Gord

2018-02-09 01:57 pm

Always crows flying, living Ottawa,
Silence as loud as a passing truck.
Liar of the present, fool future,
Suture and praying for none at all.
Always comedies written, hands numb,
Painter finishes his castles, backward,
Words tired yet landing with oomph; 
Posture lacking, Skull bashed in,
Tomorrow's recluse and marked man,
As the crowd begins, he rescinds.

Gord

2018-02-08 05:06 am

A poem written in jest,
Forgive my candidness.

Live life a person kinder,
Man damned and woman candor,
Sky full of condors, vultures,
Even politicians disgusted.

Red lines and yellow subjects,
Life full of candid sculptures,
Culture vulgar, Butler colored,
Abreast cigarette smokers,
Who vote for nothingness.
A king of the foreward,
And cowards who sit home.