Gord

2020-11-29 11:53 pm

Debbie downer of many outcomes,
Money protected against downturns,
Fathered from powerful maelstroms,
Freshly showered out of sleep,
What is deep? What is to and from,
Blue sea, who flowers their queen,
Without a penny, empty bellied, 
'You let them down, son'
Sour cherries, as he devours many
Let them down yourself, please,
Out of envy, twenty thousand leagues.

Gord

2020-11-25 04:33 am

To hurt him, like ordinance, 
Without pair, like oranges,
I know the judge, stole from her,
And I showed the world,
Like porcelain, life and purpose.
Too curt of whim, by your judgement,
Like my origins, like ordinance,
I simply shoot from the hip.

Gord

2020-11-24 05:18 am

And what is knowledge,
Seeking cage or collar,
Blue, An ocean fathered,
Or Purple, red and other;

Purple, being safe,
Circle, being safe,
Purple screaming veins,
Journal speaks of rage.
Press candles, pages,
Stress handled in stages.

Gord

2020-11-19 01:01 am

Bindle stiff of simple things,
Fake brickwork buildings,
Frugal beginning.
Mind filled with bitterness,
Still feeling ideas stone:
Life constatant, slowly.

Hands in gauze and clovers,
One makes a river of oceans,
A farm of forests, dogs of horses.
Yet smashes up against the stone,
Dark and lonely, eyes gloss over.

Gord

2020-11-13 07:17 am

To scratch to paper to feel,
A rat pampered can keel,
Catch as cant, caped and kneels.

To manage a brokerage well,
Manger broken, belly swells,
Change hopeful, soon quelled.

The train is gold but gone,
Pain is old game to fawns,
Again retold, they carry on.

Gord

2020-11-12 06:34 am

He writes on reeds,
Rides on steeds,
Likely feeling.

He sees the sea,
Steels a seal,
Greets, then eats.

He wastes away,
Hastily his days,
Vast mountains sway.

Gord

2020-11-06 12:40 am

A Fool, wreath of barbs,
Writing of films' stars,
Barns, and what lies beyond;
Tools for reaching disembarkments, 
A cool way to clean her clock,
A gun, put into a mouth,
Entire crowd in shock;
His cigar takes tocks,
Ticks boxes and lives onward.

He rewrites his ducks: swans,
Cooks his brownies blonde,
Looks at his frowning fawn,
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck,
Like drowning frogs,
A fearless John.

When he writes of life,
It's to a howling mob, 
Sexy songs, luck gaunt,
One of us, One of us, One of us,
Eteonicus lives, reeds or not.

Petar Kostadinov

2020-11-02 10:04 am

“Writers 
———————-
Have gentle souls
Have a heart of a sunshine 
The one written word they paint
From their lives with each brush in their hands

The good times
The bad times 
The treasured of times
Their words are best told 
From its beginning to no ending

They paint each season
They create each reason 
They form each line 
As they stand even at the bus line
As they wait for their train to arrive 
As they drive their car they must stop 
At the parking stop and quickly write 
Otherwise they will lose their track of 
Song they want to sing”

(c)10/31/2020 by Petar Kostadinov