Gord
2018-01-23 10:53 am
He dreams of winter, tireless, listless, Forming fists, linger, Five fingers for taking, Making and mocking, Flying at the equinox; Checks to greet, A future cost. Apart from his words, He talks opposite, Of walks in the park, And poor pessimism. Perhaps one day, Forgotten is passion, Castles of young love, Tall as his bastion. He tells you of virtues, Rarely living attache, Stacking stones, Flashing cards flourished, Floor patterned, Checkerboard, Poorly planned, Colored randomly.
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Gord
2017-10-25 11:35 am
Perhaps one day I will garner respect, Socializing among my colleagues apt, Buried in a monocle and top hat, My money just as monopoly, amateurs.
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.
Gord
2017-01-27 12:00 am
The man who no longer revolves, dies forever, And likely has not an iron in hand. The rest who fail and die inside, May just simply live again, Never despondent with desires availed. The man who lives forever, Will likely has his own gold, Iron is for tamed men who grow old, Only eventually to desire again, Living to a disappointment, Skeletons cannot draw the river, Not like when they were avoidant. The young men and the boys, They know little of that facts, Floating through existences, They decide to decide kings later, Their desire is to act now. Electors hired, They enact cowards, Politicians raised powerful, Their children decide values. Perhaps our good times could be spent apart, Instead of lying and backstabbing one another.
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.
Gord
2017-01-13 12:00 am
Cherish what little time we have, they say. Politics among the coursework for the day, Perhaps the housework can justify a stay, Though setbacks can justify means to create. The weed, it stays dope, We changed though, Peering through grass, We see our hope. Not one being persecutor, But blame to the group. Fire and flames on a hoop, Would not you jump officer? Or frame up and shoot?
Gord
2016-11-09 12:00 am
Dreams aloft, desires of the sky, She dreams for me clouds and rain, Misplacing my characters, Rewriting their pain. Then chastising me again, What is their trade? Perhaps destined by fate, What is their patriotism made of? What happens with the sky at night, Do clouds disappear and birds not fly? Do the stars not shine? Does the moon guide, Even if forgotten by society, Too ignorant to find it? It stays aloft, as my dreams and desires. And she keeps for me only mockery, pity, conjecture upon a lectern of pure disdain, Judgement passed by the clouds and the rain, For everything she dreamt of she was. And everything I evade.
Gord
2016-01-18 12:00 am
Ever could I see the sun again, I would follow the sunset forever, Galloping on white horse in vain. Perhaps no trial is worth such fervor, Even if it passes as entertainment.
Gord
2015-02-09 12:00 am
Voice 1: I may ask a question of nonsense, However I ask not philosophical, Practically, cannot we heed, We merely speculate, sight unseen. Anointing of the dyke absurd, Fools searching to search of, What poignancy is a question like, What is strife? Why not question, what is life? Voice 3: Life is currency of an institution, When I speak loud of retribution. We both die upon our war machine, Apropos closure for those supine. Solution besting additional convolution. Voice 1: Passing stars dull with light, So perhaps all fate is forever finite. And all twilight is then n'everlasting, Caste chaste over trivial happening, Casting themselves of classical tragedy, Without squalor or clothes raggedy, Hip stores looking to rewrite history. Voice 3: True, but I see no god protector. Contractors of the holy body, They are probably of nobody. Villains to die of destiny, Enemy of the true spectacular. Enemy not just of the vernacular, Binoculars or arbitrator. An enemy alike to a Reich betrayer.
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 Paraffin One
2014-09-26 12:00 am
Less tragedy found, less existence. Scathing review of society liberated, Less imagination and less acceptance. Perhaps in a basement wired fascinated;
The Paraffin One
2014-09-18 12:00 am
Classlessly the entire generation asks, Perchance who is to breathe this air? Perhaps they know not of gasses, How easy they are to acquire, wherever. Why not just call someone a thief? Why not a liar, or simple cheat? For selling someone a leaf, Calling gold that found among peat. Couldn't ignorance be but a plea? With no common ground to stand, Everything you see marketing fleas, Ticks suddenly drop in market demand. Concept, is a concept if you understand conception. The epitome of tomorrow claim they never got the lesson.
The Sophist
2014-08-20 12:00 am
All that follows may be cheap. A 'squito bite from a 'siah kiss No mas, this mass a mess, 'Spose we're 'spose to say we're bless', Well bless it ought to fess, A feeling for a million fools, Is wanton for a prince. Yet elegant amiss, Fools dancing on the Sun's drying lips, As though it were a tryst, Forcing Cosmos to a fit, Perhaps the sun is but a tool, Reflecting light, Projecting an abyss, Perhaps there's dimensions we can't see, We dream beyond 3D, Yet teach it in our school, Rest inside to silence screams, Our origins never will be seen, Although it would be cool, All that follows may be cheap.
The Sophist
2014-07-03 12:00 am
Another victory means I'm undone, Wars are lost where battles won, I can no longer fight with spirits dead, The bards asleep, the songs are done. Pyrrhus produced a record for fun, Ruined industry in one fell swoop, Breaking critics' thumbs, Sounds of cyanide group hit number one. Perhaps best to join the opposition, For fear that death becomes my own position, My army met attrition, Attrition proved a worthy foe. But if they come, I must not go, For I doth know, sky hide not sun, Nor drums, moon, cloud or snow. I'll shine bright 'til my gallows strung, I saved the Kingdom; Now I'm scum.
Gord
2014-06-11 12:00 am
I dander, To her I cling tightly, In her I find me. In me she finds her; So clothesline or a ligature, Is just a state of mind being. At least, that's what I'm seeing; So I pander, I find the back end of a hand, Which leaves me more filled with anger. Yet everyday I manage. Until I found out the sun is dangled, So perhaps too, the moon is dangled, Leaving me in anger. My love in the clutches of another, My whole life fandangled;
Dusti Rodes
2014-03-05 12:00 am
Memories of Menorca The solitary star The lone gull Lack of light dark and deep Guarded by the lion-dog In two-tone green and black and white Part Chihuahua, part Pekinese. Sunrise over Citudella Purple and pink Blues and browns Age old ruins Built of rocks That are tumbling down. Out of the stillness Came a rustle The wind whispered "Morning" Gull winging, effortlessly Sparrows busying in their daily task Of feeding their families. No different from other mere mortals Who stand and observe Through peephole portals On life below and above. Pylons, all in a line, Taking power to the people. John Lennon would be proud. Illuminated cars, kerb crawling At dawn's half light; Wondering whether to switch off As it is no longer night. To hell with sunrise Watching the clouds come up, Shrouding the stars With their whiteness From the deep dark blue Of Menorcan night. An old boy, reminds me of myself, Lone party goer, maybe? One hell of a walk From Cala Forcat After our session at Night Fever. Sun rises over Citudella And Cala Blanes. Rabbits running, Ants busy, busy; Relaxing perhaps, For a jam sandwich Carelessly cast away. Before the heat forces Them to siesta, On a Menorcan morning At the end of June. A lone songbird, Chortles its wakeup tune; My bag, bathed in Menorcan sunlight Casting shadows of strangest hues The old currant bun Promising a day of brightness. Painted by light, In Nature's brightest colours, The single rock on the lawn Looking like a monolith From eons past. A donkey, braying, Radio, playing People, singing, And speaking in Spanish. Then, Rick Astley, In English. Never going to give you up. Menorcan memories. Dusti Rodes (2002)
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