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

2015-07-22 12:00 am

The drunk denies,
Trunk lies emptied;
Whole lives gone ashtray,
Until God led astray;
Upon a broken branch,
Dangling over Hades.
Calm as the sea,
She walks the tightrope.
God decides not popes,
Nor who is to be.

Gord

2015-05-06 12:00 am

Voice
To explore the belly of the beast,
Is to die for what you believe in.

Countervoice:
Explore the mouth of a dog, 
Finding nothing, move on.
I implore a decision by partisan.

Voice:
As if I were to run ashore autistic,
Circumventing a sky of no direction,
Upon sunken ship of squalid condition.
I prepare for no blockade partition, 
No handkerchief can adopt misdirection,
So no thief can hold a cloth of gold.

Countervoice:
Mention again of the god-dog.
Who sits at the feet of us all.
Sub servant religious dogma,
Poverty being stomping ground,
If man is to answer a challenge,
Who is to call him down?

wanderer

2015-05-05 12:00 am

I lie eagerly awaiting for your return
exhilarated by the thought of your lips
once again touching my famished soul anew,
then by the light of the moon you hesitantly came,
first, a gentle, subtle caress
gingerly knocking on my sands
then 
a gradual deluge,
enveloping
consuming,
the whole stretch of my being
and as I lie prostrate ,
ecstatic with our intimacy, 

you have once again retreated silently
to the mighty vastness of your benefactor..,

But you shall never be mine,

for the ocean is a jealous lover.
and I am eternally condemned
to be your willing mistress
caught in this perpetual longing
waiting
anticipating
desiring
For the next cycle....

Gord

2015-04-01 12:00 am

Belief being atheistic,
Aesthetics being belief; 
Life of an ironic,
The bloody icon;
Procession of mighty parapets.
Discussion of architect high,
Feminism of the mind, body high.

Gord

2015-03-31 12:00 am

Belief being atheistic,
Aesthetics being belief; 
Invention of already dead,
Death of the intervention.
Intention lost, deemed release;
Life of ironically bloody guise,
Procession of the mighty parapets.
Discussion of the high architect,
Feminism of the mind, body high.

Gord

2015-02-04 12:00 am

Voice 6:
No man plays sport with a god,
Sans future sporting warts of frog.
So can it be, in the course of wrong,
Lies retort the support of a cause?
Change lies about, but why bother?
Energy costs in dollars,
So am I to be in this world?
Where there is no king under god,
Nor a czar for the godless,
Only flattened, artificial sod,
Tragedy and rape for the goddess,
Upon which we clap in full form.
How am I to remorse, or reverse decision?
Upon a world which would deny procession.
In my opinion the wheels still turn.

Minor character: I see.

Minor character leaves.

Gord

2015-01-29 12:00 am

Voice 1
[name] lies slain, with no equal,
Peerless upon the battlefield;
No sword could cleave, 
No arrow shot could find peace,
Only freedom.
Now only the beast remains free,
Feasting upon our arrows' fleeting;
Damage so immense, I see no fleeing,
Alas, only further death.

Voice 2
Begone, for I fear not cancer.
[name] does not meet demands;
Will being not to die as asked of.

Voice 1
Cannot a voice reach thy ear?
Cannot a man be slain by sword,
Common for the man of little fear?
A million miles lies between us.

Voice 2
My man does not fight to falter,
Nor sing songs of issue paltry,
Yet, alas, at last I hear him not.
Only cheers of men which he fought.

Voice 1 exits.

Gord

2015-01-16 12:00 am

Knowing not, Sans owning,
Downloading a lot of music,
Eddy locks down the musical city,
Daniel engages the shark,
Vasquez alienates his gods.
Musical may they be,
Humble they are not.

Gord

2014-10-16 12:00 am

Poets quickly release material albums,
Teachers equate material sophism as equal:
Knowledge concrete, belief in Calvin.
Topped off dressed in a top-hat and sequins;

The Paraffin One

2014-10-08 12:00 am

A collection of words,
Is nothing but prose,
Until elementary lords,
Teach elementary oppose,
To sophist tradition,
Among kitchen women,
teaching poor renditions,
of the stereotypical even.
A collection of bones,
Is nothing but,
Sophists label rock, and stones,
Confusion between causes rebut, 
Both deny their implied root,
Eventually becoming societies bigfoot.

The Paraffin One

2014-10-01 12:00 am

Tragically the adolescence columbine,
Society takes blame for outlier.
Yet take no blame for the combine,
Priority is lost to class tier.
Yet they see no problem, all is well.
As long as one future desire's feces,
Vast open fields with enemies to fell,
Yet they see no problem in our species,
Masking an issue too virtuous to kill.
The children need guidance,
More knowledge and less grades.
For man is always capable of buoyance,
Only starting of poor knowledge in trades.

Perhaps they missed the lessons available,
Perhaps the guidelines made them incapable.

The Sophist

2014-09-25 12:00 am

Decay and the rifle alone. Censored by Gods as 
cold winter snow passes men stuck in glop as 
it blows. Who knows? What the fuck does a soul 
call a home? Accepting ideals without gloves 
being shown. Refuting belief but still knowing 
that something transcends all of time, space, 
math, and the know-how. Gloating but feeling 
in pain for lost souls turned wayward, 
corrupt, or depraved by the fallout.

Take it in, as it turns out, by talking in 
strides with the crowds. Softly speak glop 
when it counts. Slowly speak up, and never 
speak out.

The Paraffin One

2014-09-25 12:00 am

Empty Silence tops a rattle of chain,
A whores horse then tries to evade.
To no avail, assailants fear no pain.
Those that must then ply their trade.
Grasping flail, to no avail legitimate,
For none is literate in God.
Often assumption made inconsiderate,
For law cares not if grass is sod.
That said, what lies here is often not.
Opinion tends to be but a clod tempest,
Consensus leaning toward an insane plot,
Mass opine religion of uneducated priest.

Green reds now shake with blue collars.
Only masons of insured welfare collard'.

The Paraffin One

2014-09-15 12:00 am

No wave easily embraces a shore,
Yet broken it finds solace soars.
Beyond is sea, pale godless,
No effect easily saves scores.
Yet a violin plays of the whore,
Upon the pier, praying for goddesses.
A boat launches without birth mother,
Father never sees need for guidances,
Tragedy is compassions' like brother,
Yet time must pass or we tarnish each other.

My tragedy at sea was like no other:
I believed in no Poseidon of fate.
So I found no place safe to wallow,
Waves endlessly chased my starboard,
Port too was nothing but ocean onward,
So I trumpet ironic prayers for rain,
Anything to wash away my shameful act.

Gord

2014-09-05 12:00 am

I write oral histories,
Stories, opened on lies.
So everyone else a liar.
I'm not of their kind,
Though, I seem like-minded.
I seem to like it tough,
So your head and cough,
I've gotta do my job.

Gord

2014-09-02 12:00 am

I transform retribution,
I collide with an enemy,
Destined for fusion,
Corroding my memory,
Crashing the computer,
That is me.

I open on pretense false,
In hopes to gain my loss,
Yet no fate goes uncrossed,
No face goes on unmarked,
No bullet grazes,
They self aim and kill marks.

In honesty,
I hope for their retribution,
Not believing what you do,
I find no institution for truth,
Investigations reveal soot.
To conceal boots under sock.
Truth should be implied,
Secrets shouldn't even be whispered,
When no secret knock is employed.

Among Imperials, two faces clash,
Destroying the child middle,
Purpose born was to protect class.
Among the tyrants, 
A sleeping dog,
His brother opposite,
A sleeping god, 
Purpose forlorn and meaning lost.
Shoot the gun across, regardless,
Trees grow from the river,
Implying a garden should exist.

Yet at the bottom I find no solace.
No mythical beast of which to conquer,
Nor mythical flower of to tame beasts.
So no feast among mythical followers.
Sewn feet no longer bother to move.
Brooms no longer even bother to sweep.

I see Cost front by the citizen,
Expected which are also to clean.
Past participle's partisan cuts so cleanly,
No partisan is left opposite to thee.
Clearly, No god laughs,
Sincerely, No god falters,
And no human shots cast,
Except into human carnage.

No gain for loss,
No pyrrhic victory,
Due course.
No force of sympathy,
homeopathy, anthropology,
from the horse.
No, mostly poor choices.
Voices ringing with phones dead.

No voices in his head,
Scream morality.
of course.
No soldier gains a victory.
sans cost.
None recognize the courage,
of Hailey's comet.
So the gunfire blazes onward.

Amongst the slain, are the slain.
Those who shoot have bullets same.
My Deschamps is but modified Spinoza,
Which I modify to fit in holster,
As exactly as I imagined her,
Far above a reasonable caliber.
For a man who lacks resources,
For as a woman he lacked chorus,
Pestilence amongst the formal courtships.

How do we create such a melody?
Such harmony of utter melancholy.
How do we classify such insanity?
Such discourtesy on our society.
Such, bullets access and exit quickly.
Thus is the mark of beasts.
Thus a heart no longer beats.

Almost lack of mention was lack of faith.
Remembered and forgotten to become same.
All lost the castles of old days,
Only sandcastles remain standing,
Reminder of temporary management,
Of how well that pays.

I depart to vent,
Find myself post-traumatic,
I start to mention,
Find myself post-dramatic,
I mark myself bent,
Find myself post dragging.
Hoping to move forward,
Forgetting that lost in battle.

I sigh,
I realize that's not possible.
I stand purportedly screaming peace,
Screaming bullets purportedly corpse.
I stand in face of uproarious force,
Screaming should-haves,
Scoring for would-have,
Who now will manage.

Tired, I cast aside,
Casting stones seems now juvenile.
Especially in a world this finite,
Who needs to choir for killing time?
Button press' jest as being less vile,
Truth as masked chide,
Who now will bandage?

The Sophist

2014-08-28 12:00 am

My mother thought that being silent was smart.
This is why I spent days in the dark, 
bed-crazed and my heart sobbing. I was 
ignorant of light blocked by goblins of my 
mind hoping to keep me trapped in the land of 
forgotten. Now I'm plodding; plotting my escape
daily to find peace whopping, lock it with me 
in a coffin and die flopping; watching my life 
pass before my eyelids drop and my chest 
begins rocking. It's like trainspotting or 
going yachting; either way it's going to cost 
me, and either way I'm rotting. I like to 
believe this is my personality popping, but I
also believe that everything I do's common. 
I'm not smart, I'm not witty, in wealth I'm not
sopping. I'm not silent, and I pity the poor 
for their problems. I'm not here to cheat 
people or shit on their knowledge. Prithee a
moment where people aren't thoughtless; prithee
a moment to claim a few losses for a man who
silent misfortune made solemn.