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Gord

2020-11-25 04:33 am
To hurt him, like ordinance, 
Without pair, like oranges,
I know the judge, stole from her,
And I showed the world,
Like porcelain, life and purpose.
Too curt of whim, by your judgement,
Like my origins, like ordinance,
I simply shoot from the hip.

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Gord

2020-11-24 05:18 am
And what is knowledge,
Seeking cage or collar,
Blue, An ocean fathered,
Or Purple, red and other;

Purple, being safe,
Circle, being safe,
Purple screaming veins,
Journal speaks of rage.
Press candles, pages,
Stress handled in stages.

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Gord

2020-11-19 01:01 am
Bindle stiff of simple things,
Fake brickwork buildings,
Frugal beginning.
Mind filled with bitterness,
Still feeling ideas stone:
Life constatant, slowly.

Hands in gauze and clovers,
One makes a river of oceans,
A farm of forests, dogs of horses.
Yet smashes up against the stone,
Dark and lonely, eyes gloss over.

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Gord

2020-11-13 07:17 am
To scratch to paper to feel,
A rat pampered can keel,
Catch as cant, caped and kneels.

To manage a brokerage well,
Manger broken, belly swells,
Change hopeful, soon quelled.

The train is gold but gone,
Pain is old game to fawns,
Again retold, they carry on.

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Gord

2020-11-12 06:34 am
He writes on reeds,
Rides on steeds,
Likely feeling.

He sees the sea,
Steels a seal,
Greets, then eats.

He wastes away,
Hastily his days,
Vast mountains sway.

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Gord

2020-11-06 12:40 am
A Fool, wreath of barbs,
Writing of films' stars,
Barns, and what lies beyond;
Tools for reaching disembarkments, 
A cool way to clean her clock,
A gun, put into a mouth,
Entire crowd in shock;
His cigar takes tocks,
Ticks boxes and lives onward.

He rewrites his ducks: swans,
Cooks his brownies blonde,
Looks at his frowning fawn,
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,
Like drowning frogs,
A fearless John.

When he writes of life,
It's to a howling mob, 
Sexy songs, luck gaunt,
One of us, One of us, One of us,
Eteonicus lives, reeds or not.

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Petar Kostadinov

2020-11-02 10:04 am
“Writers 
———————-
Have gentle souls
Have a heart of a sunshine 
The one written word they paint
From their lives with each brush in their hands

The good times
The bad times 
The treasured of times
Their words are best told 
From its beginning to no ending

They paint each season
They create each reason 
They form each line 
As they stand even at the bus line
As they wait for their train to arrive 
As they drive their car they must stop 
At the parking stop and quickly write 
Otherwise they will lose their track of 
Song they want to sing”

(c)10/31/2020 by Petar Kostadinov 

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Lynn

2020-10-29 11:27 pm
these are the golden years, the golden day, she says
like the sunrise or the sunset? i say
both. or neither. she says 

do you miss it? she says
your youth, i mean.
i know. i miss it. i am still young. it has been torn from my chest and weighs on my hips and i miss it. i say

how was your birthday? she says
better than before, i say. 
before what?
the moment it became my birthday.
were you gifted anything? she says
on which birthday? i say
all of them. or none. she says

do you think we could preserve this moment, cast it in gold or bronze or iron? she says
no. 
who said that?

i pick up the mirror and drag it home. 

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Gord

2020-10-28 10:14 am
Writing one hundred pages,
It turns out to be permanent makeup,
Not exactly an act of nature, 
Rather products of one's labor,
Tattooed to the skin with lasers. 

Other people, Other places
A number of changes, fables;
One's mind, the world adjacent.

Fine, just fine,
Never find time,
Why bother in the prime of life,
When eyes stretch beyond the tide.

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Gord

2020-10-21 02:05 pm
To claw and claw,
Writing of natural law,
Barracks and arches,
Scientific approaches;
To be driven ashore,
Hearing of chorus,
Fairs and archfiends.

Only death can stop me,
Friends and colleagues;
Stems, large leaves,
Cigarettes, coffee,
Footsteps and then leaps;
See my craft on screen,
See their past as I see.
Consequence on my freedom,
I feel men are not sheep.

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Gord

2020-10-20 04:08 pm
Is my life but a minor arc?
Mirror dark, a nine of hearts,
Why walk into the distant fog,
Past miles of silver boxes,
Simple props with silver foxes,
Waiting for their turn to balk.

I could write ironic of a pen who talks,
Night-time bombings, a man who moved on,
Wildlife watching.
'Will I be fed to dogs'
The pen responds:
'Terrified by conflict you write a law,
But will the dogs obey? I think not.'

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Mary Steffen

2020-10-19 10:22 pm
Another day
Before

Another time
We cry

Sailing across
My dreams

Day of reckon 
We dare

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Gord

2020-10-14 04:01 pm
When you touch the water,
Do you feel it's wetness?
When you make art, do you ask,
How far is the sunset?

Like a squirrel along the fence,
I hope I never dash to the end.

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Innasense

2020-10-13 04:48 pm
If you Really Saw Me

What would you do if I told you all my secrets? 
The ones pulled from deepest trenches, darkest corners.
Scraped them like the drippings of my innermost self 
Onto your proverbial plate

Would you push them all back? 
Demand a reverse regurgitation  
Of all that was ugly in me
And pretend you never saw 

Would you sift through my soul?
Stir a fork through all that is me, 
Looking for the parts you can use, 
Discarding the rest 

Would you shatter the plate against the wall?
Shards of me on display for all to see, 
Lay me bare in front of the eyes of the world 
And laugh at the tears streaming red down my face 

Or would you love me just the same?
As my inner enigma bleeds over the porcelain edges
As you see all the sides unseen 
Would you smile at my uncloseted skeletons? 
Would you hold my empty vessel self 
and fill me with the light, 
the love, 
my soul needs?

What would you do if I told you all my secrets?

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Mary Steffen

2020-10-13 06:25 am
As I see
World's fire
No end soon

Together
We are strong
Fight fire

Arise now
Golden light
Great beyond

World of hope
Happiness
Full of love

Laughter here 
Forever

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Innasense

2020-10-10 09:54 pm
Warning: this is looooooong and if you’re a sensitive individual the first parts may bother you. But hopefully the last part will inspire you. Speak your truths friends. The ones who matter will love you all the harder. #worldmentalhealthday

Hidden Stories 

They smiled, jokingly told her 
she looked tired, 
“Must’ve partied hard last night.”
Smile quietly returned, 
“just didn’t sleep too well I guess.”
She didn’t tell them how hard it was to get out of bed this morning, 
How sleep never came last night, 
How it felt like the darkness would just swallow her whole, 
How she felt hollow and empty 
and there weren’t any tears left, 
just an ache deep within 
that wouldn’t subside. 
And maybe if she just squeezed her eyes shut and stayed in that bed 
in the blacked out void, 
She wouldn’t have to face another day of faked smiles and “I’m ok” lies. 
“Just tired today I guess.”

“It’s warm today man!” 
“What’s with the long sleeves all the time?”
“Got some crazy tattoos under there?” 
He smiled, laughed along with them, 
Self-consciously ran his hands 
over his wrists. 
Over the bandages binding his secrets.
They didn’t know how close he got last night, how he almost let go, 
How so much blood, HIS blood 
swirled down the drain, 
mixing with his tears. 
He was sure no one would miss him, but he wondered if he would miss this world, 
And the good days out in the sun, 
Few and far between as they were.
What would they say if he were gone tomorrow?

“You should’ve come out with us last night. You would’ve had so much fun...”
She nodded and made those
“next time” promises, 
though she knew they were lies. 
She’d stay home again, 
Wrapped in the icy grips of loneliness, 
Which felt somehow better 
than her burning cheeks 
when the right words just wouldn’t come, or the wrong ones spilled out, 
and she felt their eyes on her,
Panic rising, thoughts frozen
Wishing she’d just stayed home, 
Away from the judgement, 
And all the wrong moves she always made

“Haven’t seen you around in a while! Doing ok?” 
His mouth smiled, head nodded, 
lips formed words he’d said so often, automatic. 
Because, really, he thought, 
How could I describe 
that moment last night, 
body curled up with forehead cold 
against the kitchen floor, 
Ears covered to block out the voices, 
Silent screams wracking his body as the panic overwhelmed him, 
No breath to speak, 
And who could he call anyway, 
How would he explain these moments of pure fear that slipped in unnoticed
and become everything, took everything, until he was a shivering shell of himself. 
Sometimes he wondered, 
if they could see through him, 
would they think him weak? 
Would they walk away...?


These people are all make-believe, 
but the experiences are not, 
taken from articles and discussions 
and sometimes even revelations from 
real-life friends. 
These are not my stories, 
but they are someone’s truths, 
Not their weakness, 
Not their short-lived sadness
that they can just “get over” if you try hard enough to make them happy. 
(My gosh do I need to remind myself of that part sometimes...)

But that doesn’t mean you stop trying. 
Love them y’all. 
Love them so damn much that you’ll sometimes break through the cracks in their self-inflicted armor. 
Listen to them, 
Give them the chance to be 
open and honest, 
And if what they say makes you flinch, imagine what it must feel like for them. 
Do something kind that makes them smile and get ready to do it again tomorrow.
Smile and laugh with them. Cry with them.
Be genuine with your 
thoughts and feelings. 
Give them space, but check on them. 
Pull them out of the dark for just a moment, say, 
“I’m here for you when you need me. 
And I always will be.” 

Mental health issues are often invisible, 
but still feel debilitating to the one 
inside that head. 
Stay educated. 
Be understanding. 
Love the hell out of each other. 
❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🖤🤍🤎💗

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Gord

2020-10-07 08:27 am
Of dying and fighting,
Best saved for last,
Apologizing and crying,
Inside the eyelids:
Kiss my ass, my lover lives.

Wind, harvested by mills,
Jacks, coveted by Johns,
Songs built by peoples,
Hymns for the seasons.
Rescinded politically,
Not knowing what to believe in.

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Gord

2020-10-06 02:11 pm
Make a face, disappointed,
Hopefully it stays that way,
One appreciates a boys wit.

What is pain but pain,
To call a spade a spade,
Our nature trail is grey.
They say save whales,
Scream of the rape of males,
even in the face of change.

Change my name,
Change my state,
Changing shapes on the screen again.

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