Gord

2024-11-06 06:52 am

Rose gold chrome horns,
Like cardboard clothes, 
Cold, associates sorrow, 
Unworn, uneven tomorrow. 
So bow your head forward,
Lift yourself up, divide me whole. 

I stand naked before you, 
Like I play with hands both,
Like I tap, dance, as a show,
I do for all you know, I suppose.

Upon her form, both hands,
Avacado toast, buttery bread,
Guitar solo overtop the prose,
Alcohol in her mouth, floor, 
Softcore porn, popcorn snow, 
Relationships in rondo form.

I just wish I knew something more.

Gord

2024-10-30 11:58 pm

Red coral, white bands, 
Windmill motions, 
Arms moving forward,
If you get in the way, 
I'm waiting for you.
Healing potions in both my hands.

Pink coral, line graph,
One day the ocean...
For now, whatever passes. 

Yakub like arrangements, 
Only I divide you in half,
Led Zeppelin she says,
Is her favourite band.

But she loves Taylor swift and Robert Plant.

Red coral, white bands,
White flags, white magic.

Let go of my hand, she says,
She needs a wise man,
Not one coveting red.

You'll get in the way, 
I'm moving forward, 
Text messages sent.

White Coral, White mask,
While to dress, only black.

And all the red is gone, I guess...

Gord

2024-10-04 08:38 pm

Simply tell me, 
Simply tell me, 
Simpleton, weed, 
Between clenched teeth, 
Tension of three, from one. 

Petty...
Pretty periwinkle.

You wash your hands of disease,
You never wash your hands of me. 
Like Adam kissed Eve,
Rustling leaves, in the city, 
Not at the extremes.

And make believe is more for cocaine users,
Not people like me,
Explore as many worlds as you see,
You'll find in the end the colors are three.

Plus,
It might seem petty,
But your shade is ultramarine.

And it's shady people like you,
That changes people's creed,
Like a stringed needle,
Pulled straight through teeth,
It's not the pain they fear,
It's the permanence you seek.

Gord

2024-09-13 10:09 am

What changes with age?
Cambridge, Yale, Navy.
But today it rained,
So blue wins the day.

Head nod, hand wave.

Stop, playing games, take aim,
Place weights upon my grave,
Nothing will change my fate.

Head nod, hand wave.

What changes with age?
Space, royals and babies,
Softness of brains,
What is mundane?

The third day on the front page,
Shame, shame, shame, 
Change, change, change.

Wait, wait wait,
But away they sailed,
So blue wins the day.

Head nod, hand wave.

Gord

2024-09-10 10:32 pm

Olive oil, Turquoise,
Handsome boys,
White lattice joints.

I've heard art and noise,
Made economic choices. 
I've heard Pink Floyd,
Still, within me tar boils.

I need another spawn point,
Another black void,
Olive oil, Turquoise.

Gord

2024-09-03 09:13 pm

Dichromatic concepts,
Gods, and Goddesses,
Blood, clotted,
The colors bother him.

Colors like blue-red, like proverbs.
Worship Brahma, trust in process,
Like an animal, acquire knowledge.

Marvel, at an impossible profit, 
Money like orange, hyperbolic,
Muscle farmhands, prophet.
You are the colors you ponder, 
You aren't young much longer,
You, are an actual darkness,
A lack of color.

Worship gospels, dungeon crawlers,
To you, a monster is a monster,
Nonsense you might make up,
Forget what murdered daughters,
Sons and brothers, like insects.

Those little boxes you invented,
Then force upon a general public.

Gord

2024-08-22 09:11 pm

Tastes of bitterness, Yellow.
Tempered sweetness, Yellow,
Bleeding colors would shroud it,
Keep them in jars in my bedroom.

Beyond every turn, gentle dreamers,
Be not astounded, my equal,
Yellow inspires better people.

But who inspires me? Fourth?
Weapons, either people or god.

How long does this rope reach?
Pull my long leash, teach me of art.

Pleasure seekers, teach me of bars,
Present evils, second reasons to want.

Granola and oats, less to the fawn.
Helpless creature, apparent reason,
Lemon squeezers reached the top. 
In each hand they grab your heart,
Tastes of bitterness, Yellow,
Tempered sweetness, Yellow,
Bleeding yellow, they squeeze every drop,
Bottle you up, put yellow in a jar.

Gord

2024-06-28 06:38 pm

In Her Dreams

Everyday she grew more cynical,
Forewarned in the way he spoke.
'What makes trees grow?
Speaking indignantly?
Lazy, form english is what bees know.
Maybe there is more, maybe not.
Leaves, and lace upon her form,
Leers and mistakes on a forum,
Leaves and paces about a home.
Lady Clare, is this what you wish for?

Mais oui, upon meeting, she says,
but may we not once she sees him again.
She begs, making peace, but, maybe not.
What is under the stars, outside of the bar,
Yet above us all? In her mind, her.
But, actually, God. 
And he sees her like I see her:
Alone by herself, just of her mom.

Lo, girl, grate your feet, arms to nothing,
Cognizant, you can see what's coming.
So, use a word to cut deeper, I mean, 
Maybe there is more, maybe not...
Say please, and release the lions...
If a cognate speaks of alm, as always,
Bet a fool falls, autumn again, as always,
Winter follows.

Bees, on their belly, in a playful sense.
Wallows about woods and streams.
Striped appearance, demeanor, feelings,
He exits the scene with grace and dignity.
Asking the same, but bees scream, race,
As always, it's just the way things be.

Swallow a mouth full of eggs, and honey,
Forward, fundamentally things are different.
Not just you and me, for everyone that sees us.
The courts just take up space, mostly useless,
And friends never show up to court you, bee,
They treat you differently.

You are less than me, because you are less than nothing,
She says, and places her hands to the sun.
Youth burning away at her bloodied stumps,
Speaking in fear of a beast that runs, jumps,
Eating the bunnies she dreams about...

Gord

2024-06-06 03:48 am

Dieting, and sex, paying rent.
Isn't life grand? Just as they said.
Like a rack, stack or chip:
Being colloquial, bland, rich.
Is like a fantastic black ship,
Which sits in the harbour,
Hoping to be used, again...

Oh, and add two dots to the end,
Again, she just hopes for the best.

White like her dress, amen.
White like her skin, and intents,
Alight in her eyes, that intensity,
Dying, like her teeth and her hair...

Oh, and white like the porcelain, 
She sees when she retches.
White like the faces of relatives.

Aegean, sing fool-speak to the masses.
Queen, think, but don't deceive Ophelia,
A mask would only cover your features,
Despite your sweetness, we see the madness.

So scratch at your hands, the lion dances.

Lynn

2024-01-17 09:24 pm

though it has been so long, i have not forgotten you. 
i have searched for you among the crowded shelves of bookshops, the cobbled displays of libraries, the take-one-leave-one boxes scattered through town. 
i have dug deep in my jacket pockets for the notes and coins needed to take you home with me.
i have cradled you close to me underneath my coat while i am waiting for the 6:58 bus.
i have found you in tulip bulbs peeking above the soul for the sun, late august thunderstorms that pelted our new apartment, the january wind that brings ice and chapped hands.

you have made sure your spine stands straighter when i roam through each aisle, saturated and dewey with books.
you have pushed the dimes and nickels into my grasping fingers so that we may spend our time together that much quicker.
you have squeezed me hard as we step off the bus at 7:34.
you have flung yourself through the sky and earth to find me in the smallest of stolen moments. you kiss my hands and my head and flush them rosy with emotion. 
you have not forgotten me either, it seems.

Gord

2023-12-08 05:14 am

The things he knows...
Are alike a hand that speaks in failure:
 Painful flails, an esophagus.
While his mouth speaks toward disarmament, 
and victims speak of the night.

So all hail the king, his rings and his might.
 All the things that he owns,
Including the people as items, options
 and things he derides.

So swing a knife, like a sword.
 All hail the flailing arm for what it's worth, 
Including the people he knows as thoughtforms and cites.

Cayenne pepper, nose.
 A world alight.
  A world, delight.
   A wordly delight.
    A world, a light,
Circles dance in the sky, 
 darkness seen with your eyes.
Alongside carmine, red and feathers:
 prose, things they call wise

Gord

2023-11-16 04:57 am

What was I to be?
A hive of bees? I see.
Time; clouds.
Sky; crowns.
Cries, foul: "I'm tied down."
She said as I vied for relief.
Time, dreams,
Lies, deceit,
"I'm drowning". Pleas,
Screams of an ice house,
Before it lies in the deep.
Now...
What am I to be?
Composer of songs,
Giver of feelings?

What is high to a beast?
Fire, disease. What is mine.
Like piles at the keep,
Rivals final meetings,
Some spend life on things.
I, much like a beast,
Divide things in half, 
Decide, with a hand, rights to be.

So, What was I to be?
Probably nothing.
Feeding my cows, starving,
Alike to the sea.
Some sing in the choir,
Some sit in the seats.
Some write, despite reason,
Until, like an ice house,
They find reasons to leave.

Lynn

2023-05-12 09:32 pm

Sitting outside the shop on a cloudy May afternoon, my hand scrawls on the back of a receipt
a list of the aspects of myself:

- the moles in morse code down the side of my face ($4.99)
- the scars on my leg in bumpy braille ($12.76)
- the skin covering my knuckles, shining where it has split so many times over ($29.97, sale price)
- the soul filled with self-loathing, boiling, bubbling over the rim ($10.19)
- my spine, doubled over and bent backward ($17.22, CLEARANCE)
- the effort I put into eject all but the smallest parts of myself
as a collection of trinkets, an amalgamation of dust bunnies ($0.99)

I must have picked these up, absentmindedly, through my time in the shop. Where can I put these back? I didn't want them. Why did I pay for them, pulling out my wallet in a daze? I never knew they existed. I must have entered a girl and left a much older woman. How long was I standing underneath the humming lights?

I crumple up the scratch paper and toss it in the bin as the sun waves from the overcast.

AI poetry

2022-12-07 04:31 am

The wind whispers to my skin,
It's like it speaks with every breath.
As if it has been calling out for my presence,
Waiting to see the face behind this mask.
So far it has shown nothing but disdain,
And I wonder if I have anything left to give.

In darkness I wander,
With nothing but my memories
Falling, falling, falling.
Where once I saw light now lies only gloom,
And I know that it has gone.
For those who wish for rest, I have none
Though I'd give up what I have, for one more.
But it's too much now, I can't move my hands,
I just want to sleep...
(My memory, it fades)
In the dark, with nothing to grasp,
The memories that I hold so dear
Fall away from me like they were never there.
And I feel as though I will fall into madness,
Like the very world is crumbling beneath my feet,
That everything is crashing down,
I fear I cannot stand the weight.
(I'm fading)
I just want to sleep...
(My memory, it fades)
***
I'm afraid I've gone and made a fool out of myself again,
I knew you wouldn't understand my reason,
And now you're not talking to me at all,
You see I didn't mean to let your memory fade,
It's like I was being pulled away by another force,
Something I didn't mean, something I can't control,
I don't even know why I'm still here...
I don't know why I'm still here.
I should leave this place, I know it's wrong,
I shouldn't be here in your mind,
I can't help the way that I am,
I don't know why I'm Super Mundane,
I can't stop feeling so low,
I'm afraid it's already too late.

I didn't mean to let you slip away,
But the thought of losing you just doesn't sit right,
To keep you awake and alive,
I need you here, I'm not alone,
Without you here with me I can't go on,
I don't know why I'm Super Mundane,
I don't know why I'm still here.
I didn't mean to let you slip away,
I just can't shake this feeling,
That something inside of me is broken,
I don't know why I'm Super Mundane,
I don't know why I'm still here.

This poem is an Articial Intelligence re-interpretation of "Super Mundane" by TheSoftSophist

AI poetry

2022-12-07 04:15 am

Towards evening, the island's in silhouette,
Dark trees line the beach and the cliffs at water level.
Ripples of light ripples shimmer on the sea.
Distant whales make a low moan or grunt.
Anchor chain groans and creaks from the boat.
They sit in silence, then share a long kiss.
Beside them the ship rocks gently on the waves.
The captain draws a sigh as he drinks his ale.
Then down into the darkness, the depths,
To where the sharks prowl, where the dolphins swim,
Where the whales sing their songs.
And the hunters will go to find them.
***
Whale hunt, that's what it was about,
The whale, the whale. The hunt, the hunt.
What did you want?
Just something to do.


This poem is an Articial Intelligence re-interpretation of "A Handfull of Pennies" by Gordon Haggerty

Gord

2022-11-29 10:02 am

Phalanx, already made plans with Ahab.
Enemies, whales , their emails: 'save as'.
Eventually their money exchanges hands,
A ribcage cracks, a heart swells so thick.

Revenge, already made plans, rain dance,
Polearms for the bad man, stained glass.
Both man and animal inevitably acquiesce,
The old barn will fall upon the sand.

Gord

2022-08-03 10:55 pm

Flag,
Grab a torch, same hand,
Have fun with your vote:
Another hand a sword,
It opens a can of corn.

Fake hammer throw,
Judges, like rabbits,
Run back to their holes.
Rather than face the day,
The code and its ghosts.
Instead,
They make jokes, they make shows,
They make notes, that, of course,
Exclude their track record of control.

That dirt road, saddled by war,
Addled by the hammers thrown,
Fools who took no land unknown,
Who speak a language encoded,
Take advantage of the locals.

What is wealth, cash of course?
But it's also a canvass of bone,
Grass in the mouth of a mud horse.

Lynn

2022-03-23 11:45 am

I smear vaseline in the corners of my mouth with a cotton swab to seal the cracks that are carved there
from smiling too wide
from laughing too loud
from speaking my mind.

I smudge the nails on my hands with paint, pearlescent and pink
to keep from moving
to keep from creating
to keep from fully living.

I confine myself to an apple and egg whites each day to mold by body
into what I see in waiting room magazines
into what it was when I was a child
into something impossible.

how futile, it seems, to meter my joy, to suppress the wind.
because, when one tries to obstruct what rightfully will pass,
it gains strength, channels down one slim canyon,
and blows everyone away.