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.
0
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
2019-05-17 11:22 am
It heeds no class, or pottery, Table made from ash and clay, Imagine it a vaccine we needed, Would you facebook or twitter, To see images and read them? Should you post a face thrice, Is it a meme or is it your life? I need no wax, only light, Candelabra, give me fire.
Gord
2019-01-09 12:52 pm
I write without notes, No goblins, or hope, Aftermath nonsense. So? I write long-form cribs, Despite shotguns, dibs, Despite skunks glibs: Seven, Eight. Eight, Nine. Just in time, coughing: "Forgive my hands, I am pandering, but All I wish is to climb, My trip divine, My lips atwine, Would you be so suited, Had I not arrived?" In the middle, my tie mismatches, Patchwork outfits, simple acids. Dissolve an owners possessions, Would ten not ask, where are my people, Clothes and houses? I would think at last, and note it, Seven ate nine hungry and homeless, To not play such a hand, preposterous. By standards awful and longing, With numbers staging off-brands.
Gord
2018-12-07 12:28 pm
Lately, I write universal, Rody Walker disapproves: "I see through you, Ethereal, feigning too close, To touch a virtue. Oh, feeling, careening mostly, Posts passing, tongue lashings, More dashing, floor, gas pedal, More dashing, more dashing, One says, like a clause." Platinum ring, yet, Heart diamond, set. What's happening, please, Forget my misdeeds, luck, A hat in a ring, belts, One generation fights back, Another fights against. Poetry succinct, mispelled, Written on cocktail napkins, Waitress dismayed and going, Thrown to a well indistinct, Dreams worth more than coins, More than love or poinsettias, Less two roses that grow together. At least, If I throw my feelings, Into the well they drink, One day they will think of me. Although, If I know I'm leaving, Into the well I go, no warning, or unthinking. Tomorrow, If I am untoward, Bloated upon our meeting, Give me shelter from the storm. Or at least a greeting.
Gord
2018-11-24 04:41 pm
Let's get lit Have you ever felt a time so lit, Like this. Blessed, dressed, Comfy sweaters, It's Christmas. Have you ever felt a time so lit. I guess, I'm dressed in it, I'll spend the whole day with my friends, Chilling. Mingling, God Willing, Song Singing, Painting pictures of my brothers swinging, I guess, I'm blessed because, I can feel it's Christmas. We get presents (ooh) We get Phillips Hues. Everything you wanted all year, I've got just for you. Let's get lit Have you ever felt a time so lit, Like this. Blessed, dressed, Comfy sweaters, It's Christmas. Have you ever felt a time so lit.
Gord
2018-10-24 05:31 pm
Bartlett pears, dare i say, or shout, Without is life austere, my world grey. Some juicy poetry I heard today: "With my hands so sticky, A world become so tricky, So quickly the armoire useless, Of rickety fences, my house is." I spoke it, To save face, Bartlett pears are on their way.
Gord
2018-10-21 08:56 am
Why write technical poetry? Skylight he remarks, opens, Beams of light Caepoeria, Room a knight of California, Adjoined, special upholstery, Coins, for centuries. My king coiled, Toiling thy rings, By fools finding hands, Bringing foil to my picnics. Thinking spoilt, Singing doyle, Drunk stringing his violin, To play brittle. How would I do, Aemula? Is my world to soon, exposed, Or steeped for your future? A mule for god, How would I too, butcher, Myself, user and administrator? I'm you for Claude, Europe, Sugar, or urban woodland. Frogs bulwark their homeless, I'm too for piles of durance, Furthermore for living fulcrum, Furthermore, for here it comes. Words technical, sure, but speaking of, Can I not just turn and bite my thumb?
Gord
2018-10-16 05:56 pm
In my city they wish for dreams, Fish in streams, with no disease. Innocently they live of demons, Give no lead, monster. Imposter husband, Who touches a lot, Possibly you are of honors, Kissing no others, Triage cupboards, heed. For up above there is no seer, Magical being informs our love, Only me. So where mist is aqua, My spirit is awestruck, A blessed potato, tucked. My stomach is full, I have work too abrupt, Where a kiss is awkward, Kids living squalid. So in my city, of missed ague, I will breakthrough, My break through, a great due. A comedic debut, no laughing, A great deal of scoffing at me. My blessed potato, to keep me warm, To be eaten, and too returns. As I scrape these tile floors, Let no-one know, current location: Somewhere forward, even from tomorrow.
The Sophist
2018-09-28 07:10 pm
Unfocused (not soulless or goalless). I smoke spliffs to get my mind off this list of frustrations. Intimidated by outrageous race racing, flaming faggots nigger-bait while still claiming that they win (but the win's painful). The wind is still unstable. My win is a long table with nothing on it surrounded by fables. "Nothing comes from nothing, Son," 'cept Miracles and Bagels, two billion silent men in four billion different conversations, but know thyself and when you're asked just say that you know nothing. Winter's gone and spring is here The hummingbirds are humming I think I'll make a song today, Son I'm feeling something I'm feeling something.
Gord
2018-09-18 07:29 am
She won't relent, Heart of paper, stone read. Western hero, composing feelings, Zeal formulaic, deceit ceaseless. Eastern, kind words repentant, Unlikely to spend life waiting, Ferment, offense, to be condemned. Sweetheart, If one only dances, not for scent, Lance just for chests, Language, port for gents. Madame, another supplement, For what drunken mess is other, Than more time misspent? To see the end, would we prevent? Could we? All I see is a girl, a vent, Policy diverse, absurd, dissent.
Gord
2018-08-21 11:26 am
Friends spoken to be millionaires paid, Mind hopeful, experience bar full, I'm hoping to get a millionaires pay, Friends along with, interiors vague. Though rhymes alone do not denote caste, They are like paste, or a paper, Clinging to the things we wish to frame. Like metal rods with a magnet lace, I walk back to my original place. Pens broken and arms folded in front, Mind hopelessly lost of useless knots. Life like a lark, but come too soon, So hopelessly lost, inside of dark, Heart fought and hard fought, And eventually the daybreak comes.
Gord
2018-08-10 05:27 pm
Nails filed to the end, Sun setting in the distance, I scratch and claw endless, Failing to find a coin to spend, Flailing to mind my business, The new owner Olympus. Perhaps I am but foil to him, Poetically our lives akin. Though he sees me boiling pans, Loud as thunder in soiled pants, Sent on my way out the door, Rather than embarrassed again.
Gord
2018-04-27 09:29 am
Feelings made up, makeshift, Ideals for tomorrow racist, She remarks foundation. He responds formation, Endlessly talks mountains, Flying fowl, howling oasis. The boy comes around, Left alone unanswered, Too late for pounding. Too late surmounting, Midnight is the hour, With a toy box full of clowns, Breath like oneself drowning, Her words are like fire, Counting her countenance, Even if she implied flowering, He runs away cowardly, trampling.
Gord
2018-04-24 03:17 pm
Poster of an omen, toking, Dreaming by a plastic ocean, Most fast forward, hopeful; King of post, tasks chosen, Still lives Midas, hands golden. Lapland where they dig holes, Smoke weed and dance poles, Kings of the foal, antsy, cold. The older they grow, though, He loses his power, cowers, Curses feeling, eats pantry. Banishes his people of necessity, Carelessly manages feeble himself, Paddles the plastic ocean, relieved; Departs common and flowers nothing.
Gord
2018-04-20 07:16 am
Nickname earning: flight to nursing. Pursuing blind rhymes eyes dictate, Spouse filate, being bed-ridden, Fed paste, lies told too tasteless. The self irate, then ergo inflated, A burrowed snake safely slithers, Within a borough named Richard, Who lives past the poison sword, Ego position lord, nails fingerless. No one wants to die a virgin, but some are doomed to that fate. It's a cruel world, I know. Lates.
Gord
2018-04-12 05:46 am
His life a vine, with walls to climb, A sign of reeds, tall as the ceiling. It reads: peace on earth, healing. He easily remarks, needing, tired, With nobodies hiring he sings songs. Shouts at the crowd pink psalms, skimmed, Thinking along, forward and onward; Successor non, foreign legion stalwart. His heart a fire, with walls to climb, Passions fleeting, of paint peeling, With art to desire, of maxims meeting. Of dirt green, or fences mended, Grudge son's, however defenseless.
Gord
2018-04-04 05:14 pm
Poster of an omen, toking, Dreaming by a plastic ocean, That most fast forward, hopeful; King of post, tasks chosen, Still lives Midas, hands golden. Lapland where they dig holes, Smoke weed and dance poles, Kings of the foal, antsy, cold. The older they grow, though, He loses his power, cowers, Curses feeling and eats. Banishes his people of necessity, Carelessly manages feeble himself, Paddles the plastic ocean, relieved; Departs common and flowers nothing.
\/