Gord

2017-08-21 09:20 am

Words leave lips,
A wall of sound,
Then music hits,
His voice lost,
Words meaningless,
Actions listless;
His love awful,
His verse aught too.

The kids quickly learn to run home,
Anyone who find ideals embarrassment,
Ironically find the end of needles;
Peering into the future, fetal,
Their vision worthless unknown;

Gord

2017-08-16 01:55 pm

Umpire of God useless,
Demanding more strikes,
Life swung precarious,
Batter belies himself,
Bent to Gods of strife;
Fate for ball carriers,
Forever them sodomites,
Snipped their genitals,
Cum on their fingers,
Not dick in their minds;
Not men, Nor fire they are,
Born of stone, tower guard,
Born of the mud, wallow on,
Born of the sun?
Pearls, Diamonds and Harps.
Radar dishes begin, fill the sky,
And forever destroy our heart.
Son of the earth,
Yet nothing but sky he remarked.

Gord

2017-08-10 12:17 pm

Me? I once found love,
It made no difference,
They all forget to sub,
And I made no income.
A marriage valueless,
The class clown flubs;

Bell rings and we run,
Fighters embracing,
They man up, Fast t'was.
Master of the gun facing
 Castles of his virtue,
Backs still to the sun;

Sacks filled with their cum,
Save slaves of ignorance,
To every man is worthless.
Except when smoke burlesque,
And living on canned shrubs.
Maybe it should be, unless,
You buy conqueror's seed,
Then smoke it bluntly,
with cannabis, sunglasses on;

Gord

2017-07-13 01:16 pm

Past tomorrow I see no lecterns.
The horse speaks, lack luster,
Words worthless,
 and everyone taking pictures;
Girls wet as many pitchers,
Barn doors close windowless;
Blissful peace again,
Silencing planes overhead,
Standing tall as clouds,
Power small as a child,
Foreign tongue, power bottom,
University educated,
Now you've got 'em.

Maybe whispered tomorrow,
Today lives in industry, 
Claws large as the gut,
Staged imagery for one;
Paper mimicry of a doll,
Feigned apathy of a sun;

Gord

2017-05-10 12:00 am

Folly of the hopeful hammer,
Swinging away blind, aimless.
Homer of the hero's fate,
Not affluent, just writing,
With his household safe.
Self-flagellation, Self lying.
Living a pirate lifestyle,
Irate in heart, child in mind.
Chide, mock, then violate,
It fucking vibrates the soul.

Gord

2017-04-21 12:00 am

Taste manufactured,
Inner eye manic,
Skills casual,
Desires casual,
If employers pass on you,
The endless job, application.
And the world turns without.

Gord

2017-03-28 12:00 am

Forgone lectures,
Postponed letters,
Now apropos,
Lessons to a horse.

Lesions and sores,
Plague of the bed,
Everyone to lye in.
Pleasure center torn,
Smash that like button,
Feel at home.

Gord

2017-03-21 12:00 am

Flowers lace the sill,
Stone frames of lifestyle,
Sagging windows in vogue,
Stolen valor of masonry,
Following sanctioned power,
Also stolen.

Perhaps I play the fool,
Pen in hand,
Man of head,
Felled in mind.
Thinking you would see me again,
With love timeless.

Tired eyes of the tire fires,
Loving fights in the shallows,
She lacks enacting desire,
Not inadequacy.
Big fish never leaves home, 
Aptly.
Living to throw,
Never catching.

Pursuit of unkempt bastards,
Told only lies,
Keeping only pictures,
Stones still held higher,
Designated only pitchers,
A Fighter drowns afterward.

The Sophist

2017-03-06 12:00 am

Those Girls; They're Tasteless.
Waist Lips Off-Shore to Faces.
Beach Lips of Wasted.

Gord

2017-03-03 12:00 am

Partridges fly,
Above the land they admire,
Moon rocks to the scientist,
Fertility given to a goddess,
Pointless admiration.
So begins desire,
The bird flies higher,
Further from the ground,
Wherefore no dreams to mire.
Society jobs to a miser.
My job is too dry,
Hands cracking, without water.
Voice loud enough to deny it.

Gord

2017-01-19 12:00 am

Those who kill another standing,
Are said to be of stone and iron.
Bean counters politic to the throne,
Are somehow revered and desired.
Despite their lack of remorse,
And passionless fire.
Their life a metaphor of climbing,
Smelly, poor, and small minded.

Gord

2017-01-17 12:00 am

Finding selected,
Keystroke wreckless.
Days clicking google adsense,
Hoping for a future pleasant.
Those married to future present,
Set precedence, or providence.
Either way, their feeling felt.
Ourselves providing the set lists,
Swimming only to divide the kelp.

Tragedy or more could define the self,
Prophets could by chance desire wealth,
Perhaps afterlife is rather expensive.
Better than desiring severed heads,
Documenting your proletariat ventures,
Penniless yet the castle stands.
Random chance gives in to my demands.

The Sophist

2016-05-26 12:00 am

Deep in the forest
Between pleasure and pain
Screams are so violent
Yet silence remains
How often do you think of me?
Or remember my name?
Am I just a memory?
Or do you ever think of me?

Stridently hopeless
Lotso' talk about games
Stammers to silence
There it goes again again
How often do you think of me?
Or remember my name?
Am I just a memory?
Or do you even think of me all?

Tomorrow, if you picture it;
Another chance to witness someone else's bliss
And envy it
And live your life in envying
Green both in your mind and in your skin
Clad in purple cloth worn to protect your sins
And mourn the loss of love you stitched into it

Around me I see
Ghosts of a memory
Smoke in the air I breathe
A complete lack of energy
Dogmatic discomfort
Dogmatic disbelief
Friends crushing my dreams
Becoming the enemy

I'm Building a fortress
To honor my name
To scream at the silence
To wander in pain
To wonder in fantasy
Living each day the same
Do you ever think of me?
Or am I just a memory?

Deep in the forest
Between pleasure and pain
Screams are so violent
Yet silence remains
How often do you think of me?
Or remember my name?
Am I just a memory?
Or did you ever think of me at all?

Justan Mitchell

2016-05-04 12:00 am

When my peripheral vision glanced at her she did not resemble the Queen of my dreams, not the Cleopatra whose footprints roamed across my back. Instead she painted her own impression upon me.
And due to her own flare, I've grown tense to taste her plate of truth or dare. If you have not gathered the info yet, her Irish sunset over Germany before her floral scent approached me. Then I looked and her twinkle with a smile seductively manipulated the process to be hooked. And I am not speaking of the kind of love that "fictional" novels boast. 

In noticing her high esteem I could not retrieve in memory, surroundings that clearly reflected my wantings. Never to resemble a member of my mental figures of infinite atmospheres, and it is now clear, she was waiting just two steps to the right in the mid of night at a club for those who write. The next lesson is the next blessing, and I think she likes me too! But I'm not speaking of the kind of love that boast lust or that funny feeling from romance novels, not even the wish one makes as "Jeanine" awakes from her bottle. 

I am writing this for you.

Your artistry equates to what my heart's song translates, and I can relate. The Proof of your mental weight has positive potential packed in places beyond superficial positions of great! All of this and I still can't pronounce your name, which leads me to say that I'm and glad my dreams have already been played way out across the intricate workings of Nature's space. And our collective destiny has been predetermined so what will becomes of it, is what we add to IT.
Oh and by the way it is nice to know that chocolate is still love and that spirits still connect and grow, yes it is nice to know. 

Justan "Potential" Justan Mitchell

Dangerous Soul Life

Justan Mitchell

2016-04-13 12:00 am

The Near Perfect Gift

In the former days of boyish ways,
I walked in a maze and talked on then plains, 
of my humanness.
And of this list my name was skipped, 
like a gone astray wish of a dreamscape in which, 
I could only reminisce.
But now that I've awakened my love has been accepted by you, 
the near perfect gift.
So this time words and I try to rhyme, 
hoping to duplicate the magnified vibe that transmitted from your eyes, 
but when I over intellectualize, 
a development of nearsightedness takes me by surprise.
So in the name of the most high my refuge and supply I've been blessed with a divine, 
and through that intervention the spirit translates my earthly dimensions,
developing gateways to elevate toward worthy extensions of which I've never transcended, 
and I should mention that proverbs 31 represents a flair of dimness next to the rare exquisiteness of you the near perfect gift.

A.V. 
A.M.

Justan Mitchell

2016-04-13 12:00 am

Mother

Mother of Style and Grace the load carrier of the race

Mother, our comforter of shade in mid summer.
Mother, our near perfector, 
the rare refresher of constant blessings from the fair blesser,
from He who blessed Her.

Mother, desiring to bring up the multitudes,
after a long nine months of serving two
Mother, responsible being for all of humanity,
and all the other creatures we see.

Motherhood, 
to the single fathers doing what you are supposed to do,
raising the levels of consious understanding, 
this one's for you, mothers too.

My Mother,
One with a Queen's eye and high esteemed Pride,
blessed with a natural high,
off life she flies.
I Love, Honor and Adore this Mother of mine.

Mother of Style and Grace, 
she can light up a room with her smiling face! 
But be careful, 
don't let a woman scorned takeover a loving Mother's place!
Mother will discipline when pushed the wrong way, 
now it's the grands who better fast and pray!
Teacher of many lessons,

Mother of Style and Grace.

For my Mother.
C.L.M

Justan Mitchell

2016-04-09 12:00 am

Justan Mitchell

2016-04-09 12:00 am

Home Sweet Home


I want to go to a place where wrongs become rights, spontaneously systematic like tax hikes.
A place where fights are the last resort when handling plights.


I want to go!


I want to go to natural zone of flight where mental spikes reach spiritual heights.
A place where the featured attraction are children as they play,
where play is an unexpected lesson to be perfected.


I want to go!


I want to go to a place where action and reaction have a common turn toward our collective burn.
A place where death and dying don't exist,
where notions of creation are an ocean of manifestations that embraces the vastness of what is.


I want to go!


I want to go to a place where joy swells over anger,
where the smell of hell is a distant stranger.
A place to look deeply into hard aches and grief,
a meditative island designated for relief.......


I want to go!