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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 while 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
And how we speak no more.
It's not that we don't get on
We still have much to say.
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
Suffocating,

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

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

All just a lie,
Always a lie that
Justifies vindication
Ego
Rob Rutledge Oct 2017
Ego
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 cast 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 breathes
Solaris flares, coughs and heaves.
Scorched earth, ashen leaves.
The rain is gone but so's
The emerald green.
Rob Rutledge Jul 2014
We worried so much about sticking our head above the parapet,
We forgot the stagnant water underfoot.
We forgot the stages of stalemate
The terror of trench foot.
Rob Rutledge May 2012
The future is strange is it not?
All our hopes and dreams
Aspirations sewn at the seams
Of a dwindling reality.
Everything is possible,
I suppose.
And if we concentrate just so,
We too can take a glimpse of the show
That lies behind drawn curtains.

Nothing is certain
This I think I know.
Yet at times we feel the ebb and flow
Of futures yet to pass.
Not to be divined from entrails
Of a broken looking glass.
Mirrors have their uses
To show what others see,
But no great revelations
Of what will come to be.

Have our minds been made,
Long before ourselves?
Are we cartesian nightmares
Unto which we delve?
Is our image of ourselves
As foolish as I think?
And what becomes of the world
In the instance that we blink.

Have these words been uttered
By anothers tongue.
Under the guise of destiny
A pointless race to run.
Thoughts implanted,
Minds enchanted
By the most temporal of enemies.
Throttle the future with me now
As we fight the tides of entropy.
Rob Rutledge Aug 2018
The knife feels kind of nice.
Despite the fact it intrudes,
Protrudes from a wounded back.
The price we pay, I guess,
Closeness never quite manifests.
But it's good to know, you know?
Those who feign familiarity
Friendships staged and put on show,
Critics acclaim, shamed curtains close.
Characters who grew into the role
Far fetched with hyperbole.
Lines they speak with finesse
Lies smooth the noose of regret.
Confused they peruse part two.
I think therefore I forget.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2014
This tree is no evergreen,
Though its roots run as deep
Through emerald soil unseen.
Branches bare witness.
The seasons ebb and flow,
Creaking and curling
While the north wind blows.

Leaves cling for dear life.
Fragile, fading
And yet dancing with light.
They grow and blossom
Only to falter one day.
Crinkled and trodden,
Swept up and blown away.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2015
If I had but one wish,
I would wish to live forever.
Find the ties of mortal life
Cut quick the binds we sever.
Become a watcher in the mist,
A homeless, timeless clan
Caught in the currents of the rift.
No Steins Gate will be entered
World lines locked from our reach.
Fighting the tides of entropy
Fist, nail and bloodied teeth.
Again and again and again
Unto the breach.
Drowning,
From the pressure of the deep.

And if in that moment we falter
Our power lost to the trees.
Alder, Maple, Ash.
Vines strangling our cities.
Choking on what we were told.
The earth takes us in a headlock
Strangles tight and wont let go.

Its fingers slipped in the nuclear snow
Withered tendril arms, retreating
To where they used to go.
Exiled below
Deep within the darkest reaches
Far from the reach of the human throne.
In the dark it patiently plotted,
Schemed to overthrow.
Rob Rutledge Jun 2015
There is a certain kind of terror
Found only in species that truly think.
It comes in moments of peace
When our guard is down,
Thoughts away on the breeze.
Suddenly,
An unnamed notion,
An unwanted feeling of foreboding.
Waiting for the sky to fall,
Petrified as to why anything exists at all.
Rob Rutledge Apr 2012
I remember so much and yet so little of that day,
I remember the woods near our home where I would used to play.
The den I made, smothered by oak and fern,
The dragonflies sailing zephyrs and their power that I yearned.

I remember clearer the presence of my father,
Struggling through gaps he was far to large for,
His smile strangely absent that day.
I remember words he whispered
"come child, today we are away."

Those words mean little now
So much more than they did back then,
When my mind idled with dragonflies
Locked in that wooden den.

I remember seeing the earth
Looking still, if not serene.
Defiant in it's rotation.
As countless ships,
Starward monoliths
Depart with naive expectation.

Some decided to stay,
As some always do.
The rest sail for space in search of silent refuge.
Once more we forgot ourselves
Embracing our own  foolish divinity.
Forgetting the folly of our past
As it echoes unto infinity.

I remember once, now gazing at alien constellations,
The lines we drew in shale and sand to mark our different nations.
The pettiness we adored and the diplomacy we abhorred,
We burnt the earth behind us
And fled unto the stars.
The last thing I remember,
That day in late September,
The last solar systems' ember
Was the rusting glow of Mars.

I forgot how much I missed that home
Over the twelve cold years in space alone.
This place is not so bad,
But the trees weep strange,
Leaves drooped and sad.
From my window I see my grandson run
Chasing the shadows of new earth's twinned suns.
Fresh from the forrest
A new found den.
A second chance
Don't
Fail again.
Rob Rutledge Sep 2019
I will never believe in your God
But I will always have faith in You.
I care not for what you preach.
I care only for what you do.
Rob Rutledge Nov 2016
Banished to the grey.
A conglomerate of clouds
Surround and shroud the day.
A world found still
Shrill sound of silence.
Echoes of shadows
Grace violence on our walls.
The blood of our compatriots
Our lovers, our fools.
Ours, not yours.
Potential and not a tool.
"Too little, too late"
Muttered the lips of fate,
For the ending is well overdue.
Rob Rutledge Feb 2013
It's hard to let go,
When we have so
Little to hang on to.

All those seeds once sown
Never took shoot to grow.
The soil that was tillered
And tethered to your heart
Lays fallow, unkempt,
Scorched away and torn apart.

Yet,

Even the ash that fell
Like autumnal rain
Will, with time, be blown away.
With time and space to grow
The land can breath
The heart can sow.
Rob Rutledge May 12
I do not write of sunsets,
Those farewells of weary days.

I will not speak again of forests
Or golden sunlit glades.

I have said my piece on oceans.
Brokered peace among the flame.

I have walked many an idyllic garden
To find each flower's scent the same.

At times the grass appears the greener,
A feature of how light strikes the blade.

The sabre seems as great a teacher
In the sunshine as the shade.

So I shall write again no more of sunsets
Those farewells of weary days.

I lay down arms against the evening.

To the dreaming

I cast my gaze.
Rob Rutledge Sep 2013
Fate may be written in stone
But
Stone can be withered and etched
Away.
Rob Rutledge Mar 2014
One day I made a deal with 'The Devil'
I sold my soul for the bass and the treble.
He came from the flames,The original rebel,
We chilled, got blazed, Got ****** like a pebble.

It turns out that he ain't half bad,
He just went and had a fight with his dad.
I think you know we can relate,
When god got ******
And the devil got a fist in the face.
Intended to be read aloud over a beat.
Rob Rutledge Oct 2016
Again the fist unfolds.
Fingers unfurl red
Petal blossom of a rose.
Scent of a broken nose,
Stain shed on shaven heads.
Kings with no crown nor throne
Lay prone in whitewashed beds.

Thorns in their own sides,
****** in their own right.
These manicured monsters
Cry a challenge unto the night.
Marching on through kebab dreams,
Weeks 'for we speak of Halloween.
Rob Rutledge Feb 2016
Caught a feeling
Then flew away,
She got on a plane
To the U.S.A
Four thousand miles
Shore to shore,
Ain't much sunshine
Anymore.
Rob Rutledge May 2018
We wage wars with words,
Whetstone sharpened wit.
Wounds win rounds of applause.
A pause,
While metaphors are mustered,
Rusted dictionaries dusted,
Cobwebs shed from unread shelves.
Pikes of pronunciation
Pick apart
Portraits of ourselves.
While poetry parries,
Prose pivots,
Prepares and rallies,
Stares down violet valley below.
The violence of lavender
Shines like silver in the snow.
A scent sentenced to silence,
Flowers on death row.
Rob Rutledge Aug 2013
To say someone is weird or different
Is to then claim us all the same.
This is naught but folly at its finest,
One game we all have played.
Rob Rutledge May 2016
There shall be no shelter
From shadowed hypocrisy.
For the stars shine bright and just
That all the mortal men may see.
All that you wish.
All that you believe.
Are just two diverging branches
From the same forgotten tree.

Rotten with the cynicism of age
The bark chips fast,
Squalid lackluster page.
Built upon the decay of rage
Fallow thoughts they plough the land.
Reaped by those deemed unworthy.
Truth uprooted by savage hand.
Rob Rutledge Dec 2016
Among the days of December  
A new member joins the fold.
Born of love and melodies
A song sung once and then retold.
Hope wrapped close in silence,
Cotten swathed defiance,
Far from the tyrants of this world.

For a moment there is peace,
Time catches breath,
Young prince lays sound asleep.
Counting the bleats of passing sheep
Your parents guard the door.
For when you wake from slumber
And satisfy your hunger,
Opened eyes shall discover,
That all this world is yours.
For Ronnie Sharma 11/12/16
Rob Rutledge Oct 2015
We are fragile, little things.
Chipped china teacups
In the hands of careless kings.
Caught in the fall,
Cherry blossom dreams,
The sighs of autumn
Keep us aloft on weathered wings.
Tethered to the will of winds
The water shouts and sings.
Overflowing that fragile teacup,
Scalding the hands of world worn kings
Rob Rutledge Feb 2020
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 Feb 2014
The brave are always the first to die.
So as it was it came as no surprise
That the last man left on earth alive,
A coward to the core,
Who sold it all, for the twinkle of an eye.
Alone with the wind and tumultuous sky
He looked to the heavens and prayed to die.

Left to pick up all of the broken pieces
Of yet another fallen species,
Adam walked disheveled and defeated.
Picking off the scraps of fallen bones,
Humanity long forgotten and disowned,
Foraging through ashen fields
Where the seeds of death had long been sown.

As thin as a rake,
Vultures followed in wake
As he warred and carved his way.
Through ghostly roads
Derelict towns and abodes
Down past the streets of decay.
And just when he felt he could endure no more
He found himself at an abandoned mall.
The word 'Eden'
Carved upon the wall.

Ravenous in hunger,
Adam slathered and growled
When he stumbled into the reptile house
And saw what he had found.
A snake rich in protein,
Sustenance abound
But Adam was not the only one
In that house to be found.

A scurry,
A shadow,
The faintest of movements in the air,
But yes,
Something stirred,
A woman in rags, teeth bared.

Adam handed her half of his snake
And for a moment all was still.
Till she wolfed it down at the speed of sound
A feat you would never believe,
She looked sharply at Adam
Eyes narrowed and said,
"I'm Eve."
Rob Rutledge Mar 2015
It started in Dublin before I was born
Crossing the Irish Sea to weather a storm.
London called through the wind and rain
Big city lights and a country's flame.
To Manchester then, a city united
At least to outsiders.
But to those within it's somewhat
Divided.

Summers in France.
Dining in Provence
Time in Toulouse
And along the Loire.
But Paris! Paris has that
Je ne sais quoi
Fine wine, fine company
It's a fine philosophy.

A German exchange
in einer stadt namens
Bad Bentheim.

Exposed to a culture
And the work of Rammstein.
A few days in Berlin
A fantastic city with much
History within.

Gondolas in Vienna if only for a day
Sailing down the Danube
Water wants us on our way.
We stay for a while
Within the walls of Budapest,
My first shot of Absinthe
Puts my liver to the test.

No rest for the wicked
That wanderlust I long.
Settled for a while by the lights of
Hong Kong,
A place I felt for a while at peace
High in the Monastery of Lantau's peeks.
I went once and I went again.
When wizened crones speak of golden devils,
Stroking my blonde hair on the streets of
Shenzhen.
I'm fortunate enough to have travelled to some fantastic places. A poor tribute to some of those visited.
Rob Rutledge Jul 2013
I picked the suit,
The darkest I could find,
Black jacket and trousers
An even darker tie.

She's not even dead yet but
My wardrobe is prepared.
As the pain gives
Your morphine drips,
Your lips move
Chapped and impaired.

Do I dare to see you like this?
I long to kiss your forehead,
Tell you not to be afraid,
As my own terror rises,
Escapes onto display.

I'm drawn back to times gone by,
Sat on ancient couches
Just a child who cried.
Warm lemonade was the remedy
I believe,
With just a single dollop of ice cream.
I would almost scream in delight
My ailments abandoned,
Vanished by the magician
Only a grandmother can imagine.

But of course it saddens,
So many rose tinted memories
Blurred and yet pristine,
All rolled into the hazy image
We retain within our dreams.
Please don't cry
As I grasp you tight
And the drugs and spotlights
Pull you deep into the night.

I'll hum a tune,
Something soothing
I presume?
See it as rest and not into the gloom,
I know by your god you think
You'll see me soon,
And for once dear grandmother
I wish with all my heart
That it be true.
Rob Rutledge Feb 2014
It's quite a feat, walking through the
Graveyard of the Gods.
Buddah takes his time playing majong
Against Thor, his hammer near but at odds,
While Yam keeps ear near conch
Lest the Phoenicians hear his song
And pray his way once more.
They fight over the attention they receive,
A whisper by the heralds
Behind closed doors.
A hint of what may have come before
Rob Rutledge Sep 2014
There is a pressure on my shoulders,
Behind my eyes and in my bones.
A force beyond my control.
As helpless as a stone
Though in the wind I sway.
Does it hold us back?
Or
Keep us from flying away?
Rob Rutledge Dec 2012
If only that we would stay our tongues
That slither round and upon
The words we never wanted to whisper.
Much can be left unsaid,

Broken
         thoughts
among        
a blizzard
                      And cast into
.lead.
.         .
  .                .
.                         .
Hindered by the fall.
We call into the gloom.
A hand reaching out beyond
That ashen white hue.
Too late she says,
You have had your say,
Your heart and mind
Have had their way.
Each day now lays cold
Whether due to winters weather
Or a chance lost to the storm,
Of which I'm none to sure.
I shall sip on silence
And guard my tongue,
For now and ever more.
The middles a bit odd I know. Just edited it on a whim.
Rob Rutledge Jul 2013
What is wrong with us?
Maybe the question should be,
What is right with us?
Rob Rutledge Aug 2015
We could have been great,
Oh you and I.
The carpenters of fate,
Carving lines in halcyon skies.
Scar tissue blue
Vapour clouding the eyes.
Bound
To the flight of hyperborean tides,
Mythical winds of the north.
Yet their chill is real
Wrapped in the cloth
Of pride and zeal.
Confide,
While calm in the shaded riverside.
Forever chasing rainbows
Over moors and mountainside.
No cauldrons of gold
Just archaic rocks and stones
Buried by the weight
Of fallen bones.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2016
She gazed out long and far,
Past half closed curtains  
And dozing, docile cars.
Witness to a world double glazed
Dampened by a passing rain.
Sound drowned still by fragile,
Stained glass pane.

Skies lay grey, like every other day,
Shrubs shrug and trees sadly sway.
She feels for the trees,
(And to an extent the shrub)
They're not so different from you or I.
We all plant roots, grow, love?

Thoughts disturbed by a startled dove,
Flew the coup, done, had enough,
Rose as Icarus toward the sun.
Basked in light of new found freedom.

Never heard the hunters gun.
Rob Rutledge Jan 2014
Flick

"Heads"
The boy decries!
His sister beams at the call.
Heads it is and now it is he
Who would have to fetch the ball.


Flick*

"Tails"
The word echos in silence.
A chance of hope lost
Somewhere among
The lies and violence.
Down in the gutter
On his knees he begged,
Pleading to a shadow.
Gunshot rang for the dead.
Rob Rutledge Jun 2014
An eclipse at the end of the world,
Waterfalls unto the unknown,
Navigate the secrets,
Nautical bold.
Here be dragons, or so we're told.
Well then let us burn,
Charred soul.
Not all that shines is gold.
Hold close the rigging
Friction scars our hands once more.
Voyage to unknown lands
Our future lies in the sand.
Both fine yet blown off course.
Rob Rutledge Apr 2018
I miss finding your hair
On jumpers you had never worn,
I miss the way our chargers
Plugged in together at the wall.
I miss the way you looked at me
When now all I see is scorn
I miss the way you seemed to care
The way we stood against the storm.

I miss feeling as if I had worth,
Finally, I wasn't alone on this earth.
I miss huddling for warmth,
Cuddling, chocolate and the hearth.
I miss you when we had heart
The days I would drive you home in the dark.
I miss the days I was by your side
Shoulder there every time you cried.
I miss not being miserable,
I miss wanting to be alive.
Mostly I miss being missed by you,
That sweet lie of I love you to.
Rob Rutledge Nov 2014
I hope that it rains on your wedding day
And that all of the clouds in your sky are Grey.

I hope that what you beg to borrow
Is bent double, broken in sorrow.

I hope that your face is forever blue
Strangled by terrors old and anew.

I hope the promises you speak
Turn to ashes on your tongue.
And that your days are spent in darkness
Exiled from the sun.

This isn't strictly speaking true.
What we loved once we shall love forever too.
Hatred is a passing wind across the sea
What ever river you sail
I hope that you sail at peace
Rob Rutledge May 2013
The Aces check their sleeves,
Hearts rippling across the breeze.
The Queen arises
Slowly,
Torn dress ripped at the knees.

The Jack saw his fill
And quickly took his leave.
Stood trembling in a doorway,
Mind struggling to believe...

The King was an alcoholic,
It was widely known to be so,
Each eve he would sit solemn,
Wine in hand and sword on show,
Clapping to the Jokers' japes
As he danced and sang
About love and fate.
But how was the King to know?
Not two rooms away
His wife had lain,
With a smile and a *****.
Creating a cuckold and a fool...

The Jack had had enough
And promptly marched
To the throne room.
Armed with only knowledge,
Unleashes inevitable typhoon.

The winds will rise,
This house shall succumb,
Imploding inwards
Till the house is done.
And all that remains
Among ash and decay,
Broken hearts and broken spades,
Is the Jokers last laugh.
A mockingbirds call as daylight fades.
Rob Rutledge Dec 2014
Oh it's the most horrible time of the year.
Long working hours, forced festive cheer.
Only made better by copious amounts of beer.
Oh it's the most horrible time of the year.

Merry Christmas to all you fine people on Hello Poetry
It's not really that horrible.
Rob Rutledge Jul 2014
Against a dark background
On this backwater planet,
We are all just hicks and heathens
In the scheme of galactic beings.

Hush,

Don't speak so loud.

It's best to remain hidden,
Out of sight, safe and sound.
Like the lost Amazonian tribe

That rues the day it was found.
Rob Rutledge Jun 2014
Tears vermilion reflecting the night,
St Elmo's fire burning bright,
Sea sick sailors pray for the light
Doomed and forgotten nets are dry.
Albatross soars, wings of flight
Guiding the lost with cries of gulls,
Let us laugh at their misfortune,
Schadenfreude
Styx flows too soon,
Gold on each eyelid
The Titans shall have their due.

Hyperion weeps to Neptune's view
As Icarus burns to seas of blue
And the sails catch on,
Enlightened by the
Dawn multifaceted hue.
Scarlet prism gems
Reflect the fallen, truth
Through crimson tinted lens.
Rob Rutledge Mar 2012
Those feet that once stood tall and proud
Under dark obsidian clouds,
Travel now once more upon
The hallowed grounds of Albion.
Through shrines and shires the Iceni ride
To the seat of ancient power,
Cross moors and mountains
Past marble fountains
To the steps of a Roman tower.
How they shall cower!
As Boudicca comes spear in hand.
They'll soon retreat,
Give up and leave
Back to their promised land.
Rob Rutledge Aug 2016
We greet life with idle sighs,
Slowly satisfied by sightful eyes.
Glancing at wrists handcuffed to time.
Bound to age rusting, cast iron cage
Displayed by fine wrought bars of rage.
Captivited by captivity,
Tied to lies scrawled bold on fading page.
Decieved by beliefs and words that saved.

Yet don't dismay.
Pay no toll for the hole
You carve within your soul.
That debt is paid in full,
Through sweat and toil
Blood set ripe to boil,
Shed countless lives ago.
Rob Rutledge Apr 2014
I knew it all along,,
The passions fire song,
Has long since been sung.
A turn, another riverrun.
Currents up to speed, A hegemony's
Life force bleeds.
Entropic blades of iron
Coated in gold lions
Of Zion.
And prophets lost yet found.
Reality abounds,
Prophetic or not,
Subjective thoughts
Achieved, not sought.
As time trickles on.
A dream?
Perhaps....
Perhaps not.
Rob Rutledge Jul 2013
They come now robed in mirrors
That are polished to a sheen,
Doused in smoke
And smeared with gasoline.
Each mirrored shard reflecting dreams
Of chances lost and what may have been.
Their own are nowhere to be found,
Veiled and hidden,
Safe and sound.
But,
Pry back those mirrored shards
And beware what you may see,
The forms of  frail men
Disfigured and diseased.
Their minds had long since set them free
From the warring of beasts
And the powers that be.
And,
Yet it holds them fast,
Mind tethered and lashed
As a sail rigged tight
And firm to mast.
At last!
Their mirrors stare back.
With all the veracity of history
The shame, the pride,
Whatever it is they lack.
Whatever it is they say they need.
They say they need,
And so then they believe.
No matter the hypocrisy...

I say they,
Perhaps I mean me.
Rob Rutledge Jun 2014
Spontaneous yet flexible
Confident and malleable.
Able to go with the times
And go with the flow,
Finger on the pulse
Presentations to show.
Laser pointers and
Laser printers
Pressed for time.
Nothings here
But what here's mine.

Climb over colleagues
Through Ivy leagues
And Redbrick universities.
Shadowed by a letter.
A,
B,
C,
D?

"And extra-curricular activities?"
"Literature?"
"Theatre?"
"Ah...well......I see........."

"......Well....there is an opening.......
.....Not great hours I'm afraid.....
.....But the pay is competitive...............
...Beyond the market rate......."

An inward sigh and a signature.
Uniforms and moral aperture.
We do what "must be done"
And whisper other soft lies
While we hide from the Sun.
Rob Rutledge Dec 2016
An Iron Sky, sighs.
Provides the rusted
Rhythm of the night.
Silence supplied,
Swiftly denied.
Wisps of winter light
Smitten by the smile of night.
That obelisk of shade,
That monolith of shadow,
Minor burns,
Wounds carved shallow onto skin,
Flesh lays fallow
Till iron breaths again.
Rob Rutledge Jun 2013
I was thinking...
Potential is nothing
Until it is realised.
Rob Rutledge May 2012
You may search for kin in the blood that binds,
The haemoglobin of heritage entwined.
Or you may wade your way
Through the rich and meek
To find those of whom you speak,
Those so oft' hidden in plain sight.

Trust not all that you can see
For disguised treachery
Can lie in the softest of smiles.
Devious plans of mental mockery
Executed with cunning and guile.

Look instead then to the conquests!
Not to those we won outright,
But to the ones that fall to unions
Under starlight, under night.

Perhaps even then we will find
With our silent siege of time
That the Kinship sails on blind.
When the mindful heart
Meets the heartless mind.
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