"rhodes" poems
Hello
A gesture perceived as formless waves in the Web
Perhaps a luring trap to be caught
or a silent cry as print Scarcely Red
Maybe you
Reddit or Won't
As text is the voice of this generation
Quote
ILY My fam is so cute
#Hashbrowns @MyBFFFFs
Last looks of a father as he leaves
with a dry cleaned suit.
The last breakfast I ate with my family
Together. Rebuked.
Now it lays archived in the mind of i
A memory fragment less intact
than the Colossus of Rhodes
What's that? Let me Google that.
What will become of the crowd
The voices, in their plight are
"Like wow, Laughing Out Loud"
Like apathy is the new trend
Can we even say there is a greater purpose
of the time we Spend.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
Sitting on my bed
Gazing out at the view
Laptop in lap
I wonder
Being of mixed race
The truth of my origins
The blood coursing through my veins
Goffle they would say
But iv always believed a man's skin colour doesn't define who he is
Kwabulawayo
A place where he is being killed
Home of the Ndebele
My hometown
Built on the ruins of a Royal town
uMzilikazi ,Leander Starr Jameson ,Lobengula ,Cecil john rhodes
Men of courage
Black and white
Fought struggles
Years before my birth
Mater Dei Hospital
My journeys beginning
My grandfathers end.
Joy and pain
My hearts memories
From Primary
Whitestone
Green fields
Where i spent my childhood
Life's little joys
Clay-yaki
In the rain
Barefoot.
Speargrass
How it stung
Running through the grass
Taller than i was
Forts
Built with shoelaces
Marbles
Fights in the sand
Afternoons spent picking mullberyys
The girls dormitory
Offbounds.
Matrons
Got me the cain
Thursday Nights
Prefects Priveleges
Sports
Cross country
The houses of Tuli, Shangani, Shashe
lifelong friends made
A place frozen in memory
Home of the best years of my life
Tears streaming down
Every Sunday evening
The way back
A boarders sentiment
Lasting 5min till reunited with friends
Tuck shared
Eskimo Hut
The Green Mamba Or Pink Panther
The food hall
Quiet
Till dessert came
Mr Haworth
Everyday
"The queen would be disgusted if she saw u eating"
The tide of his time
Wandering around my childhood
I bumped unintentionally into
Maturity
Starless nights
First kisses
A little bit older i was
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010 at 8:34 AM UTC
Home is where the heart is but the heart is a broken place.
I hate
how loud I must barely scream so that people can see my face:
I am dark
and this is a time of shadows.
Sometimes what worries me most about us
is not that we are forced to carry guns and **** our own mothers
is not that we are pulled from our classrooms back into our homesteads
is not that some of our leaders feast while we become skinny UNICEF models
is not that if only one molecule of my DNA was different I could have lived without ever knowing how to read even a single word
is not even that the smallest of things can wipe out entire villages in an instant-
mosquitoes, viruses, locusts; slave ships.
Sometimes what worries me most is that
my headphones carry more sounds of strange places
than my heart will ever know- that not even my brothers and sisters
sold off to those strange places ever knew, as their children are hung off
the trees of Jim Crow and we call them strange fruit, and that
maybe our first president didn't marry a white lady; the white lady might have married him.
Sometimes what worries me most is that for just over eighteen years
of seeing thinking feeling breathing being I couldn't
have ever told you what Africa meant to me past the occasional 'dumela'
to my mother's mother but never, never did I know or now know or will know my mother's mother's mother's mother's mother
because
she can't fit inside the cellular America that I hold in my palm.
And this is why they call us lost.
Because home is where the heart is but the heart is a broken place.
One time, my five year old cousin said matter-of-factly
that black is ugly. In my Primary School days
everyone said I should stay out of the sun lest I get darker.
But
I'm here to tell you that I don't even bother wearing a sun-hat anymore.
I'm here to tell you that I don't cut my hair because to do so would feel like oppression.
I'm here to tell you how vivid and lovely and blessed I do feel to have been born in broken-heart home because at least it has soul.
I'm here to tell you that, yes, I do remember
that time when the whole world knew what to do about ****** and Bin Laden but never could get round to talking about Cecil John Rhodes.
I'm here to tell you that
Today, that conversation starts with a toppled statue.
Today, that conversation starts with my voice.
Today, this conversation starts with a poem which proclaims-
child I am, child I am, child I am, child I am, child I am-
that this is my day. This is my day.
The Day of the African Child.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
Morsi stands among
his people as an expression
of Egypt's democratic will
democratically elected
his feet are rooted in the
constitutional right to rule
Morsi has one foot on a
pillar of secular democracy
promising to uphold Egypt's
journey to an egalitarian future
this pillar advances the
republican ideal that
safeguards diversity
and a people's liberty
to express free will
this pillar brought him
to office and justifies his
right to rule
ironically it’s also a pillar
that Morsi's guiding philosphy
find impossible to suffer
Morsi's other foot is firmly
planted on a pillar of
Sharia sympathies
upholding the divine
foundation of his rule
over this earthly principality
Muslim Brotherhood’s
cardinal principles
undermine the pillar
of secular precepts
that equally enfranchise
all citizens
Sharia Laws allows no standing
to equal rights of women,
religious minorities,
LGBT civil liberties and
advocates suppression
of atheistic and
progressive political groups
this has riled the
democratic sympathies
of the Egyptian people
Morsi's actions
threaten to tip the pillar of
secular democracy back
into the Nile’s murky waters
Morsi's stance
is precarious and as his
feet slip he realizes
he is not the
Colossus of Rhodes
he believed himself to be
discovering it impossible
to bestride the pillars
supporting incompatible
structures
the generals have declared
a road map for stability that
rescinds the constitution,
dissolves the parliament
and places the military
as sole protectorate
of the nation
is the preservation of
a democratic republic more
important than the return
to the rule of a military junta?
is it more wise to place
principles before personalities?
Morsi’s next steps are
uncertain
The pathway of the
people’s democratic
journey remains unclear
the sound of the military’s
marching boots grow louder
Music Selection:
Sweet Honey on the Rock
Marching Off to Freedom Land
Oakland
070313
jbm
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 11:08 AM UTC
If I could love, I would take the best of marble and dove,
And craft her eyes like inlaid tombs in stone skyward flight.
Just so, the Egyptian khamsin wind, by way of Rhodes,
Alights with evenness on the trullo stone of Alberobello.
Just so, the weighing of the heart lies between marble and dove.
Dec 7, 2021
Dec 7, 2021 at 9:27 PM UTC
God made me into a marionette
He pulled me from the dust
He scooped me out of coals.
He breathed life into my belly
and now they call me animated earth.
He carved my bones from alabaster stones
long buried under piles of pine needles and leaves
He sang songs of Light and Life
and put them in my ears
and taught me all the words
and cut me silver keys.
now i stand up tall
like the Lighthouse of Alexandria
or the Colossus of Rhodes
i take showers under jungle waterfalls
full of orchid petals
and with angel fish climbing up the rock walls.
my head and all my limbs are hanging by
golden silken strings and threads
and where I walk the moss and lichens grow.
He fashioned my eyes from glass
blown over the hot geysers
and sulfur springs
of thermopylae
and the salt basin dunes.
He plucked my pupils from the pregnant blackness
of the Void.
He struck them over steel and flint
and the sparks made it bright enough to see.
my heart is a time-piece
keeping minutes with its beats
like a great shadow cast behind a sphere.
the elements once kept me apart from me my identity,
I was a hungry ghost
walking around town like a hypodermic voodoo doll.
everytime I turned around
I tripped over another basket full of rattlesnakes
hissing from both ends.
I gave up and crossed my heart
and gave it over to the chemical egregore
hoping I would die while somehow staying alive
and learning how to fly away home-
so i could leave all the piles of ashes and teeth alone
and maybe plant a rose garden.
but God made of me a marionette
strung me up from strings of silken gold.
He breathes for me,
and dances me to the music of the spheres
and now the whole planet is a
Hanging Garden of the Fallen Babylon
and now I keep snakes
as exotic pets
and as company
when i’m lonely
and for afternoon tea.
May 21, 2022
May 21, 2022 at 5:16 PM UTC
1.complete th bridge to the moon started by
Jules Verne and raise the Nautilus..
2.Rebuild the colossus of Rhodes to spec.
3.Take a trip to John Gotti's summer home and split a bottle of Boones
Farm apple wine with him and Emelia.
4. Pull a small sample of bone marrow from Hitlers shriveled corpse for a
Little cloning project that I have been working on.
5.get a head count on all the politicians in the capital who don't consider
Their position a life long free ride with no accountability to the masses..
6. Resurect the cold fusion argument.
7. Run a sub 2 minute mile.
8.kick Tysons but with my right hand tied.
9.mix the perfect martini
10. Start all over again.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 6:19 PM UTC
Apollonius was talking about
proper education and conduct with a young
man who was building a luxurious
house in Rhodes. "As for me" said the Tyanian
at last, "when I enter a temple
however small it may be, I very much prefer
to see a statue of ivory and gold
than a clay and ****** one in a large temple".--
The "clay" and ****** the detestable:
that already some people (without enough training)
it deceives knavishly. The clay and ******
1.9k
can I replace the new with old and call it new, or is that false representation?
will you sue me if I throw in a few past words and sell them to you as newer and better, more reliable, even though they might not be?
what about if I offer to steal a few glances to keep your thoughts scrambling for more?
can I seal a few letters with my Amsterdam red lipstick, to prove that there isn't a word I wrote to you that didn't come straight from my mouth, even though a few, ok all of them probably didn't?
after all, it is real, right?
-Julia Aubrey Rhodes-
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 8:17 PM UTC
the ancients would be offended
at being called ancient; so ahead
of anything that came after that
modern technology hasn't caught
up to them yet & won't;
it's specialty
pure destruction,
digging holes, fiery
explosions & deadly gas
clouds that will malignantly affect
generations to come on the cellular
& chromosomal level
[besides polluting the water
supply w/ psychoactive chemicals];
certain things the ancients
built are still standing & other thing
so grand although gone,
we still know about them [Palla
Athena, Colossus of Rhodes,
Delphic Oracle; &c., &c.;
Stonehenge, Easter Island,
pyramids, to whole lost cities;
my buddy posted a Polaroid
online of our old neighborhood
c.1974; everything in the
picture is gone
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 3:39 PM UTC
In the back of her mind’s eye, she carries visions
Of ancient times she never met
Filling her day’s with riveting memories
She cannot possibly ever forget
Vividly remembering spectacular scenes of a past
She knows could not be her own
Still, feeling a part of worlds long gone from time
So familiar and yet unknown
She recalls days wandering the Isle of Rhodes
Admiring the pink hibiscus flowers
Until the Persians invaded her beautiful home
Locking her away in their towers
Blushing in sweet bliss, she remembers her Ares
Her soul mate and only desire
Nights of sweet kisses and stolen hours
By the glow of a hidden fire
In the back of her mind’s eye, she holds these visions
Wondering always, why they are there
Feeling a part of worlds long gone from time
Knowing she does not belong here
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 4:47 PM UTC
I originally wrote "its funny" as the first line
however I dont think
its funny
I started liking you far too long ago
and I got stuck on the Argo sailing
in sorrow under the statue of Rhodes.
I started writing a poem a day
just to impress you and I realized that
i only ever impressed myself
You like our car side conversations
maybe because I keep good company
or maybe because you were actually interested
in the hopelessness that
I am.
I start to make you a black hole
and I am past the event horizon.
Sunlight only escapes through my words.
My open lips meet your parted sentences
cut short by the warmth of human breath.
I made you into poetry
but I should have followed my sisters advice
and not smashed you into my poetry books
I should not have swirled the words of your
glassy blue eyes into golden threads
binding ancient books.
Thats where I went wrong.
I cared to much.
Our path wasnt a lambda where two paths meet to make one
we were an x
bold on the page but
only crossing for a mere moment.
I dont regret any of it. I just wish
you knew that I meant all of it.
Pretty poems
and movies on weeknights.
Masquerades hiding our feelings.
I never even asked where you stood.
What your mask meant.
What it was hiding.
I showed up to the ball dressed like art
and you were cinderella
waiting for her prince charming.
I shatter glass slippers.
and arrange the fresh fragments into
an ugly spectacle
of futility.
We are schrodingers cat
locked in a box.
Im just afraid that I am pandora
and that the hope of us died
when I observed the radioactivity within.
Cancer cells on skin
you called them cute moles.
I guess I kinda just wanted you to be mine,
and I always knew
that
Good guys
stay stuck at home
watching star wars box trilogies.
Dreaming of their Leia.
Id rather be George Lucas. I think.
This stopped making sense to me the moment
That I decided to make it about you
so Im going to end it
here.
Nov 9, 2015
Nov 9, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
is it the ever flowing images that keep me "going", that keep me "from moving"?
quite confusing, in both ways.
in some ways they allow the blood in my veins to rush to my cheeks when I chose, even sometimes by surprise, but in others, I can barely fathom a moment without them, the memories.
if I were to be living without the images of you, I suppose I would begin to visit you in dream; like someone I have never met but would like to.
you are a dream in all honestly...at least now you are.
there is a nauseating rush now, like a cracked mosaic, like a weak cherry tree in the late fall, like an yelled secret in outer space; and all I suppose is real, are the words I say in my sleep, the longing I remember when I wake, the pain I feel later in the day when I try and remember every arrangement of letters than passed my lips, your fruit punch stained ones.
a third is good, a third is bad, and the other third is neutral...
stuck in the middle, consuming both the good and the bad, blending in camouflage.
I cannot tell which is which.
-Julia Aubrey Rhodes-
Dec 26, 2015
Dec 26, 2015 at 12:43 AM UTC
You were the real "American Dream",
and you supplied our lives with endless delight. You gave us long lasting smiles every time you'd step up to a fight.
In four plus decades, you never quit. With over fifty titles under your name, won all with wit.
Your legacy will forever be imprinted in history. Your name forever in our hearts. You showed wrestling isn't just entertainment but it's also an art.
Virgil "Dusty Rhodes" Runnels Jr,
from the west shores of America to the east shores of Japan, you will always be loved by each one of your fans.
For you were more than a man, and you were more than a dream, you were the real deal, and an inspiration to me.
So I say my goodbyes and show my respect in this short and tacky poem. A new king in the heaven of legends has now taken the throne.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
chalk candies
all printed thereon
different names for the same thing:
a cry for help.
all different colors,
different lies,
but all leave that
disgusting aftertaste you get from candy hearts,
which is precisely why they're not a staple of my diet.
they're good for throwing away in puddles.
there goes one for emily stein.
there goes one for denira queen.
there goes one for jilian quandison.
one by one, letting go of memories.
there goes one for spirit newberry.
there goes one for krystin bullard.
there goes one for tandra wood.
one by one, loosing old ties.
there goes lucy, and grace, and sarah,
long gone.
the box is almost empty.
here's one for kimberly rhodes,
the one i should have held on to.
here's a deformed one for nicole watson,
and a few for the rest of my detritivores.
here's one for anne folderol,
truly folderol,
and a few for the others i could save from low grade lowlifes.
here's one for lisa noble,
two years older.
and at last, one for candice coyle,
out of reach.
i'll keep the box.
Feb 14, 2011
Feb 14, 2011 at 12:20 PM UTC
There was an Old Person of Rhodes,
Who strongly objected to toads;
He paid several cousins,
To catch them by the dozens,
That futile Old Person of Rhodes.
1.1k
Mayor Pete Buttigieg
was nobodies fool.
He chose Harvard
for a school.
Went to England
as an Oxford scholar.
Got a Rhodes award
and saved US dollar.
Took a freighter to study
for his final exam.
( This is true, I do nor jest}
of his class, he scored the best.
Came home and served as Mayor
And won a second term,
In football city, Notre Dame.
Giving him a taste of fame.
To round out his life
he went on line
and found a male partner.
It worked out fine.
He ran for President
as a South Bend resident.
Both friend and foe
rated his chances low.
Said he, I will give it my best
Since Donald Trump is my foe.
Oct 8, 2019
Oct 8, 2019 at 11:51 AM UTC
Sometimes I just wish I could hug you.
Like a sweet little novel I've been dying to read, I wish to read you, all over, front and back, spine to paper.
And yes, often times, I just wish I could wrap you up in a roll of oozing vanilla and breathe the moment in.
I wish I could tell you that you're worth more than the girl who left you standing on you front porch with a lingering love.
Sometimes, I wish that your eyes would softly rest upon mine and feel peace in knowing your life is not complete with her, but rather complemented, perhaps, with me.
Someday I wish you look at life's disappointments as a step towards greater and not a stand still of why's and why-not's.
And if you're willing, I would hope you sit and wish the same for me.
- Julia Aubrey Rhodes -
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC
At the valley
Of butterflies
In Rhodes, Greece
I encountered
Nature's love affair
Feisty flowers
Rainbow colors
Flying gorgeously everywhere
Beyond anybody's reach
Fluttering here and there
Once the caterpillars
Magically turned into animated fairies
Gently hugging the trees
With their soft and fragile wings
Their inexplicable performance
Has fully mesmerized
Thousands of travelers
Enjoying the splendors
Of this world
And to be one of them
I am so gratified
Jun 2, 2020
Jun 2, 2020 at 12:46 AM UTC
midnight taffeta calves, your mom’s rose-gold
diamond pendant resting between *******
too-long hair tamed, fastened at your nape
this peculiar impasse between pretending you’re
prom-young and you’re midtown-gala-elegant-old
you’re a little both, at twenty-one, and a little
drunk—fourteen-dollar champagne, picklebacks
and the desperate paradoxical preservation of this memory
you can hold your cloud-head up beautiful still
so you hitch your dress
runrunrun behind the Rhodes
crouch down in the thorns with every-elegant-one you love
twenty-one, desperate, ebullient, ****
and ****
stand up straight again, glowing, sage
check your coat and dance
nobody’s the wiser
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
I.
This bridge spans two worlds... No, two realities, though where gone?!
Mirrors the mythological beauty of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon
Endorsing the clout and stoicism of Zeus's Statue on Mount Olympus
Parallels the grieving love that built the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus
Evokes the envy of the world as did the Great Library of Alexandria
Rescues forlorn souls, unrivaled since the Lighthouse of Alexandria
Embodies Giza's Pyramid's genius and their incorporated golden ratios
Shorter lived and more vulnerable than the Colossus of Rhodes
Most impressive, though, is that this bridge was only built by two
Abandoned the 8th wonder of the ancient world... Dare who?
II.
Horatius Cocles, sole guardian of its last half, despairs at the disrepair.
Mind forever enveloped and enthralled by shadow's legendary glare!
Horatius Cocles, despondent, knowing that glory days are long lost,
but more so bearing knowledge that Venus will never once more cross!
Horatius Cocles, tortured by this bridge, yet impotent to torch it ablaze.
Disabled evermore by visceral love, yet would do it all the same.
May 24, 2018
May 24, 2018 at 6:46 PM UTC
There stood Colossus gripping tightly
At his injured head and whimpering,
Hemorrhaged for centuries and crumbled
Down to the crying blocks below,
To the crying nation below.
There stood tragedy in her nightclothes,
Caught unaware and unprepared,
But still willing to give the boys a show.
There drifts the smoke and burned up men.
There falls the mighty God of Rhodes.
Hanging now is the thick dust that blinds,
Hanging now is Comedy’s tired head, weeping
From sadness and silence and the ****** dust.
In the roads, the people stand and scream,
In their homes, the people sit and mourn.
Televisions show the Colossus fall,
But the only sound is a news anchor, bawling.
The crushing concrete quenches some
Of the hungry fire, and unofficial officials
Dive into the carcass for survivors.
The Hudson washes down the morning
With debris; and somewhere far off
I am seven, looking at the walls,
Wondering why our class
Doesn’t get a TV.
Mar 8, 2011
Mar 8, 2011 at 6:54 PM UTC
Sometimes I think my childhood went to fast
But frak-lookin’ back that castle was glass
Lasts longer than the beams to break the ceiling’s fall
With my puns I’m probably driving Carter Rhodes up a wall
I diggin’ in the dirt for those three words, words, words
My angry arrow’s at the birds, birds, birds
But like, Thelma and Louise could’ve given me their keys
‘Cuz they always hashtag swerve, swerve, swerve
This is me being personal
I don’t like to do it, but it’s
Best that I do it ‘cuz it
Saves the fuss of a
Sloppy, sole seat in
A sterile room
Where she gives me tissues for a twenty
Call me Mx. ‘cuz I missed the Mr.
Kyrie crown me the king of the sisters
You knock one down I’ll get up, defend her
And mix you up in my gender blender
Just like I'm out on a gender ******
To numb the pain from this Jen or Ben curse
And I’ve played chicken with the blurry ground
And I’ve breathed heavy as I looked around
My feet kissed the air and my arms were spread wide
Hoping against Hope that Jeckyll would beat Hide
It’s been a while since the last time and all
So if I jump-either way the other shoe’s gonna fall.
This is me being personal
I don’t like to do it, but it’s
Best that I do it ‘cuz it
Saves the fuss of a
Sloppy, sole seat in
A sterile room
Where she gives me tissues for a twenty
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 1:46 PM UTC
Me and Terry
On a dusty road
Were singing songs
About Dusty Rhodes
We got hell to pay
But that's alright
Terry's got a credit card
A hogleg and a light
Terry, don't put out that hogleg
It's the only one we got
Tonight we're sleeping
In a satellite dish
Looking up at the stars
And making a wish
"If I had my way"
Terry spoke to me
"A thousand more hoglegs
Rolled up fat for me"
But Terry, don't put out that hogleg
It's the only one we got
Come on now, Terry
Look at what you did
Stayed home from school all day long
To kick a fat kid
Terry been a bad boy
Terry been a bad boy
Bad boy, bad boy, whatcha gonna do?
Whacha gonna do when they come for you?
Terry, better not put out that hogleg
It's the only one we got
Nov 4, 2014
Nov 4, 2014 at 6:20 PM UTC
How do I say its not going to work out? How do I just randomly break his heart when I honestly care so much about him?
"He's my LORD" I will tell him,"You know our earthly love cannot compare."
I feel he is allowed me to stray from you oh LORD, for he tempts me so much.
But what do I do? Do i just come out and say it? Do I let the throat cutting words that slip from my lips be as simple as,"Excuse me, do you know the time?"
And the worst part of it is the selfless soul dwelling with in me. I have given too much, and so much so that my own skin is growing thinner and thinner. My insides slowly disappear every time I offer you something.
I am dying.
I have been giving ever piece of myself to you completely, and I can't take it. And the thing is, my body is already so weak that it makes it so much harder for the words I need to tell you to even reach my lips.
You are the collector of my insides, trapper, hunter, and experimenter.
Your check list is almost filled up along with the shelves stacked high with jars of me. Pretty soon, my soul will be wrapped around your finger, and I am certain that will be the ultimate death of me.
"Oh LORD, please hear my thoughts. Save my soul from this false love and take me home again where I can be consumed in your grace."
If at all that is possible.
-Julia Aubrey Rhodes-
Nov 27, 2016
Nov 27, 2016 at 12:55 AM UTC