Rob Rutledge

Rob Rutledge Mar 2021

In the shadows of stone mountains
Down a fragile ancient road,
Past streams and dreams of glory
Lay a leader bathed in gold.
Haunted by the battlefields of his youth
The forgotten weight of halos old.
A poltergeist of progress
Found downed outside the zone.

Cast off by players unknown
Pretenders covet the Apex throne,
Where Aculites fight like demons
Exorcising respawn beacons
Necromancers in the Thunderdome.
While Tom seems indisposed,
Locked up and throwing rocks
Mocked by the gulag and the snow.
Though we really should have known
The esteemed leader was on his own,
His chute just would not open
Slowmotion to the sound of Chopin,
Commander falls just like a Stone.

Rob Rutledge Aug 2020

Cadence

The evening seems to sing,
Choirs composed by currents
In obscure keys of humidity.
A lone songbird takes the lead,
Percussion provides ensemble trees.
While the very air we need to breathe
Suffocates, stifles, tries, and succeeds
To bleed the breath from laden lungs.
Throat pleads, begs, and bargains
To demi-gods and heathens,
Deities and demons,
Every creature beneath this sun.
Let this molten grip
Slip
If just for a note,
A beat,
A pause from the pressure.

Silence is a treasure
To be savoured not measured.
Sweet cadence of relief.

Rob Rutledge Jun 2020

Master of the Night

There was something in the air that night
That lent itself to magic let the stars shine bright.
While the light of ageing suns fight to be
The one that might ensnare our sight.
Midnight binds the heart to minds
As minds forge constellations
Carved slight on the evening sky.
Those lines cast in stone
By worn hands long ago,
Tempered in the crucible of time.

Before we reach those warring stars
Or trespass on a wandering Mars.
Before we waken Saturn's rings
Or question Jupiter's reason to be.
Before we knock on Neptune's door
Or wonder if Pluto is rock or more?
The Moon seems to have taken flight,
Conspicuous by its absence
It slipped out of sight
Assured of its command
The master of the night.

Rob Rutledge Jun 2020

The Falcon

From the depths of chaos we departed
Chartered passage to unknown shores,
Past forests and deserts of solitude
To the walls of an ancient war.

Though those walls would crumble,
Rumble, as if of thunders roar.
The silence served would deafen,
Beckon all toward fate's door.

As our feet grow ever weary
From eerie path trod cobbled floor
And souls succumb to violence,
Tyrants of terror but nothing more.

Our shoulders bear the burden
Of verdant lands long lost to time.
The sun-scorched pastures rotten,
Forgotten laws and untold crime.

The serf shall not suffer the baron,
Talons shall pierce their skin no more.
Enwrought by the breath of dragons,
Falcons are born to soar.

Rob Rutledge Feb 2020

Franky

Just ten years old
You're smoking that indo.
Kicked your dad in the shin
Jumped out the window.
Didn't know which way to go
Down the street.
You took a left but you left
With no shoes on your feet.

Franky do you remember?
All the cracks in September
Amsterdam's not far away.
Franky do you remember?
All that's left is the embers
And a sense of slow decay.

Rob Rutledge Jan 2020

Ouroboros

Carry no fear in your heart
Nor on your shoulders, shame
For the end is nothing more
Than the start by another name.

It is strange how we yearn
For what we have never known.
Nostalgic for a time long past
Before our seeds were sown.
Homesick for a feeling lost,
For a land so green and sure.
For a shore we have never seen,
For waters that have never graced
Nor lapped our weary feet.
For a space we thought was ours
For the darkness that hangs in waiting
Between the gaps among the stars.
For the peace we have never found
For the war we have always sought
For the feelings we seldom caught,
For the love of all unbound.

Carry no fear in your heart
Nor on your shoulders, shame
For the end is nothing more
Than the start by another name.

Rob Rutledge Dec 2019

Windswept

Would that the windswept blooms
Played soft through a valley's morning dew,
A while rested by sun scorched dunes
Embarked on path neither old nor new.
The wind shall choose what it will do,
Which leaves it leaves and those it shall use.
From forrest dark to desert twilight view
An acorn lays a haunting tune.
Song shines bright modicum of truth,
That we are but sand, swept away anew.