Gord
2017-12-20 09:55 am
I write without relent, Lawn ashen, body bent, Fawn bashful, words pawn. I write without intent, Politic truth, not respect. Words choleric, forested, Another blonde moribund; Floral, me'er ornament, Porcelain and floor clung; Flies flying and food dung, No chloroseptic rush. Sitting alone, he claims, Throne vacant, citrus grown, Plain clothes, no Satan. He makes popular statements, Pandering blatant, but fun, Worldview of a drunk taken. Full of heart, Dull as garbage, trumped, Meandering serious, Meaning wallet plump, Friends gone, blunt, Ledge found, jump.
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Gord
2017-04-06 12:00 am
All of our dreams, All of the seen, Streets of gold, Earth paved silent. Fervor of the dying, Nobody truly leaving, Merely living their lives. No victims of violence, No solace from desire. Further pushed from an entirety, Exquisiteness of machined life. Pursuant of milled tile, Years of desire, without fight, The boxer stands ready, Hands firmly at his side, Resolve still unbroken, Acceptance in his mind.
Gord
2017-03-22 12:00 am
Sitting on the curb, I see nothing, Fondling opportunity, So I say nothing. The rainbow melancholy Probably of nobody, Probability muddied, Elite in discussion. Procession of remedy, Salve of urine, Bandage of gold, Who heals a beast, Of legend told? Behold the pale horse, Final legendary colt. Leaving our houses unsold, Every bed unmade, Sheets still folded.
The Sophist
2017-03-10 12:00 am
Nobody is so great, Nobody is so pretty, Nobody has such class, Such taste. Nobody believes in nothing, Nobody learns scales for melodies. I am nobody.
Gord
2017-02-17 12:00 am
Cubs pride design to hunt, In parable, from a bird's eye, They sit upon rooftops, Chilling out in caste. Smoking weed and desiring, Maybe the future holds tomorrow, Tomorrow bring the last. Huns perspiring at American funds, Infinite systems of foreign gods. The Americans scoff, Savage preparing for battles cost, Yet they lost. Gold and all. Wasted bombs landed on land, Nobody was ever on. Intelligence of bitten tongues;
Justan Mitchell
2016-05-05 12:00 am
Is There One? One shall arise from the midst of these, yes these, these little ones who have watched their parents hung, strung as ornaments on trees, yes these even, in 2016. Then their are those without future hopes due to broken homes, these that have been led my mainstreams, instead of being led to mend broken bones, these that say "keep you voice in tone". But I say fear no the word alone. For when through the spiritual you roam, the heart, mind, body and soul will fill gaping holes, allowing pens to flow freely into places that pencils can't go. But then there are these who pose, posing in a still stance engulfed with frowns of hatred because they just don't understand and so their actions scream, "HEAL THIS BROKEN LAND!!!" And this has become their native tongue, crying out for the guidance of the ONE! Please is there one? Look into the eyes of those that have died before the age of five, those that wear hearts of black and blue art, with mental repetitious records rapidly playing the age old song why,why,why? Why do we experience sacrifice before we experience life? Like Christ? Why such a cost for these before they learn t be at ease? Maybe, maybe the world is impregnated by crazy and is on the verge of raising yet another baby? Maybe, maybe the man in the mirror reflects hatred because he hates himself? Maybe, maybe he can't accept kindness because he's been denied the knowledge of his own true weath, the knowledge his own true self. And then there are these who are lost without cares dragging along the heaviest wear and tear, with the deadliest raging flare, but tarry not along the road of destruction, because destruction is in the eye of the beholder, but the beholder beholding many self inflicted wounds and self inflicted wounds can easily spell doom! And then there are these who are serving high stations that need fine replacements! These that have been exposed by their blood drenched tongue, that on self unknowingly and knowingly told. Yes we know these. But sometimes and even one times these can be we. And now I see many spirits lost in the overwhelming shadows of IT'S beaming light, spirits claiming underdeveloped knowing as the source of their plight, and so it hurts me to SEE, Yet even still one shall arise from the midst of these yes these, these little ones who have watched the parents hung strung as ornaments on trees, One such as me. Is there one? Dangerous Soul Life Justan "Potential" Mitchell
The Sophist
2016-03-30 12:00 am
I can see her; kissing now. My Melita; buzzing round. In the country, In the town, In the streets, And on the ground. On the subway, In the suburbs. Skipping supper; Back street clubber. Just a number. Body of stats, Sizes, Dimensions, Hobbies. Pride; Absentia. Lies she said, And I believed them. Yeah? Did I believed them? Yeah. She did too; Watching me receive them. Not well. She buzzed away, Asked if I could leave her. Not today, I chased, Now I still can't see her. Now I'm still left waiting. Thoughts of honey, And my Melita.
Novina Alfe
2016-02-16 12:00 am
Is it just enough to look at the roughness of your hands do you ponder over the texture complexion and remember how each scar got there do you take the time to examine who they loved and who they hate WHO tears they wiped away and on whose face I know you look at them often do you use them just to pray or used them to play with your prey amen do you use them to take pictures of the Sun when it rise do you use them to heal hearts or just leave marks on degraded body parts your hands your hands do you keep them clean have they shed innocent blood have they robbed the lowly one have they said hello thank you and please is the look of toughness just a disguise a way to fool people who sympathize with their eyes your hands your hands do you use them just to eat do they feed the needy do they try to make peace do you praise them for a job well done do you use them to raise a good son surely you let them rest after you just bust one and by bust I mean nutt and by nutt I mean there's nothing new under the Sun so how do you plead guilty or innocent Mr mirror man do you have killing or healing hands
The Sophist
2015-11-24 12:00 am
Seal sutured my soul; To a body- a home. Come help make me whole. Self life spent alone. Warm bed 'side a warmer throne, Bed heats by its own. Ten times two is four. Ten times lack of effort, All effort is poor. Tax taken from pews, Poor unfortunate two, Camels; too large crew. To dust grind my bones, Tear open by strings my heart, Seal sutured my soul.
The Sophist
2015-08-07 12:00 am
I want to release. A rhyme about nobody, With no honest remarks, With no peace, For the days passed, I have lived, Learned regret. I am the reason for myself. Nobody makes my bed, If I don't make it for myself, The Sophist; The Thoughtless Beast.
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
2015-02-09 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
2014-10-08 12:00 am
Depressed, never to make lasting impression. A denizen of hope to never make the finish. Yet gladly they have made no procession, A gentleman leaves, not extincting the fish; Yet, gladly the simple fish onward, Unrealized is their colony of cowards, No love and no goal worked toward, Fools with lofty goals pulled Earthwards, Nobody cheers as the people awe. Nobody cares as the people stand jaw slack. Nobody leers in care as they're not the law, Nobody fares well, so they want old law back. However the rulebook of old is lost. Common sense now too far past is post.
The Paraffin One
2014-10-01 12:00 am
No glance, only mention of Descartes, Reference is lost in the moment, Youth culture stole musical art, Changed preference to non-impotent. Where is left for the lost artist? No venue for the middle aged artisans, So it seems in bed, as the allegorist, All hurt for the chorus of musicians, However bedrooms are the preferred court. Aptly put nobody pays cash anymore, And some end up overpaid in sport, Wailing are the preferred poor, However, nobody screams out of valor, So everybody must scream out in squalor.
The Paraffin One
2014-09-18 12:00 am
A bridge too far is a bridge too far. Simply put it goes beyond. Unnecessarily a player struggles, To play an off-key yawn, Play chords, save the trouble. Nobody listens anyway inside of a bar. Bridges that lead to beyond, Then abruptly end in the sea. Why turn from sea so calm? You could jump to freedom.
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