Gord
2026-09-30 02:39 am
Irony being lost, Like a child talking. Cronos, to gods, Phobos, to mars, Either way, Inside, we lose who we are. Women in bands, Drumming of hands, When did the doldrum begin? By the future, to the past, Like a life in idle hands.
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Gord
2024-07-09 12:26 am
View from Toronto, others, also. Best seen, like without follow. A shadow, born of a shadow, How can it fathom less hollow, Habitual patterns in a modern world? Coming tomorrow is gun conflicts, Cult worship, communion with objects. The coward screams like an apostle. Future prospects, like luminous stars, Lay dinosaur bones in scarlet houses. Bloodshed so widespread and obvious, Like polearms in the side of your horse, Desire and goals become simply doors, Where do theirs divide from yours? Like ingots, in fire or war.
Gord
2022-12-09 03:01 am
In his future he sees tired coughing, The seer mundane usually finds nothing, Only peering back upon seared meat, Apparently to be, or feel something. In his mind, he wishes to be someone, See his sums upped, feel unusual. He is detached, however, like Buddha, But he has an even broader usage. Once again he peers into the ether, He sees himself equal and decent, Sears at the breathing creature, Fears his lack of freedom. "Coward", he screams, "Coward", he casts his disease. Pulls from inside himself, meaning. He sees his reflection again in the mirror, Breathing heavily into the air, at first, But eventually he cried with realization.
Lynn
2022-10-13 01:36 pm
It was cold & the sky was too red as the sunset came too early - my brain was spinning with those letters & numbers & they were falling out of my ears. I looked at the asphalt and I saw my past and future yawning out - both in the same direction on the one-way road but my ears were too cold to listen, to learn. It was too austere in the building & too frigid outside & too glacial in the car picking its way home through the ice and old snow. It was too much too few & not enough of anything at all. & it swarmed. Threes with wings and velocities out with compound eyes buzz & sting & leave me paralyzed, there on the curb.
Lynn
2022-08-17 02:15 am
here i lie (not yet asleep) in my childhood bedroom (my soul to keep) under my childhood quilt (made by my grandmother) holding my childhood cat (could there by any other?) and listening to the cicadas cry over (mourn) the loss of my sister (come morn) when she moves away (just to our college town) into her tiny, adulthood dorm (someday to wear a cap and gown) with her adulthood newfound friends(i thought it was just the four of us) and her adulthood future portends (why couldn't it have always been the four of us?) and listening to her professors drone on (just like the cicada) as she compiles reports, and essays, in jargon (raw data) and- and- and i wonder, will she miss me too?
mtspoet
2021-08-06 07:20 am
A treasure full of dreams A future wrapped in gold What our indecisions bring Within each box that life will hold Hidden in the square Amongst the corrugated seams Is more than just thin air And the light from distant beams There are memories we have known Within the box that cannot part Like the flowers that have grown Just to touch a gentle heart Upon these feathers within a box I shall sleep on them tonight And to the ticking of the clock I shall dance the angel’s flight Says the label dressed in red, “Never touch what’s in the box” So many thoughts run through my head Of all the moments we have lost Michael 8/5/2021
Lynn
2020-04-26 07:53 pm
I am a infinite work in progress. Who I was yesterday is not who I am now is not who I will be tomorrow. However long it takes me to answer, the clock keeps ticking. The past increases, the future recedes. I'm not me, I'm a traveler. Whatever I do, wherever I go, it will pass. When whenever ends, finally I will know rest. Peace.
Gord
2019-01-15 03:31 pm
They ask for more free verse, Ironically I ask for freedom. Turn yourself, the sun faces west, Learn your self looking into distance, A poem of story, rhetoric important. He just tells of lions and beasts, Ire and deceit, lies succinct, Are my poems of heart not complete, Even if truth is too foolish to be? Future hard to see, a pence to me, Fences mended where darkness meet, A dense man where the larkin leap, Without them where would we be? A garbage heap, a fence two feet, A garbage pile, a fence of three, A garbage life, spend barking of time, Not mine but others, I covet. My duvet stained with oil, lovely, When was it worth more, white forlorn Or in a pile on the floor disgusting?
Gord
2018-10-21 08:56 am
Why write technical poetry? Skylight he remarks, opens, Beams of light Caepoeria, Room a knight of California, Adjoined, special upholstery, Coins, for centuries. My king coiled, Toiling thy rings, By fools finding hands, Bringing foil to my picnics. Thinking spoilt, Singing doyle, Drunk stringing his violin, To play brittle. How would I do, Aemula? Is my world to soon, exposed, Or steeped for your future? A mule for god, How would I too, butcher, Myself, user and administrator? I'm you for Claude, Europe, Sugar, or urban woodland. Frogs bulwark their homeless, I'm too for piles of durance, Furthermore for living fulcrum, Furthermore, for here it comes. Words technical, sure, but speaking of, Can I not just turn and bite my thumb?
The Sophist
2018-07-30 11:53 pm
Just getting laughs from the old guard now Epitaph in town for an old sound It's jokes, man How much we fuck around This place This time Joy that I have found Do a flip Throw a lock Knock 'em down
Verbalised
2018-03-17 05:16 pm
It hits me like Nostalgia That I cant recreate The times we had The way I felt A sense of belonging, of purpose I believed in a prosporous future It's now I realise The things we did The times we shared How I felt Came from how you made me feel That's what I remember It's you that I miss
Gord
2018-02-13 01:01 pm
Gatekeeper, Chaste to a fleeing care, Fleeting in your fairness, Future harnessed, idle, All of what she gave me, Rusted.
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
2017-10-19 08:56 am
Pond upon oceans, A death of water, Little men upon thrones, Their hearts of flower, My life but a tome, My life a tower; Stairs to climb, With life inactive; Above the clouds, Time spent sunburnt, Cowards; My designs immaculate, Eating flies as flax, Confusing images, In place of facts. Again the future lost, Pipes accost the ground, The ice storm comes; Some go into town, Some stay lost, Together same, Both die apart.
Gord
2017-08-21 09:20 am
Words leave lips, A wall of sound, Then music hits, His voice lost, Words meaningless, Actions listless; His love awful, His verse aught too. The kids quickly learn to run home, Anyone who find ideals embarrassment, Ironically find the end of needles; Peering into the future, fetal, Their vision worthless unknown;
Gord
2017-03-13 12:00 am
A convent future, Convenience sutured, Malice upon the roof, Palace upon a stoop. Firearms task the soup, Cannot we further pepper? Appropriate tutelage, Knowledgeable common beggars. Pro Ipsal softer sophism. Saddle up the dogs of war, Give their forward movement. Mass upon the louver, Tasks of Stratford-upon-Avon, A Dramatic future. Tossing away bombs of truth, For convenient nomenclature. Trading lawn darts for rapiers.
Gord
2017-03-08 12:00 am
Only tragedy of the pen, Everything self penned, Self authored. Cherishing the gift of god, but with silent laughter. Floating dynasty upon the water, Field my dreams, take my island, Let me spend my days a wander, Looking for your prodigal child, With no time for spectacular novels, Cobblestone violence or love chided. Machiavellian influenced religion, Post irony, Post music, Long, long, into the future. Where no human exists, Only Nature.
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