Gord

2021-04-30 09:56 am

No matter where, more savage men,
They know end, Lord knows them,
Nothing but storm and unrest.

No pants, unkempt, 
But at least yourself.
One could fly to a moon,
To talk flags in the end.

miherseed

2021-04-27 11:03 am

the santan dew crawls      out of the stalk
if you break it apart                    from the bush
suddenly it burns                           brighter than dust

small grand doors                            tiptoed to kiss their frames

held by hinges,                                        but try to reach north

alas, their fates                                         are back and forth

there’s a somnolence                            to homes that are not yours

holed with metaphors                             you never explored to tell

your throat is for similes                      or possibly something else

i wonder                                          if wells hear wishes
or if they are mere echoes       of aired fulfillment
perhaps that’s why              the well water 
only gets to             see the sky

even if i bury my fingers beneath the soil, i am no root. 
even when i draw lines on the sand, i make no shore.

Gord

2021-04-23 09:07 am

I write of simple, financial issues,
Career moves, Careening doves living.
Writing of her dimples; 
I can forgive, no substantial dispute,
Education isn't a standard issue,
Like flies striking a civilian,
What little I know I know little of,
And even that I misuse.
An Odyssey of nonsense words, I write,
Simple, my peers peer my finger works,
Writhe in vigor, like flies in flight.

Gord

2021-04-22 10:50 am

Once in a life event,
Arrives by themself,
A winding stare, 
Polite requests, tired guests,
But the knife is there.

Apples cut and left to rest,
Places wood, transcend self,
And hope the place is good.

Gord

2021-04-16 04:35 am

Last living lemming,
No house to live in,
No Chandeliers;
Next exhibit, Next exhibition, 
Spoke of past tense in English,
Fluent in other languages;

An Eccentric Mystic, 
Poetic Lyrics,
and their beginnings;
One carves caverns,
Of all manner of rock,
What matters of master?
The afterthought. 

Gord

2021-04-09 03:34 am

If I were a kite,
That could fly away,
with my only child, 
Or decide otherwise,
I think I would stay.

Lynn

2021-04-01 11:42 pm

sycophantic silhouette
stalks into the room and
the woman who casts it brings death, immortal doom
she bids disguise fall when the man sees her through
never a dame, but bluegreenbrown eyes, same as you

you, who lives their life by ritual, routine
will never see the cold, red blood or the glistening sheen of
sweat on the brow of a new, soft corpse
or the embers of the flame that drive you north
your cadence keeps you pliant, your rhyme bids you no further!
what drove you to this, to poetry, to murder?

as the blade bids adieu through the back of his skull
and the red of his head grows increasingly dull
and the light bleeds out of the sword in his eye
‘any woman can see him orgasm, but how many see him die?’

Gord

2021-04-01 05:58 am

Care, while one died,
Hairstyle the brides, 
Yesses, I am fine,
Guesses, lies:
Cries like a child. 

If wishes could wish,
What would they provide;
A Blameless life,
While men drive the spikes,
Wishing to see eye to eye.
Again like a child.