Gord
2020-07-09 03:52 am
Tomorrow trailing, no erasers, Maybe no stress can reach relief, Papers, their lies and keys, Power is in just eyes to see; One hand hold, one hand to reach, Narrow is escape, is this fate, Or feeling? Do arrows fly away, misguided, Awry in their aerial affairs, Fore bearer blameless in errand; For barrels makeshift of nothing, What is the price of a country?
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Gord
2020-06-04 12:25 am
The toad speaks, the mind sees, The mouse squeaks of menses; Too high to sleep, ego flying, Does one write lines on sheets? Scribble perfection, or deny? Fights cannot be won, only survived. Poet, please give me writing, Forced to be, I need power to fight.
Gord
2020-05-28 05:14 am
Why does the torrent travel? Where is the lively forest? Even the poorest trees flourish, Their coins worthless, Poinsettia, wide oceans. For my set list chosen, What does forum or castles have? Gravel walls, gravel flooring, People with their comfort lush, Their lives worthless, Political science, flyers, Quotients.
Gord
2019-12-12 05:32 am
Write your life, line by line, From post to post, time in finite, Decide. Vibration is not entirety, Leave flying to the pilot, Masons, vocational thieves. Applause, Songs written of concepts, Concert to the rest, nonsense. Only to soothe the soul, One forgives and consoles, Otherwise the wise have but knowledge, Lies are all but college, Which behold, Yet deny all the garbage they bestow. Take your hits, pipe by pipe, From fist to fist, time is final, Less vital due to all your fighting.
Dawn Toney
2019-05-15 08:55 am
Look at the trees, All sweet with honey bees, Kids falling skinning there knees, Moms are running with all there might, Screaming I told you ,don't leave My sight, Now were do we fly our kite, Then they start to fight, Bees are buzzing, Oh so load, under over the huge Big crowd.
The Sophist
2018-07-10 03:13 am
If you were a butterfly,
you would fly.
If you flew over the sky,
you would shine.
Moons and stars can be your prize,
but I've surmised.
I love you most when you can read my mind.
But yo,
It feels like mountains when we climb.
A few short steps to springtime,
my guy.
Gord
2018-04-27 09:29 am
Feelings made up, makeshift, Ideals for tomorrow racist, She remarks foundation. He responds formation, Endlessly talks mountains, Flying fowl, howling oasis. The boy comes around, Left alone unanswered, Too late for pounding. Too late surmounting, Midnight is the hour, With a toy box full of clowns, Breath like oneself drowning, Her words are like fire, Counting her countenance, Even if she implied flowering, He runs away cowardly, trampling.
Gord
2018-02-13 01:49 pm
Birds flying apart, They desire not; To be of is, Someone begotten; New to art, Liar at port, of port, drinking port, Thinking unimportant.
Gord
2018-02-09 01:57 pm
Always crows flying, living Ottawa, Silence as loud as a passing truck. Liar of the present, fool future, Suture and praying for none at all. Always comedies written, hands numb, Painter finishes his castles, backward, Words tired yet landing with oomph; Posture lacking, Skull bashed in, Tomorrow's recluse and marked man, As the crowd begins, he rescinds.
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.
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.
Gord
2017-03-03 12:00 am
Partridges fly, Above the land they admire, Moon rocks to the scientist, Fertility given to a goddess, Pointless admiration. So begins desire, The bird flies higher, Further from the ground, Wherefore no dreams to mire. Society jobs to a miser. My job is too dry, Hands cracking, without water. Voice loud enough to deny it.
The Sophist
2016-12-28 12:00 am
Bird sings low Everywhere it goes Solo Volume decreased Old Crow can't hear Intricacies Flyin' from old notes Higher than most tho Song ain't loud Used to be Bird's quiet Crazy Speaks Feathers in beak Live Vibes to the beat Heat Released Birds flapping their wings Squawking their beaks Bending their knees Leaving their feet Lotus grows pink Cutting through deep Low melodies Low sounds of the songbird Played on repeat
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
2016-09-08 12:00 am
I would probably just tell her, I miss you, and let her know I still think about her. I would probably let her know, that I was doing much better and thank her, for the strong advice she gave me years ago, and I would let her know it helped me grow.
Gord
2016-02-19 12:00 am
Today is but a fragile future, Flying high above our own wisdom, Too humble to nurture our own lambs, Ouroborous of the past come from within. We would smile upon our cattle truth, Passing as the horses coming through. Alexander of the trade has gone forever, Accordingly should we also become nothing? It seems apt for our most static people. Hopefully to procure funds for a sequel.
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