Gord

2015-11-11 12:00 am

Sages of the weary art. 
Common ground beef,
Butcher incompetent.
Trees at ground level,
Full stocks, metal jacket,
Content if passion bandaged.
Rambling speak, 
How does the pastor manage,
A sermon a week?
He lies to his sheep,
Tells them of black men. 

Bhat Naieem

2015-04-20 12:00 am

Whenever i open
My wallet
And have a glance
Of your angelic brow
I gaze and gaze
And keep gazing,

Floods rise
In my eyes
My heart overflows
Emotions and pain,
Deep inside, cold wind 
Of need and desire blows,

And the flashes
Of all past memories
Conquere
My mind,
And my emotions
flow thru my pen

So, I'm caging
The days
Of your gracefullness
And my heart 
In the immortal 
words of my poem 

And after centuries
While they
Read me
They will see
You Beatiful 
And young ,

For my heart 
And my 
Words 
Would never
Let you 
Grow grey

Bhat Naieem 
All Rights Reserved

Gord

2015-02-04 12:00 am

Voice 6:
No man plays sport with a god,
Sans future sporting warts of frog.
So can it be, in the course of wrong,
Lies retort the support of a cause?
Change lies about, but why bother?
Energy costs in dollars,
So am I to be in this world?
Where there is no king under god,
Nor a czar for the godless,
Only flattened, artificial sod,
Tragedy and rape for the goddess,
Upon which we clap in full form.
How am I to remorse, or reverse decision?
Upon a world which would deny procession.
In my opinion the wheels still turn.

Minor character: I see.

Minor character leaves.

Gord

2015-01-28 12:00 am

Part the hanging gardens,
All found there is song,
Dogs, frauds and Sean John.

Apart from obvious tone,
Birds clamor to sing along.
Screaming from bottom o'lung.

Risks taken, Praying prone.
Laying open with only hope.
Hopefully a prayer is answered,
Pampered enough to count to atone.

Gord

2014-11-21 12:00 am

Throw all beings into groups of eagles,
Snowball eating full bags of dortios.
Chimp screeches I hear,
Peer boasting nothing but limp,
The cattle prodded openly,
Dying to reach new tiers.

The Sophist

2014-08-21 12:00 am

A Letter For A Dumb Cunt; That Slut.
Honk your horn and yell "fuck,
Fuck, Shit, move on to the sidewalk" on Bayview Avenue.
Suck my dick;
Long deck is muscle power.
Like that face covered muff.
So Fuck you;
Fuck your poon smeg also.
Piss off back to hell;
Take your jizz twat.
Slut shoo.
Make prey upon some four-some.
Jism over your butt plug.
Arse full like some wank show,
You race to get face fucked,
I glide as my bands flow,
Fuck your dumb cunt shit,
Bozo.

The Sophist

2014-08-20 12:00 am

Left-hand turn,
Going 'round it widdershins,
Seems absurd,
If going 'round's done by a prince,
Without a girl,
A kingdom where two men are kings,
Oh, what a world,
Full of gay and shiny things,
And yet we curl,
And limit what we see in dreams,
Oh, what a world,
Fuck man and girl in sets of fours and threes,
We're not worried,
We'll get married to our companies,
The fucks insured,
All sure we're fucked contractually,
All sure it's pure,
Consummation makes the fuck complete,
Seems absurd,
You're raised so that your mind competes,
Submit to words,
Love for nothing,
Twiddle your box;
Accept defeat.

The Sophist

2014-08-15 12:00 am

We walk, sleep, and love at same time.
Never touching same land,
Maybe we have seen same clouds or birds.
It's super deep; seabed at high tide.
Such height to withstand;
Able to perceive high twos as thirds.
Gifts like Hebe; she gives a young mind.
Youth-centered slow man,
Thus in dreams; youth in ancient worlds.
I derive order from a simply beautiful life.
Beautifully skilled stoneman,
Carving life for himself in beautiful strides,
My woman is a strong plan sublimed,
Though I'm sure a leap could suffice,
With her I see that without her I'm blind.

Gord

2014-08-12 12:00 am

In jealousy they salt the earth,
An appearance for my demise,
I die and no tear falls perched,
A fitting design for a tyrant.
In jealousy you all despise.

Hypocrites stall the trade of curd.
Poetically their dreams are poor,
No science behind an abstract score,
Chipping in a two cent piece,
When the wishing well is already full. 

Gord

2014-07-25 12:00 am

The red sand on the red planet.
A new home for those disbanded?
The pack is no longer accepting of animals.
Acceptance is a past participle,
Placing indiscriminates in wheelchairs.
Athletes teaming, forced to be there:
It's more austere for those committed.
Picture this: A world full of autism,
With no conviction to tackle the problem.
As in, 
Extremism only applies to what I love.
Only the things I love matter,
No matter to kindred doves,
No pitter-patter,
No kids in love,
 because it's considered disgusting.
Life only applies to what I want.
When I want.
So give me the rights of the fully retarded.

The Sophist

2014-07-24 12:00 am

Quick, snap some pictures so my friends can see my band.
 We don't have any good songs yet so they wouldn't
 understand without the glamour shots.

Quick, take some stammered stills while I hammer shots. This
 will be the best band to make it the top without a strand
 of talent in our hands. 

Don't tell me how to raise my band. I know what music looks
 like; tactfully unplanned. I write Pizza Hut music like
 Ariana Grande. I expand, and so disband. My drummer had
 demands, and ignored my commands. My solo career takes
 stand. 

Quick, snap some more glamour shots so my friends can see
 firsthand depraved aspects of my brand.

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

2014-06-30 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.

Gord

2014-04-11 12:00 am

I log in online,
Most likely I'm confined,
   or retarded.
Online I can be anything I wanted.
Like I can be a dog,
and eat a dog's food,
I'm the average aspoet user.

I Have a sexual fetish,
With no sexual elements.
Eat clementine oranges,
Receive my erections,
Pointed in your direction.

Un-anointed poets are bereft.
The bottom of the page is best.
They re-post the date and the city.
Supplement updates how their feeling,
While they manage to omit their audacity.
Masterfully crafting their art: Re-posting.

The Sophist

2014-04-01 12:00 am

BGEA,
Time to bash on gays,
Time to bash on Asian food,
Don't just bash to haze.
Bash some fucking heads in too,
Bash some fucking brains,
Bashing all the lunatics,
I'll bash them all insane,
I'm bashful in my private life,
Bashing costumes in the gaze,
Bashed my own head full of dreams,
Abashed, I bashed them all away.

The Sophist

2014-03-18 12:00 am

Dwelling in the desperate,
Hermitage of my heart,
Life is apparent, 
Yet it appears to be not,
As it seams,
Cupid's eyes blinded by cloth yards,
Shooting at places unseen,
And all the arrows' arc,
Landing on me,
Heart changing by second,
Changing more in between,
This Cupid gone blinded,
Young, fat little fiend,
Now days pass idyllically,
Lost in the breeze,
Days Simon Iff spends searching the trees,
His goal has been set,
Simple Simon sets free,
Hiram Abiff in the woods on his knees.
Arms cut from body,
Both hands full of dandies.

Dusti Rodes

2014-03-12 12:00 am

Bluesman.

He was jist sat there.
Strummin' away.
Softly.

Striking vacant chords.
Filled full
Of notes.
In various hues
Of the Blues.

Gord

2014-03-10 12:00 am

Clowns out and claiming to command towns,
Cowards crown each other to a throne,
Known owers comb until they receive loans.
Mound surrounders manage again, to crow currant.
Furthermore the Kmart manager needs a quality check.
Its impossible when get a rifle if you're 19 or less.
No Columbine situation is a concern of mine,
The town cisterns for sale, and someones buying it.
So I started a militia, mostly dudes and guys.
For parting power of governmental figures.
I outsource mostly for costly screwups and lies.
My block is full of assholes, that I despise.