Gord
2026-08-12 03:43 pm
For all my efforts: Still not together. Constant pressure, carnal pleasure, About successes: 'Still... I lost forever.' Like a stock trader thinks of affection, First place thinks of second, Penguins think of grasslands, Dryness, is to wetness. I don't think we belonged together, Like how a bass needs pedals, or your face needed makeup, Crimes, need a witness.
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Gord
2026-05-25 09:20 pm
Macho dancer, nacho boy, Follower, borrowed language, Patterned, upon another land. They call you boy, not a man. Hollow laughter from the distance, Borrowed valor, from deep sadness. Thirty seven candles later you visit, Sorrow, passion, anger, business, All over a taco salad? I thought you had charisma? They say your life, not your plan... Also talent, not what you had. Abscence, between smashing. Not pathetic and sad, Crippled by lattice fences, Under another mask. Actually? They call me often, I'm in demand. Another sunset and other bands, People are as carbon is to plants, Commerce is to banks, Son is to a dad.
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
2024-08-04 09:27 pm
Like the sun heats sand, Marrow, lemon, butter. Yellow begets yellow. You can get by, off nomenclatures, You can get off of your oral favours, High horse and compare your god. Yellow teeth, shallow gums, fallow claws, Yellow is the sun that follows you home, Yellow is Chicago, Toronto and New York. Kill fellow flowers to see if he loves you, A selfish color that swallows you whole. Reach the threshold for silence, clap. It takes not much for violence to start. Although, you know that. So, like the sun meets the sand, Grassland or temperant meadow. Yellow begets yellow, Green, brown and red. You can get by, off those things you said, Oral favours or fine works of art you posess. I see the yellow for what it is.
Gord
2024-06-06 03:48 am
Dieting, and sex, paying rent. Isn't life grand? Just as they said. Like a rack, stack or chip: Being colloquial, bland, rich. Is like a fantastic black ship, Which sits in the harbour, Hoping to be used, again... Oh, and add two dots to the end, Again, she just hopes for the best. White like her dress, amen. White like her skin, and intents, Alight in her eyes, that intensity, Dying, like her teeth and her hair... Oh, and white like the porcelain, She sees when she retches. White like the faces of relatives. Aegean, sing fool-speak to the masses. Queen, think, but don't deceive Ophelia, A mask would only cover your features, Despite your sweetness, we see the madness. So scratch at your hands, the lion dances.
Gord
2023-10-30 05:49 am
Stares across the sheet of ice... Ningen, it lives! My fear subsides, Human eyes, inhuman smile, alive... it's alive! A light, like a flight, is a trial... Neat circles and straight lines! Figures, like a flight, need a pilot, Skies above have no time or pride. A night, like an iron spike, island, Eye's iris, thick thighs or curtness, Always keep a place and purpose. Unlike the Ningen, which flies... Just hopes to last another lifetime, Like longing stares into a glass of rye, Fish in the ocean or the turning tide. What falls from the sky? What god divines? What god provides? What father decided? Despite what he tries, like a Ningen child, Like looks across tables at what he despised. Like a fucking guy who likes to get fucking high, Although he decides, he decides, he decides... His mind often trailed nonsense, then he cried, Like a little baby, Ningen child that he hated inside.
AI poetry
2022-12-07 04:15 am
Towards evening, the island's in silhouette, Dark trees line the beach and the cliffs at water level. Ripples of light ripples shimmer on the sea. Distant whales make a low moan or grunt. Anchor chain groans and creaks from the boat. They sit in silence, then share a long kiss. Beside them the ship rocks gently on the waves. The captain draws a sigh as he drinks his ale. Then down into the darkness, the depths, To where the sharks prowl, where the dolphins swim, Where the whales sing their songs. And the hunters will go to find them. *** Whale hunt, that's what it was about, The whale, the whale. The hunt, the hunt. What did you want? Just something to do. This poem is an Articial Intelligence re-interpretation of "A Handfull of Pennies" by Gordon Haggerty
Gord
2022-08-03 10:55 pm
Flag, Grab a torch, same hand, Have fun with your vote: Another hand a sword, It opens a can of corn. Fake hammer throw, Judges, like rabbits, Run back to their holes. Rather than face the day, The code and its ghosts. Instead, They make jokes, they make shows, They make notes, that, of course, Exclude their track record of control. That dirt road, saddled by war, Addled by the hammers thrown, Fools who took no land unknown, Who speak a language encoded, Take advantage of the locals. What is wealth, cash of course? But it's also a canvass of bone, Grass in the mouth of a mud horse.
Gord
2022-06-04 02:28 pm
Snyder, my love. Be fire, Be tyrants, Be spiders or vipers, Lions or Tigers. Whether climate, or giants, Highland or island. Even cliffs to climb, Forever, higher and higher. Even if frightened or tired, Jalapenos, cheese, honey, mustard, Hot sauce, ranch. What is pious and righteous, I would face fury of unarmed combat, Against gunfire, to have you again.
Gord
2021-12-14 04:44 am
One last deal, a man's feet, Glass sharp as steel, Half free, half demand, Protect land from the sea. Footing, Looking up, Good enough, discuss, Bullshit words, wooden result. All I can see is the head: Bad feeling in the bed, If only I could fold my hands, Lean, sleep and dream. The chaos I would see.
Gord
2021-10-20 04:23 am
Coastal Landscapes, plum, and dates, Noble Magnates, all things awake, Ocean to space, Poems to plays, Stone, earth and clay. Snow, October to May, A local band still plays.
R B Lane
2021-02-06 08:28 pm
I hear your voice upon the wind. It calls me, to come to you I follow the sound unable to resist like a Siren call to sailors at sea. Your eyes meet mine. The eyes of a lioness who wishes to devour me You pounce upon me and bring me to the ground onto your bed of lilac and lavender I am helpless in your jaws about my neck. Your fangs pierce deep into my flesh. Your jaws crush my last resistance. Your golden flaxlike mane falls upon me like waves of soft sea mist In my mouth and in my eyes, I look through the golden net which binds me Your lips find mine. Your tongue darts into my mouth and upon my face with the kisses of my submission. Your kisses go down my chest with your golden hair softly following behind. Your kisses rise back to my face with your hair all about me forming the net of my capture. Two breasts land upon my body like twin fawns playing in a meadow. They move and glide up and down my body. I reach to grab them, so smooth and soft You are upon me now and our bodies move like the sway of the trees in the wind. I am in you. You have devoured me. There is no more me, only you my Calypso.
Innasense
2020-10-04 11:21 pm
I miss that girl who wore the moon on a chain, The one who found happiness in solitude and rain, Who wasn’t smothered by the endless need-to-dos, But instead made simple moments her muse. I miss the girl with the honest, unforced smile, The one who could always stay for awhile, Who took endless photos of sunsets and trees, And spent time, just being, under canopies of leaves. I miss the girl always seeking out the new, The one whose blue days were ephemeral and few, Who spent her Sundays, childlike, taking trips to playgrounds, Instead of as an adult, pushing expensive mops around. I miss the girl who wore pink bandanas and braids, Whose undercurrent in life wasn’t always “afraid”, Who wasted away hours in make-believe lands, And felt no guilt with book or controller in hand. And I miss car rides with no destination, Enjoying the lilting song of a clock for pure relaxation, Not feeling enslaved by my own procrastinations, Making last minute plans, happy deviations, I miss yesterdays that happened years ago And I miss the me that I used to know
Gord
2020-09-22 04:26 pm
Some composers write bland forever, Passionate sellers, mechanical components, Bad poem after bad poem; Best service as archers than soldiers, Philanthropists of the moment, Amateur poet of farmers knowledge, Larger wage, cannabis smoker; Boxer of drama, reading poems and novels, Softer and lower, he sees darkness;
Gord
2020-09-01 04:48 am
A little boating, hidden motives, Net cast far and wide, rod and line, Bits of fishing where the hook is life, We are the bait and our path decided. A single holding, hot and high, One's Lifetime amidst the roses, A river flowing, ascots and wine, Single toll trip last night, no guilt. No guild and no scrill. No landmarks or sites. Gifts of civil clothing, Met with concerning eyes, In the yards at night, Burning, the whole thing. The inner coding of my heart of little noting, A bit of doting, conflicts of the coal bin, Am I composing, or composting with silicosis, Wasting away my time with simple nothings, Served of cold beer unnoticed with business going.
Gord
2020-08-10 01:28 pm
Devils hand, write of ginger, Stink of gin and linger. Age over, question a gain, Family name a gander. A snake is hissing, of the land, No matter how one pounds a fist, Shaking the sand, he stands in place. Devil, how are you so ginger, Limbless with skin akimbo, No kin to speak for, Yet no wizard can seal your fate?
Lynn
2020-08-05 12:07 am
Soy el saber de la diosa griega Athena. Ella también, tenía la inteligencia pa excavar los misteriosos del universo. Soy los anillos de Saturno. Somos de las mismas cosas: tierra, rocas, y movimiento. Soy los diamantes debajo de la tierra. Somos el carbono, el cuarto elemento mayor en la galaxia. Y como los diamantes, brillo. Yo tengo diecinueve años pero soy mayor que el sol. Yo soy las estrellas en en cielo. Cuando una estrella nace, una nebulosa necesita derrumbarse. Y también, me caí de la gracia divina. Y eso no fue mi muerte, fue mi nacimiento. Estoy lista para ser una de las estrellas allá. El autor F. Scott Fitzgerald dijo que “cuando tenías diecicinco años tenía el resplandor de la mañana temprana, pero cuando tienes veinte años, tendrás el luminoso triste de la luna.” Soy de los rayos de la luna. No soy más brillante del sol, pero reflejo el resplandor de la gente más como el sol, brillante. Soy luz, soy luz, soy luz. ¿Identidad? ¿Personalidad? Definir es limitar. Entonces, no me limitaré. Soy el árbol viejo en el campo vacío del granjero. Soy sola y mi mente necesita el silencio. Miraré el cielo y todos los animales que me hacen sus casas. Soy la lluvia de las mañanas tempranas cayendo encima del árbol viejo, suave y bastante frío. Soy artista melancólica. Me disparé en el medio del campo entre los girasoles altos. Soy todas esas cosas y todas más. Soy las interpretaciones de la gente que conozco. Aún, las interpretaciones que las otras no son que soy de verdad.
Gord
2020-07-28 05:21 am
Noble steed, noble land, From ovum to the fields. One dances, never glances, Until glasses conceal. Test taker, what is fate? My eyes no longer make it. Stare into the distance, And see the same. Tomorrow is a little late.
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