The Sophist

2014-07-22 12:00 am

I hear a voice,
A voice that is screaming,
Words with no meaning,
From lips I can't lean to,
If I try.

By chance or by choice,
By passion or comfort,
One or one hundred,
Sounds you can run through,
In your mind.

If you give it a try,
You can accidentally bike out onto the road,
Get hit by a car,
You can get drunk and die,
Body falls on a button,
Makes the world explode,
It isn't that hard.
If you're not young or retarded.

Theseisms destroy,
All classical meaning,
Those labels you're dreaming,
I'm going to eschew them,
If you try.

Sit back and rejoice,
I'm not trying to free you,
Nor'm I trying feed you my truth,
View beauty in tandem,
Anytime.

Life isn't a crime,
Keep your mind on a lovely abode,
Eyes watching the north star,
You can get drunk and not die,
Live all that is written,
'tis the will of the poet,
La palmure! J'am trop tard!¹
Soft sophist; sophisticated hardly.

Footnotes:
1. La palmure...tard "The web! I'm too late!"

Gord

2014-07-22 12:00 am

I am with my peers.
Although you forge careers,
In favor o' honing craft.
It leaves them bereft, of talent.

Dreamers dreaming dreamscapes,
Of dreams they never even had.
When will they part with inaction?
Or finding meaningless meanings?
While meanwhile the bridge burns backward.

The Sophist

2014-07-21 12:00 am

See depths of apathy,
In lengths of hair,
Like half of me there,
Other half in'other room,
Gaping blankly it stares there too,
Too, too, thoughts like lasers shooting off
 in my mind,
See depths of beauty filling my eyes' seas,
'splayed 'round the front of my being,
All this beauty is mine,
Even you are in the bounty,
You are the wind, the sail, the boat beneath
 my feet.
You move me.
You are a seed that grew toward this
 ever-falling tree.
Freedom gnaws at nature,
A crutching being what's need.

Gord

2014-07-16 12:00 am

Dill pickle chips, I find them delicious.
If I could find a fault, a little more salt.
Then they would be where sweet chili heat is.

Gord

2014-07-16 12:00 am

A relationship couldn't hurt you.
They call her whirlpool. What?
Cannot water purl, lest swirl?
Cannot the girl circle?
Without countess' calling Birle?¹
A charity now, discounts jealousy.
Apparently they want your man...

Maybe the man they seek is a boy.
Attracted to kiss curls and cute girls.
Ensnared in world's trap of spit curls,
The world is full of geothermal cores.
Moreover she's 'so hot',
She only explores herself.
I walked right into the flower shop.
Honestly I'm not looking for vagina,
I'm just looking to be the primus.²


Footnotes:
1. Swirling Water; Masculine Name;
2. The 'one'; The first.

The Sophist

2014-07-15 12:00 am

Belly poked by intrauterine demise -
 infanticide - now I can poke her in her
 thighs. I fantasized that maybe the baby
 would have cried, or that I would have
 stopped it, crazy by the pain I feel inside.
 Now I swear there's nothing there. I lost the
 key to the divine.

I dreamed a life of orgies but my sex life is
 austere. Who cares? I drink nightly, and dream
 of an affair with a tryst. I jot prose for love
 not there and recite them to the one that I
 declare. I'm sick from life; to levy death is
 fair. I'm too sick to spread my sickness. Give
 them death, who fucking cares?

The Sophist

2014-07-10 12:00 am

I'm not mad,
Or blinded by infinity,
I want the moon,
As I saw in my epiphany,
That's all.

The Sophist

2014-07-07 12:00 am

Hating rap,
Via rappers hating freestyle,
Respecting the art,
Seeing nothing worthwhile.

A new look is what's need,
Art lied, we need focus,
Rap needs Lied.

The Sophist

2014-07-04 12:00 am

He speaks in subterfuge,
He makes myth from animal bones, 
'scribes visions of mothers viewed postnatal,
He calls them "future you".
He claims Caesar's final breath found you.
He sees a subtle use,
And has you build his thrones.
He's too busy to view.
He gives you your fill,
You attack at his illusions,
'til your confusion is ill.

I write folk songs for fools.
Without steps I reach your homes,
Crying disses of another's views most fatal
I call them "false truths",
I hand out bauble knives to the Fountain Youth,
I burn the stable spruce,
And make off with the stones,
I take the dragons too,
I live just to kill,
I attack at your confusion,
Pushing your illusions downhill.

Gord

2014-07-03 12:00 am

Wireless like the spy network.
Re-worked that line reads:
Pyrite like the bomb network,
That evolved from good times.
Happy days and thick lines.
Hollywood bats his back nine.
Happiness captured in his eyes.

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

2014-07-03 12:00 am

Cardinals, Priests,
Meadows of patients waiting.
Gold Dinar, feasts,
Falsettos of passion singing.
Bringing ashen feet,
Bellows and deep reservoirs.
Nothing but temptation,
Fleeting hearts, mellow minded followers.
Cheering on, like stallions they broke us.
Ignorant engulfed in a field of locust.

Gord

2014-07-03 12:00 am

Soul searching, to quench my thirst.
Burning coal. Dense smoke. Smouldering.
Yearning whence, we control the hearse.
Returning self-control and sense,
Only to those left shouldering.
Soul surviving artist dreampt the worst:
All of my love to her,
All of her love in return.
All for I have yearned.
Once dreams do I now incur,
Nightmares embraced with au revoir,
Left to die without concern.
Simply to never again be reborn.
Chorus Sings.

Gord

2014-06-30 12:00 am

So abruptly that it caused me to stumble.
The words of the mother, 
The pastor defends.
Im so ugly,
When I asked if my mom loved me,
She said:
Let's just be friends.

The Sophist

2014-06-30 12:00 am

I advise,
20 some-odd years of life,
To adhere,
To live for four more years,
And the reason to live for;
Four more years.

Do I love you?
I refuse to answer,
So the answer's no,
I walk home heart-broke,
Coat-less in the cold,
A propos of the wet snow.

Carving names in cave walls with a bone,
I plan a life before me in stone,
Four more years for us all,
And if the fall doth happen,
Four more years for us all,

I rise,
Rags to riches and homeless again,
No fear,
In the four year plan.
I devise,
To never be homeless again,
My reason to live for;
My own device.

If you want to run,
I will take you there,
Somewhere beautiful,
Eclipses everywhere,
Full-on inscrutable,
Just live for four more years.

The Sophist

2014-06-27 12:00 am

If this be in 'plaint,
Let it slap the taint,
My GAD spooks the best in the medical
 community,
Gadzooks, 
If I were a saint,
I'd be the saint of head cases with no
 cure or immunity,
Let loose,
No 5150 in the Land of Impunity.

Gord

2014-06-26 12:00 am

I return nothing, 
In return to cost.
I posture a nomenclature,
Fecal mouth needs an orthodontist.

The Sophist

2014-06-25 12:00 am

I swing about a bauble,
I scream about all belief,
And claim it to be fallible,
I run to where the light doth scramble,
To a place where all the truths are false,
And dreams are able, and soar about my bauble,
Radiant light of torch-lit dragon stables,
I sing in fable, and swing about my bauble,
All the dragons burnt alive by gas,
Spilled off tables knocked and set alight.
The old king has no ace to punish strike,
Now that dragons are not able to end life.
A workforce overthrows the king unable to know why,
A mutiny by accident with baubles as our knives.