Gord
2026-08-20 12:52 pm
Time doesn't exist, Like carbon paper, Beneath me, Impression. Life isn't about solid phases, Matter has three states, Like a person has faces. Knife, plunge into my skin, You planned to cut me, But, what about yourself? You're beneath me.
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Gord
2026-07-04 12:09 pm
Beneath the heather, Under her breath, Behemoth... Never. But demons forever: Dreams of perfection, Peaceful agendas, Deeper connections, Traded for equal attention. You always had mine forever, Free from aggression, Free from unpleasance, Free from pretending, Free happiness forever. That's not what you want? Beneath a sweater, Under her breath, Again, another. So she says, Free from justice ever, When it comes to affection. So she never opens up, Free, of attendance, Free, hand percussion, Free, for jackals and buzzards, Until they see something better.
Gord
2026-06-04 10:00 pm
Little bug: Little pigs, Little frogs, Little slug. Finger work beneath civil tongue: Fish supper, friction with drums. A little brother, too big for hugs, A little bit of dust, bits of rough: Personality, but's and cynical plots, Digital work beneath a given tongue. What would you say to me honestly? That you wish I was crushed? Well, I'm not. I lived never thinking of you much. Where is your response? Little love for little bugs, Simple things, inner calm, bigger cause... More concern for grudges, Than writing another song. Give a little time, you give it up... A little pain, a little age, little fun: Singing about doors that are shut, Invisible cuts that the makeup covers, For a while, until the stage goes dark, Then begins your performance, Entertainment to little bugs.
Gord
2026-04-30 09:47 am
Round mouth shouts, War cry, smoke to sky, Really? I'm quite surprised, You changed with the times, Now, you find the fight? You are cold, white, Like an old jazz style, How do you stay warm at night? I am bound down: stakes, ropes, ties... Beneath the giant lies. A man with giant lies about him, A giant in a human size. I am found down, shivering upon the tiles, Beneath the skin a person lies, A man with giant lies about him, As a spider consumes the flies, Pious continual, polite about it. Does that make it right? Well, let me fly around a bit, And with delight I get to live again.
Gord
2025-06-06 07:03 am
A chore upon a list of meetings, My feelings mean nothing more... Relationship falls into rondo form, What does she have the condo for? A floor exists beneath a ceiling, My needs mean nothing though. Relationships, and outercourse, A chore upon her list at home, In the sky on the fifteenth floor, A eye, declines to answer the door, She says, goodbye, cries to a score, Why would I? By the by, she never loved me. By the by, why should I? By the by, by the by. By the by, she never loved me. By the by, why should I? By the by, by the by.
Gord
2024-09-19 08:15 am
If fights ensue, It's not of me, delights, or truth, So why stand beneath? At least in my mind the blue is me. What of peacocks in the spring? What of cheese in the crumbles? What of resolve and my shivering? Certainly, I can feel these things. It's not beneath me, Like red sees croplands, Like rubber and tarmac. Like green sees the sea: blue. Ironically, foolish for free verse. Traverse the world, but ask me, Just remove lines, write peace. Irish flute, life renews, Fights needs two, Then favour winning, Like red says to greens. I wish inside, though, blue remains. Enticing eyes, confusing wings, Flying, seems a bit childish to me, As does to peacocks in the spring.
Gord
2024-09-02 09:22 pm
Narrow perceptions, Narrow affections, Despite prayers, attention, Yellow shell for protection. State your objections, Friends for protection. But in your profession, You need a director, For help, or whatever, For the show you live in. And they have their agenda, Sex, successors, buzz levels, Namely, making you famous. Yet, if you know contentment, Can you ask god, Inside somewhere, is there yellow? I feel life swallowed me whole, Until I crack, cry and bellow, Like whales beneath the waves.
Gord
2024-08-08 01:00 am
She walks the tightrope, Calm as the sea, God decides not popes, Nor who is to be, She decides. Death, I'm melting, Ice to the skin, white, I hope my red is ending. Where is my yellow, Beneath gangrene? And what is the blue, Something to never see? Death, I'm coming, Touch my skin, white, I know my time is ending... Tightrope walking, thin, This, is more of a kids thing... I think...
Gord
2024-07-25 10:38 pm
Shine bright, diamond, Beneath the veil, skin. Brimming, a stage kiss. Iris, it irritates, The yellow exists. Blind, tulips remiss, Four lips but a mess. The beauty, she says, Is when you miss me, she says, Things about empathy, grace, My other exes, she says, My friend, she says, In the end, she says goodbye, But that was her intention, She says.
AI poetry
2022-12-07 04:31 am
The wind whispers to my skin, It's like it speaks with every breath. As if it has been calling out for my presence, Waiting to see the face behind this mask. So far it has shown nothing but disdain, And I wonder if I have anything left to give. In darkness I wander, With nothing but my memories Falling, falling, falling. Where once I saw light now lies only gloom, And I know that it has gone. For those who wish for rest, I have none Though I'd give up what I have, for one more. But it's too much now, I can't move my hands, I just want to sleep... (My memory, it fades) In the dark, with nothing to grasp, The memories that I hold so dear Fall away from me like they were never there. And I feel as though I will fall into madness, Like the very world is crumbling beneath my feet, That everything is crashing down, I fear I cannot stand the weight. (I'm fading) I just want to sleep... (My memory, it fades) *** I'm afraid I've gone and made a fool out of myself again, I knew you wouldn't understand my reason, And now you're not talking to me at all, You see I didn't mean to let your memory fade, It's like I was being pulled away by another force, Something I didn't mean, something I can't control, I don't even know why I'm still here... I don't know why I'm still here. I should leave this place, I know it's wrong, I shouldn't be here in your mind, I can't help the way that I am, I don't know why I'm Super Mundane, I can't stop feeling so low, I'm afraid it's already too late. I didn't mean to let you slip away, But the thought of losing you just doesn't sit right, To keep you awake and alive, I need you here, I'm not alone, Without you here with me I can't go on, I don't know why I'm Super Mundane, I don't know why I'm still here. I didn't mean to let you slip away, I just can't shake this feeling, That something inside of me is broken, I don't know why I'm Super Mundane, I don't know why I'm still here. This poem is an Articial Intelligence re-interpretation of "Super Mundane" by TheSoftSophist
Gord
2022-04-23 12:43 pm
Atlas reaches, Earth teeters, Who cares who stares beneath. Apples, peaches, pears, kiwis: Tree, what are seed to thee? Tree, what are seeds to be? Blue, what does it mean, to be Green? Views beyond what one has seen. Speed, a pace, to place them at the peak, Then recede, what decides its meaning? Perhaps at the roots, the soil is gleaning, But at the root, a house teeters, Tepid falling upon the cedar greens, Of course, Of no fault to me, I feel. Accepted outcomes of little dreams, Confused with death, drift out to sea.
Gord
2021-10-21 07:04 am
To write irate, Like Ivy failed, The time it takes, Is flies to drakes. Reveal beneath the cape, water, Fantastic I can see the shape. Father should I peel the grapes? I only question the time it takes.
Lynn
2021-07-27 10:45 pm
what sleeps in the forest beside the highway? what lays its small head on dismembered takeout boxes and curls up beneath plastic bags emblazoned with ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’? does it give thanks for small polyurethane luxuries? for the refuse it calls its refuge? what feeds on the grease and fumes from the roaring mechanical parade? does it lick its lips afterwards? what learns to cross the glimmering cement - first timidly, then wanton and triumphant after practice? what watches? what does it notice? what emerges from the forest beside the highway, large and lumbering, to repay the generosity of its benefactors in kind?
miherseed
2021-04-27 11:03 am
the santan dew crawls out of the stalk if you break it apart from the bush suddenly it burns brighter than dust small grand doors tiptoed to kiss their frames held by hinges, but try to reach north alas, their fates are back and forth there’s a somnolence to homes that are not yours holed with metaphors you never explored to tell your throat is for similes or possibly something else i wonder if wells hear wishes or if they are mere echoes of aired fulfillment perhaps that’s why the well water only gets to see the sky even if i bury my fingers beneath the soil, i am no root. even when i draw lines on the sand, i make no shore.
KilltheDistance
2021-03-02 05:40 pm
Often at times, I find myself at war with my own mind, Unable to accept that that I'm unable to accept that I am but a speck of dust, Wandering aimlessly, Crashing into everything that I'd eventually grow to love, Then wandering off in search of someone who would eventually break my heart into a million tiny pieces until I'd convince myself to just give up, But our species, For better or for worse have an unwavering ability to persevere, So I tuck myself beneath this dirt seeking only solace from that which left me questioning everything, Until one day I push past the debris and rubble, a stock with a shadow, And with each and every passing day, I feel the life and love growing and shaping me into a stronger version of the person I abandoned in the grave I call these sheets just the day prior, For no pain will silence me, No discomfort will ever extinguish that which sets my heart on fire.
Gord
2018-08-29 12:46 pm
I have a shelf of books, all ashes. My most disastrous, Poetically immaculate. Writing of real life intangibles, Kissing a boy by the shore, While the crowd screams more. That's the 21st century, man, Progress a little beyond books of ash, Paper plates and cheques for cash, Beyond are spaceship parts beneath trash. If Etan must, they probably may have done, So if May is upon, another spring comes, Against a flower one cannot lean butt, Especially with the shadow cast cut across. Don't show up at the poetry contest, Rhetoric political, ignorant, floral, passe, Or expect they place you last, lame, fake.
Gord
2017-01-03 12:00 am
Panic as the ship hits the shore, Not Before, la vie, con amore, For love does typically live forever. Only old men break for the weather, Feverish in their love of pleasure. Deacon finding the failure of people, Lights fires in the place of beacon, Wooden beams crumbling beneath him, He is the lighthouse that never was. I am the rocks that never could, Smashing rocks of greater virtue, I am then accost and pursued, Masticating grass of rain and dew, Too ignorant to stand. Too ignorant to move.
Gord
2016-04-21 12:00 am
She cries to me able, Drying the the river fate, Dangling the carrot, An I to blame for position? Managing to hear it, I feel. Tragic for her stable condition. Merely I write transitions, Love letters of insinuation, Lasting forever, Boxed beneath a house of chatham.
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