Gord
2020-01-24 07:18 am
She says with her eyes: I am gone, Evil days begone though. Friday I am home, Peace be with you, they say some words; "Does a partridge purr? Does a catalogue write itself?" Words themselves can be like a cone, Until one meanders about the dwelling. Lonely girl, what do I know? Is not the world yours to sell? Would Lucky keep a sword or bow? Would she emblazon her chest, With Lions, giants, family crests, Sayings of young exuberance, No room for the later lessons. Spear and shield, All you need is God's help, Divine wealth, stature, Time and a long winter, Along those lines, I feel you'll get better. No sous vide or fried Kelp.
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Gord
2020-01-14 04:33 am
Power, in the form of a word, Flowers in the form of the world, Cowards, in the form of the word, Towers of form, of the world, Yet so far from dirt, So says the eyes: If one wrote a novel, Bible or implied shorthand, It would be in favour, Such is the land.
Gord
2019-12-30 06:56 am
Does one write music, Tunes or conclusions, When tongued foolish? Could God write a poem, So deep and wholesome he could not read, Without tears in tandem? Feet so sore-stung, Like a horse in the open, he would forever run, Chasing free of freedom, At best, to never love.
Gord
2019-12-12 05:32 am
Write your life, line by line, From post to post, time in finite, Decide. Vibration is not entirety, Leave flying to the pilot, Masons, vocational thieves. Applause, Songs written of concepts, Concert to the rest, nonsense. Only to soothe the soul, One forgives and consoles, Otherwise the wise have but knowledge, Lies are all but college, Which behold, Yet deny all the garbage they bestow. Take your hits, pipe by pipe, From fist to fist, time is final, Less vital due to all your fighting.
Gord
2019-12-03 01:34 pm
Like a hurt cardinal, bandaged, Perhaps again it flies perverse, Perhaps times himself per verse, Per second, per lurch, per word; Managing his time it finds a perch, Challenging himself, flies the world; Flies and bugs no more, Pecking the spine it eats a horse, Like a fuhrer pardoned, seminal, Perhaps one finds it not so curt, Curtsies, words lies, Lord survives. "I would make gentle return, Messiah of none, I arrive, Time to waste no more." It hears but fury, speaks short, "Perhaps past such things were worse, Such meaning in verses, Supple leanings of wings of worry, Speckled and shiny this rock is yours"
Gord
2019-11-12 07:25 am
Write not of tramplings, Tramp whispering, quiet: Were you to write a hymn, For him, would it be so pious, So timeless, could it be? Could you close your eyes, See peonies in a garden? What is a peony, but alive, Without a whistler to guide? What is my life, but pennies, Withstanding misers in life, What is the point, but a sword, Curt be I to point or hide.
Gord
2019-11-07 09:07 am
Misunderstood lyrics, Reverend, Had you not asked of my kids, Or the loved ones I cherished? Thorough I write my kinship, Kingship, flagship furlough, No science to write myself, Is it just lies of unknowns, Just lies, unknowingly, Trust dying in fun foals, Or stampedes around the field, Not Informed of where they going? Can God even hear a man when he moans, Does he cover an ear, hope and pray? Does he occasionally call things gay? You misunderstand my intention, No questions ponder foolish in heaven, God's gift could be enjoying the stay.
Gord
2019-10-29 07:41 am
Horns, voice of the poor, Holy, vision is only. Rather, than coroner's noise, Throw the dice of paradise your holding. Father, can corners point? How can a leader lead, Scared of people peeping, Their knowledge growing. To plough after planting seeds, Scared of people leaving, Father, am I to join? I feel my collage is nothing, My college is nodding, Politicians are nodding, Should I be hoar myself, Before myself? Should I embrace my life, Before death? Should I allow imbibing, Am I building a shelf, Or finding myself?
Gord
2019-10-17 12:16 pm
Asparagus, are you aspirant plus, A spare, or pair of gloves, Au Pair, in a pear of groves, As parallel was, as it will grow, Outrageous, as pairs will go. Beans of green fielded, ate, All the others upon my plate, Clean, of childish readings. Late, all the others, Plate clean of childish things, Like television and admirings.
Gord
2019-09-20 07:22 am
Pence felt worth, more than all, Dirty and small, spending curt. Maybe to shout, Maybe to doubt, Chasing two shorelines, Given scourge or knout. Schoolyards abound, Fence built high, to the clouds. Fools abundance, mountain climb, Peace can be free, expensive as dying, Riddled with fear unknown, prying, Heavy to swing for liars. Fences can be expressive as lessons, Lesions on the back of your neck, Illegal, yet a photography session, Perhaps I soon like Kim can attest.
Gord
2019-09-18 08:22 am
Leased bells, music borrowed, Please, tell me of tomorrow, Of swallows leaving belfries, How else can my ears will, Until I hear their sorrow? Peter, son my lover callous, Draperies and linen, down, Failure? This linebacker asks, Just throw my ball, pass, Runs forever to never catch, How will I know his sorrow? Unless he is, as a tinder match, Tender lover of impossible tasks, Inflamed tether, ball impassible, Gasoline for the man who hits.
Gord
2019-08-27 07:32 am
Kissing set to lecherous sorrow, Tell me God, what is to borrow? Missing letters, better tomorrows, Missive lectures until I follow? Mating set of anxious swallows, Tell me lover, what is the worm, Other than your gifts I consume? Warm.
Gord
2019-08-23 07:46 am
Images of text, a thousand words, Thousands absurd then bridges bend. Curt be my pen atwixt their cloud, Fountain of their dreams allowed, Pounding coins, their dreams aloud Outbursts blurred of Hitchen's hand. Dreaming mountains with giant crowds, Client crows, their giant demands. Imagine a test, a thousand words, Testing absurdly on a given text, What word comes second, or last. A mass, a mast, a caste aghast, Rest snugly where water amassed.
Gord
2019-07-19 11:45 am
To twitch and die, Filthy in my tiles, Robots see not I, For they have no eyes, No souls, nor desires. I could watch Shrek in the park, While people watch me, watching, Laughing at the audience. Kicking posts in the dark, Hoping to be on the bus, One they are kicked off, Pissed off, and drunk. I could flaunt, bereft of thought, While nobody watched, Like Portnoy says of the drums, A theater does not make it art, Simple beats touch their heart.
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