Gord

2015-09-22 12:00 am

Words are my slave ship
Letters upon which they charter.
I freebase pure knowledge,
Elated: I inject real homage,
These poems resemble classic Art,
Stumbling upon a picture,
Requesting passage home. 

The Sophist

2015-09-21 12:00 am

Three loveless dynasties divine.
Providence in sheep inside.
Bleeding,
'Treating to be blinded.
The Feigning Suicidals.

Three peasants covering their eyes,
Not displaying thoughts inside.
Blinded,
'Treating to be bleeding.
A hopeless heart reciting.

Bed made and three pillows aligned.
Love lost 'tween a bout and twine.
Meaning,
Ends of never starting,
Twelve sorrows between two hearts.

Twelve hearts;
Their grief imparting.

Twelve stars align to follow charts.
Cosmic games of skeet in the dark.
Teeming,
Conducted by the stars;
An opera of three parts.

The loveless damned to be confined,
Only singing chorus lines.
Finding love within their sources.
Slamming on their desks with sore fists.

Bed tossed and our feelings opined.
Love found 'tween a tackle and twine.
Value,
Still,
But still restarts,
Twelve griefs of an ardent heart.

Earnestly,
Your soul departing.

Gord

2015-09-17 12:00 am

Cancer begets cancer,
society begets society,
For doesn't piety amble?
Doesn't a father lie,
when providing simple answers?
Questions beget questions, 
When space is found ample. 

Gord

2015-09-16 12:00 am

Three found in solace,
Dependant upon two for homage,
The hammer bent metal;
Providing knees in knowledge,
Until cap insatiable;
Those that tread upon water, 
Are stomped into mud this age;

The Sophist

2015-09-10 12:00 am

Day 1:
No stoic women and no false metal,
Living the life,
Inside of a kettle.
Hopping and jumping,
Trying to escape.
Grinding my teeth,
While the symphony plays.
"Does it feel great?"
"Yeah, it really feels great."
"Now what should I do?"
"I'll cry the next day."
Weeping,
Watching the moon start to settle.
Disappear too soon below false nettle.
"With such regret I will miss when I die,
So I dream to escape the world I deny."

Day 2:
I sleep;
The moon and my mind both settle.
I no longer jump;
Steam fills my kettle.
These stoic women;
Fawns for false metal.
Living my own life;
Fit in fine fettle.

Gord

2015-09-03 12:00 am

He puts on his cap,
Regardless of a bat or bases,
His face is just like his dads,
So they clap.
Beyond a pale horse is forever-after.
Regardless of initial fervor lacking.
Many men look upon a hill backing,
Ocean drying the Earth's pasture.
So they have.