Robert Johnson, Did a deal with the Devil, At the crossroads. Some say so must have Smokin'. There is no other way, That he could play, Like that. But I know the truth. He was gifted by God. And forty years on, I still feel humbled, And very honoured, To have heard the musical magic. Performed nightly in Smokin's front room, for an audience of one. Dusti Rodes (2007)
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-04 12:00 am
Ode to Martha My muse, a Harridan hag? I don't think so! Some have familiars, in the shape of cats. Others have Spirit Guides, Which are Red Indian warriors. I don't do all that PC stuff, And say they are Native North Americans! Me? My muse is a wizened old woman. I was killing time, standing outside the Hospice shop, Waiting for my watch repair to be ready. One split second she wasn't there, I swear, The next she was! She appeared from nowhere, I'm telling you! The encounter with the woman in the grey shawl. It took just ten minutes that was all. But it will last a lifetime. Mine. Was it real, or was it a dream? Was she a witch or a wraith? Merely a ghost or a gregarious goblin, In disguise? The situation certainly had all the makings of a mystery, And all the trappings of a thriller. The people I tell just stare at me strangely. Who wouldn't? I ask myself. I'd probably do just the same, If it wasn't for the fact, That it had happened to me. She came from the North, or so she said. Irmerston is a name I recall her using. More than once. Or was it that she had relatives there? Was I really 'touched by an angel'? There was definitely ' a laying on of hands', As in the biblical sense. Could this have been an encounter of the Fourth kind? Hebrews thirteen has a lot to answer for. She said she was eighty five. And had been a Mormon since she was forty. But in some lights I would have sworn she wasn't yet sixty. In others, she had a face that had seen more than a thousand summers. I've heard of shape-shifters, I never thought to meet one. Many say I talk at tangents, And maybe they are right. I do waffle on a bit. Never keeping to the same subject for long. Fleeting thoughts, Forever fluttering, Like a butterfly in its short life span. Over the last couple of years, The diagnosis of my chronic atrial fibrillation, Has caused me to consider my life expectancy. And to realise it may be seriously shortened At any time in the near future. But she spoke confidently and authoritatively, About longevity. Quoting several incidences of people living to a good age. Katherine Hepburn living to a hundred. Her long relationship with Spencer Tracy. And made it sound so matter of fact, That Katherine had given him a cup of tea, Shortly before he finally died. It was as if she had been there at the time. Her opening gambit had been to draw my attention, To a boxed set of Frank Sinatra records. Displayed in the shop window. As I intimated earlier, I'm sure I was alone outside that shop. And the sound of her speaking to me had startled me, Into realising she was standing beside me. She started by saying Frank had a daughter, Nancy. And a son, Frank Jr. She talked about his Mafia connections. When I retorted that rumours were rife, During all of Sinatra's life. But that he had never publicly admitted to the allegations. She intimated that the reason being was, That Frank had not actually done anything 'bad' so to speak. At that moment, she gave me the distinct impression, That she might have known him and his family intimately. But how could that be? I was becoming afraid of the enormity, Of the developing situation. So I made my excuses to leave, And she let me go wishing me well. We parted. Me going my way, she hers. I picked up the watch from the menders. It must have taken all of two minutes. When I suddenly realised the terrible mistake I had made, In cutting our conversation short. I began searching the town. Shop by shop. Each individual lane up and down. But to no avail. Seeming she had disappeared the same way she arrived. Suddenly. It wasn't till I was on the bus travelling home. Feeling thoroughly desolate. That I heard her voice again. But this time it was different. She was inside my head, talking to me. She said artists, of all kinds, Needed inspiration from time to time. And she would be mine, if I let her. I know now I made a mistake, I thought I was her 'mark' in the town, And she was just getting ready to put the sales spiel on me, To buy her that expensive bottle of sherry. That she said was the only one that she drank. She'd talked about many things, And how everybody had vices. Drugs, booze, cigarettes etc. She said how hers weren't too bad. Just a tipple now and again of the sherry, That could be bought in Tesco's. (Which had been across the way, From where we had been standing) At nine pounds a bottle. Here we go, I'd thought, Here comes the pitch; “Hard times 'n' all, for an old lady. You seem a nice person, Could you see your way clear to buying me a bottle, maybe?" This is why I had up and ran. But instead, here was she offering me the gift! Some writers have residencies. I am hers. Where we will go from here, is any body's guess. Just watch this space! But I do suggest you don't waste your time, Standing outside the Hospice shop, In the vague hope she might just amble along. Because she's mine, And I'm keeping her! Dusti Rodes (2006)
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