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Rob Rutledge Jul 2014
And all I can think of is waffles
Rob Rutledge May 2015
He passed a preacher in hazy,
Misty, London streets.
Whispering sermons
From cracked shoeless feet.
None would stoop to
Cast a passing ear,
To the words of a man
With nothing left to fear.

He told tales of love,
Tempered by the light of reality.
Love of money,
Love of greed
And all the objects of fiction
We imagine that we need.

"To each let it be known!"

"None of your possesions are yours to own!"

"Leased out for the duration of your time!"

"From house to car and from the body to the mind!"

The passers by barely noticed the guy
Who spoke from the heart
With the words of the wise.
The wisest words they would hear for weeks
Lost among the
Hazy, misty, London streets.
Rob Rutledge Sep 2012
Today I put down the pen
And raised my sword,
To charge down a path forlorn.
Past a river of scorn
That lies in the shade of
Humanity torn.

Branches that weep
And overhang this road,
Stand sentinel, skeletal and cold.
They whisper to us yet we shan't be told.
Now far gone from all moral code.

There are no good intentions
Once cursed by interventionist actions.
You sir shall ******* steel,
Eat well, for tomorrow you will
Dine on your final meal.

The trail of treachery is long,
And shall last till all bitterness is gone.
All that now remains
Is a feeling to try explain.
The thought that lies dormant in my head;
What's done is done,
No good can come from the dead.

With a sigh,
I put down my sword.
And withdraw my pen once more.
Rob Rutledge May 2012
Take only what you can carry,
Only what you need.
Just enough to feed and water
You and a faithful steed.

Forget the path well trodden,
That will not help you on your way.
Instead forge your own trail
For others to follow one day.

Never shy from an opportunity
Throw yourself through every door.
For this life is an adventure,
Now go,
Rob Rutledge Jul 2016
They never gave a ****.
A silhouetted master plan,
A shadow of a man,
Summons a feeble grasping hand.

A grip that's none too tight,
Sand slips through fickle fingers' sight.
Hour glasses and tricks of the light.
The hand of time, immovable might.

Despite of

Inspite of?

Rivers and oceans in our minds
Defy, turn the tide, divide.
Ox bow truths and eroded lies.
Mountain streams serenade the blind.
And those unwilling to see.
Blinkered to the plight of man.
Banned from the light of eternity.
Rob Rutledge May 2019
He thought he may have caught
Among the snares and creeping vines,
A whisper of a thought
From the leaves and air entwined.
On the savage jungle floor,
The corpse of those that come before,
Testament to an ancient war
Lay bloodied and forlorn.
A trap that's set a hundred times or more.

The words were always just!
The words were just in his mind,
A caricature of conscience
What he wished for he would find.
Yet in the echoes of the moon,
He stood before the snare
And knew it to be bare.
Why then does the forest sing this mournful tune?

A girl knelt shy by shaded riverside
Asking the shadows what they knew.
They told tales of light once spoken by the moon,
A prophecy come true of a girl named Blue
Whose eyes would tame the wild.
Rob Rutledge Apr 2015
You hope that when you die,
You will be promoted to some
Playground in the sky.
To live again for eternity.
But how will you be seen?
The 5 year old with scabby knees?
Or 15 with a touch of acne?
25 with life laying ahead
An 80 year old thinking of the dead?
I hope you know none of this can be
It just doesn't work, logically.
I suppose you may mention the soul,
Or patronise saying we will never know.
Yet know this,
None have come back to tell their tale.
To save us the horror?
Or not to ruin the show?
Rob Rutledge Jul 2014
Life is a game, yes.
But it is not played by us.
The universe can be found
In a rundown bar on
The outskirts of Olympus.

It is a battered old pool table
Covered with ash and stale beer.
Where once the gods would linger
Laughing long into the evening
Full of mirth and cheer,
While all the time competing
For who would take control.
Cronus versus Zeus
Potting planets into black holes.

Like all good games, die.
The table was forgotten.
The bar decays
The enthusiasm fades
The universe went out of fashion.
But all the while it was rotten
Something grew on the planets
A mold unwanton and alone.
The mold was life and the table was rife
With that which the gods shall never know.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2016
"All This Too Shall Pass"
The good, the bad,
Twisted looking glass.
Time, it never lasts.
Flags forever at half mast
Fluttering in the breeze.
Fabric clapping half arsedly
While the trees let loose a sneeze.

The moss cares not for you and me
Live and let live, what will be will be.
The air we breath, annals of history.
Truth and make believe.
Keys with no lock or chain,
Concieved in hope.
Born in vain.
Rob Rutledge Mar 2015
The treeline stands as sentinels,
Offering crowns to the crescent moon.
The rooted column of soldiers
Witness the slender shadow as it grew.
A thumb sized fairy in its hand,
Bent double to whisper tidings
Of human flesh on sacred land.
That which is sacrosanct
Can not so easily be swayed!
As all the beasts of myth and nightmares
Charge on into the fray.

The knight finished taking a **** against the tavern wall,
The last defence of the realm, children and us all.


That and trebuchets,



All the tools of war.

Far beyond the Forrest front
Pride, The Lord of Man
Forges ill thought plans
Lazily playing chess, cavalier
With the lives of pawns.
Thoughtlessly moving pieces with
Trembling blood stained hands.
Rob Rutledge Oct 2016
Time sits slouched,
Whisky supped from a shoe.
Space takes his place,
Beard smothered in brew.
Hope sprawls eternal,
Smiles, on the face of the few.
The night is masked,
Casked honey dew.

Amber obscures,
Distorts the view.
Glazed by a hazy
Feint green plume.
Time takes a sip from
Weathered worn out shoe.
As space wipes his face
Hope yawns on que.
The night is released,
At least for now, until
The fall of the morning dew.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2018
Earth has lost an angel,
Heaven has gained one hell of a man.
For Matt.
Rob Rutledge Sep 2013
The answers we find
Shall never be as grand
As the answers we seek.
Rob Rutledge Jun 2014
We fight over what we want
At the expense of what we need.
Crippled by whims,
Lashed by whips of greed.

Love, compassion.
Food, water
And shelter
After a fashion.

No Falchion will safeguard our walls
Until we know what they are for.
No cheap parlor tricks , No following a flag
No cheap death, No bugle call.
Rob Rutledge Jun 2012
At the start we are all helpless,
Utterly reliant.
We stand
We fall
We cry
We crawl.
Not always so compliant.

In the middle we are at our peak.
Suddenly defiant,
We smoke
We drink
We ****
We think,
We forge our own alliance.

At the end we are all frightened.
Our life is at its tether.
We think
We're ******
So we'll drink
To good luck.
And hope that we'll all
Live forever.
Rob Rutledge May 2015
Atlas wept for the world above
And for the burden that he bears.
A weight waylaid by mortal love,
A weight made heavy by despair.

Shoulders burning on aether shores
Orchestral spheres fall into view.
Conducted celestial tears,
Run glacial currents of blue...

And Red.

Always Red,

This knight of that crimson hue
Forgot the purpose of his charge,
Cast off all the burdens that he knew.


That includes me and you.
Rob Rutledge May 2014
When our love for life is lost,
The joy long since departed
And all around us crumbles
Like the one who is broken hearted.

When our fears are finally found,
So much closer than we thought
We will cling to what we can
Though it is never what we sought.

When we spend our nights in darkness,
And so to with the day,
We must find ourselves a beacon,
A light to guide our way.
Rob Rutledge Jun 2016
A bleak horizon. No sign of life
Save weak paw prints,
Etched light upon the white
Expanse of silence.
Boreal moon rising belies the violence
That had ensued.
One set of prints where once there were two.
Fallen prince among wolves
Arctic Gods have had their due.
As the wind howled, cried and blew
The hunter stopped and shuddered.
Wondered, about the beast he slew.
The wind cries once more.
The wind or the wolves?
He is no longer so sure.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2015
This house is no home.
Just bricks and mortar
Cracked paving stones.
The basil plant on the windowsill
Has seen better days.
Leaves wilting alone.

The walls seem closer,
Close enough to stifle the soul.
Spring should be here by now
But winter won't let go.
The picket gate is creaking
Smothered by the weight of snow.
Cold and broken the boiler has
Long packed in.
In what resembles rage again.
Rob Rutledge Oct 2014
This is Britain
A land of contradiction
United by a Kingdom
Divided by benediction.
There is friction
And there were rivers of blood.
Where lions and tigers and dragons
Would stop and drink, toast to the flood.
All the waters of the Atlantic
Couldn't wash these shores clean
A damming testament of conquest
Atlantis was a dream,
Built on wooden boats
Cast in irons with an empires hopes.
Though the sins of the father are great
The children walk with a sombre gait
Fields of roses
White and Red
Blossom on the hallowed ground of the Dead.
Roman laws and Norman Lords
Drowned out a Celtic cry
A longship silhouetted
Against a bleak obsidian sky.
The hunted become haunted by the ghosts of yore.
Pagan druids scythe mistletoe
As Haleys comet they saw
Around circles of stone for now and Evermore
Rob Rutledge Apr 2014
Give a parent a website
And they will browse till their heart's content.
Teach them to use Google
And they will never bother you again.
Rob Rutledge Feb 2017
Days are dark, nights lay long,
Burning bridges keep us warm.
Wearily walking this road again
We bare the weight of the tinder,
The whispers and the flame.

What was once,
Shall never be the same.
The past floats as ash
Shadows cast on fallen rain.
While the willows weep in vain
The canopies confer in koans
The wind is passing wisdom,
Through leaves and seeds unsown.
Rob Rutledge Dec 2013
Once down the old Caledonian road,
There walked a broken man
Who walked all on his own.
Entombed in tattered cloak
Against Decembers cold,
The man fell to pavement
Fell to pavement all alone.

None would descend from
High misguided thrones,
Have a heart and pass the starving
Man a bone.
And not a soul would stop and save him.
Once down the old Caledonian road.
Rob Rutledge Nov 2014
It's strange how this calligraphy
Instills an impression upon your mind.
What's true for me ain't true for all.
We each have our experiences
The meaning that we find.

Our lives aren't ours to abdicate
They belong in all the places that
We seek.
Love will peek
Round the corners of the chairs
We do avoid.
Whispering all our wants and needs
All shy and coy.

Speak them loud or none will hear you.
None will gather all your cloth into the storm.
Until it's yours.
So scream unto the heavans.
Declaring what is yours.
But that is no guarantee
That happiness will fall at your door.
You'll walk the road abandoned
Accompanied by a roar.
Rob Rutledge Mar 2015
A tiny flame huddled close to fading wick
A rag doll seized in the fist of a tempest.
Fading quick,
Wax molten in our grip.
Burning, viscous through trembling fingers it slips.
Knuckles crack like the fire in the hearth
Consuming logs uprooted from the earth
Giving birth to each ember on the mantle,
Dancing decay around subdued bowing candles.

Crying white tears upon the silent tables
The evening sneers at hush filled fables.
Horses bray in solemn stables
Dreaming of pastures new,
Wick snuffed out by daylights fingers
Flame made still by the morning dew.
Rob Rutledge May 2018
We float on unkown oceans
In boats more made for land.
The sails have ceased to function,
And our boots are laced with sand.
The rudder is unresponsive,
The first mate seems quiet too.
The ship has started leaking,
Weakend wood and stale stew.

The course was never charted,
This was known among the crew.
A passage for the faint of heart,
The bard and the jester too.
These denizens of darkness
Embark with the morning dew.
Depart with mist horizons
To find the start of something new.

For months we sailed
Through winter times,
On waters cold yet still serene.
The memories of warmer climes
Seem like nothing but a dream.
Cannons fire, deckhands scream,
Ship splintered by the sea.
Driftwood caught in ocean's sway
Swept up then cast away.
Rob Rutledge Mar 2012
Once when we were children,
We would run to here and there.
Across the hills of our homeland
With the wind in our fair hair.
The sun would shine
The rain would fall,
Never to hinder our play.
And all that could stop us
Was the call of our mothers
At the darkening of each day.

Sticks became our swords back then,
Keen of edge and shining bright.
The willow became our fortress
To defend until the night.
And when our foes were weeping
Once more we became the child.
Fast asleep we were sleeping
Imagination running wild.

We got that little bit older,
That ever bit more bolder.
Ambition came to soon.
We went to school
Were told what to do,
And all that we could be.
Some said 'Spaceman'
One 'Veterinarian'
The wise child said 'Happy'

"No No! You need a profession"
Seemed to be the moral of that lesson.
But the teacher didn't understand the question
That she asked.
For her days of dreaming
And childish scheming
Were lost in a distant past.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2018
Clear skies are often coldest,
Tempests' temper seems subdued.
Sunlight skims the tiles of rooftops,
Admires the view.

The sky was never blue.
Obsidian haze and gunmetal days
Light the life we choose.
Slightly bruised.
Broken yet not dismayed.
Too long we have been walking,
Proud in our shroud of the grey.

My brother, my teacher,
My foe and my friend.
Our ghosts shall speak
Once more at the end.
Rob Rutledge Aug 2014
One solemn clothes line
Battered in the gale.
Drenched and cold and sodden
Forgotten among the rain.

One stubborn clothes peg
That clings triumphant on the line,
Cursing the sky and tempest
As the last sock flies away sublime.
Rob Rutledge Feb 2015
Spires silhouette the peaks of cobalt
Mountains. An ancient castle in the sky
Made small by the Jovian night. A
Hundred worlds engulfed within the eye
Reflected in stardrops, quilted by the sigh
Of a species that had lost its wonder.
One last Traveler, the last of her kind,
Dieing on the veranda
Of the fortress she had called her home,
Reaching her scaled hand to the stars
She asks,
"Are we alone?"
Rob Rutledge Mar 2013
We shall sit upon our throne
In all its debauched desire.
Tapping beats upon the arm
Inwrought with gold and iron.

The court may sway
Curtains draped askew.
The courtiers façade
Shall fade anew.
Those lips that spewed
Sweet suckled honey dew
Shall slather and harden
As truth comes to view.

It comes not in words
Or sweet music to our ears
But rings from steel,
Sharpened by our fears.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2013
I am a criminal,
So you and the papers say.
They would put me away
For countless nights and days.
Tucked away "safe" in jail,
All for the choice of herbs I inhale.
That they would only have their way...

Yet I am no marauding mobster,
No gangster for hire.
I smoke in the evenings
When daylight is fleeting
And withdraw to my rooms to retire.
I am no plundering pirate
Pillaging your private property.
I go about my day,
As right as I may,
You will find no evil protégée.  

I am spoken in the same breath
As delinquents and undesirables.
The infamously unfavourable,
Mire on our tireless society.
Well I am tired now,
I've grown weary of living
In your narrow minded
Make believe.

Yet I leave you be.
Keep to mine and own.
It is you who lights the torches
From high deluded throne.
It is you who crafted and rounded
That perfect stone,
Hurled with such indiscrimination
Always many, never alone.

Each night now I wonder,
When I cross that imaginary line.
Such fools we've been,
The waste obscene,
Who really commits the crime?
Rob Rutledge May 2018
We cling to dead air
Holding on to broken promises
And feelings that are not there.
We dwell on the scars
Carved with care across our heart.
Trying to place our finger on
The beginning of the end
Or the end of the start.

Our dearest departed
Left us used and disheartened.
While the sins of the father
Gave birth to disaster
Born in the shape of a man.
The harder we cling to shadows
The more we long for shade.
The more our grip shall weaken
As those we love slip far away.
Rob Rutledge Sep 2013
Always pay your debts.
Whether it's money owed or
An apology.
Rob Rutledge Jul 2015
In a world where wars are fought with Words.
His only weapon was silence.
Standing neither for nor against
A solitary act of defiance.
Rob Rutledge Aug 2012
We know not what we are,
Only what we are called
And we have gone by many names.
Words define words,
People define people,
All is not seen nor heard.
Rob Rutledge Jun 2012
If you were a god for a day
With the world in your hands,
To mould as clay,
Would you delay to start anew?
Wipe the slate clean
Bidding evil adieu.


If it walks then let it run,
If it talks then let it sing,
If it flies then let it soar
Higher than it's ever been.
If if wanders let it roam,
If it absconds then leave it so,
If it dares then let it dream
That it is greater than it seems.
And if it all shall stumble
Shoulders once held firm
That start to crumble,
Under the weight of our
Burdened thoughts.
Then let those bones reform,
Skin sewn anew,
Or it shall forever be for naught.
Rob Rutledge Nov 2018
I will turn today to yesterday!
So we can repeat the same mistakes;

In the bound loops of fires fury
Futile fight, hands cuffed by fate.

Beat the horizon of tomorrow today!
Sorrows washed and cast away,

Burning cleanse of sun's fell rays
Cast shadows on sun scorched glades.

Something lurks within the haze
Delays surrender of the sun,
The dark begins to march,
Parched earth drinks the night.

A pounding of the feet
Lets drink Guinness and eat red meat.
Blood flows freely in the streets,
Concrete dreams and broken teeth.
A token for the city
A token for the priest.
The least of all our sins
Wept, confessed, absolved.
Whispers born again in
The hollows of the walls.
Rob Rutledge Aug 2014
There is a Demon in the street.
I see it crawl from the gutter
Torn shirt, bloodied knees,
A bloodied forehead too.
Now stumbles to a streetlight
A mournful, wretched view.
Its skin is pale of a borderline
Transparent hue.
Storming eyes of blue
Burn to a manic purpose.
A purpose it wished it knew.
But the mind is a master magician
Showing us the world we want to see.
As the Demon reared its head it gazed at its own reflection

  That it was me.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2015
There is so much anger in their hearts
That it's hard to feel much past
The rage that warms the path they walk.
Fueled by geothermic machinations
From within the mantled core.
The oceans act to sooth,
Calm the troubles of the land.
But their nature is transient
Moving in ways we will never

While Barking at the moon
Sense obscured by wilting foliage
Covering the clear thinking of the sky.
Clouding the eternal questions
And the sovereignty of the mind
                            Blown free                  
In the
           Slightest of br e e z e s
Where all the thoughts and ideas live,
Alive for a passing moment. Grasped quick
Or gone the way of water
           Lost somewhere out at sea.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2013
You tell me to study hard,
Get a good job.
Be as sharp as a rat and you'll go far.
Make your money,
Settle down.
In that big city life
Or quiet country town.

You tell me rock and roll
Ain't worth trying for,
Yet its better than these religions
People keep dying for.
I don't want to line somebody else's pocket,
As they hoard their gold away
In a bank vault and lock it.

You tell me life is just one big joke
But I see nobody laughing.
People in gutters
Cold alone and broke
As so called stars sell their souls for
Diet Coke.
Written initially as song lyrics, in a kind of attempted Bob Dylan style. At least when i read it, I read it with Bob's voice :)
Rob Rutledge Feb 2015
They are reflections of the world
We inhabit. Mirrored shards
Flung high into the air.
Sharing in all of beautys passion,
Caught in the lensflare of compassion
Bound to the refraction of selfless care.
Compounded with the crux of inaction.
Falling shards are somewhat sharp.

They tend to draw blood.

No fault of their own
For fault implies Blame
Blame implies control.

The arrow does not make the bow
Rob Rutledge Dec 2014
There was control and Excession
A master Use of Weapons.
Inversions without as well as within.
The Culture looking to windward
At the light of a dying war
Played to the tune of a Hydrogen Sonata
What mattered then Matters no more.
Phlebas played his games
All things considered
Yet played them far too well
Against a dark background
The Feersum Endjinn tells
Of better times.
As Algebraists count,
Passing time on the abaci of the mind.
They divine the nature of the heart,
Given up in offering
To the State of the Art.
A poor tribute to my favorite author the late great Iain Banks
Rob Rutledge Feb 2014
Soliloquies sharpened
Silhouetted by the tongue.
Viscous virtues,
Masterplans undone.

Confessions confided
Forgotten by the sun.
Knights and paupers
All may become.

Inebriated needs
Inception planted seeds
Grown like the wheat
That sways in the breeze.
Fermented folly,
Merry japes and jollies.
Shall bring us all
Upon our knees.
Rob Rutledge Nov 2014
You will know them not from the smiles
And frowns etched upon stoic faces,
But from the virtue of their hearts
Found in all but the darkest of places.
More often then not they reside deep
Within a tepid grey.
Hunting in the twilight between the
Dusk and the day.
Everything in moderation
Yet nothing is in isolation
Moths to the flame we stray.
Bound to the light
Forever fighting to fly away
Rob Rutledge Jul 2016
Echoes run amok.
Shadows of sound
Then drown in rock.
The bleating of a flock,
Lost on familiar ground.
A shepherd led to slaughter
By his daughter he was found,



Eyes locked on long lost clouds,
The shroud that might hide his shame.
Rob Rutledge Jun 2018
The sea is swept in mystery
She confides in me no more.
No whispers in the shells
Or echoes from the shore.
You do not argue with the wind,
You can not bargain with the sky.
Standing back to back with mountains
We watch and weep as angels die.
For the face of life is fleeting,
Tweeting, tapping at your door,
Ravens that won't relent,
Yet ones you can't ignore.

But I'm boring you I'm sure.
I was talking about the ocean,
How we dont speak no more.
It's not that we don't get on
We still have much to say.
But words are made of water
Written in the waves.
Now the tide is out,
The sea seems
Far away.
Rob Rutledge Mar 2015
Awake once more
Upon moonlit shores,
The eclipse is

Stood lost in thought
The star light is caught,
In nets of

Tracing lines in the sky
Wondering why,
We're objects of

All just a lie,
Always a lie that
Justifies vindication
Rob Rutledge Oct 2017
I am folly, I am fury.
I am ruin and I am rage.
I am every time that you have faltered,
Every time you were afraid.
I am pestilence and I am plague.
I am every roar of faded glory,
I am every cry of shame.
I am war, I am worship,
I am hunter and I am boar.
I am every lash of slavers whip,
Every chain thrown to the floor.
Rob Rutledge Aug 2014
The rain falls in whispers,
Meanders through the
Cracks in our lives.
The sky claps sardonically
Prophetic, pathetic fallacy
Alive and well.
As time swells and breaths
Solaris flares, coughs and heaves.
Scorched earth, ashen leaves.
The rain is gone but so's
The emerald green.
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