Gord
2026-08-20 12:52 pm
Time doesn't exist, Like carbon paper, Beneath me, Impression. Life isn't about solid phases, Matter has three states, Like a person has faces. Knife, plunge into my skin, You planned to cut me, But, what about yourself? You're beneath me.
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Gord
2026-07-29 01:20 pm
One day, I'll write like you, my hero. Like a pen is attracted to paper, Like I'm attracted to you. Like, upon your skin I'll write, Until you're more me than I, I take everything from you, Like brakes upon a bike.
Gord
2025-04-30 06:27 am
My heart is half paper. Myopia, Alexander? Again? Class hatred, suicide bombings, General proverb, maximized profits, Modified starches. My hope is black maple, My old house on the hill, Breath. My hope, Alexander? Cleopatra answers, I hope I get to live.
Gord
2025-04-28 10:46 pm
Fire, flames upon a hoop, I, am drawn. Eraser, Dissolve, dissolute. Child's play, inside a room, Drive talk, eyes and hearts, Upon her arm, should she draw? Never again can she feel loss, I, am drawn, she says, to darkness, Never again will she see stars, Never again will she be wrong, Never again can she feel love. Eraser, darker hues. Paper rips in two, Reddish shade of blue, Fire, flames upon a hoop.
Gord
2025-02-25 06:43 am
Dramatically, he captures folk, What does it mean? Who knows? More grenadine with alchohol, Sweetness in a leather coat, Bitterness in a paper cup.
Gord
2024-11-11 09:21 pm
Red, race runner. Race winner, Hair, face makeup, Gray silver. A sliver of hope, please, The world cometh. Great singers, they say, Have a way with words, Do they listen to yours? When they read mine, I expose their inside. Cinnamon rolls, She eyes the icing, When she listens to me, Her head is cocked back, As if she died. She says, Cinnamon rolls are fine, Beige aside. Change, paper kites, Beyond lime green basement lights, Confirmation of rights. Like what a child encased in white, Could possibly look like? Red, less waste of time.
Gord
2024-10-09 05:35 am
What is blue all the way through? Very few things, one of them you. Just like neighbourhood maples, Who grew oversea, good natured, Booked a flight, made into paper. What's new? I changed, too... All the way to the roots. Well, a limb moves, the ring too, The tip of which is turning blue, What cures the sickness of wealth? Very few things, among them death, Worse is truth and active dis proof. Spruce and denim, Jus, ad bellum, In the end, they feel something too. Just not what the majority do. Red right to wage fights like war, Just as much as the admiral's blue.
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.
Lynn
2022-08-19 12:46 am
ceaseless, i wait here in my hall of stone. my continuous, meditative, monotonous vigil only broken by the sound of a camera shutter or the scratch of charcoal over rough paper. my silence never ends, since my marble knees do not know the hour when they will straighten and carry me away, nor my spine knows when to crack and unfurl my body tall, higher than the skylight under which i am displayed, nor my dainty dress knows when to settle itself more comfortably over my shoulders. so here i remain, forever more statue than woman. one evening, out of the blue twilight the night guard saunters in, bold and butch and self-assured (her footfalls give her away) without warning, she leans in close, shining her beam in my placid face, and i cannot blink away the yellow light (and never would, just to glimpse once more upon her lovely face) hastily she whispers in my ear, instantly transforming my marble to rose quartz and slowly then, she kisses me, soft and earnest and fleeting and suddenly i am more woman than statue.
Gord
2022-03-01 06:54 am
Paper, mind racing; April, outside rain; Days, time, pain. Trial, minor inheritance, Inside raging, vain, Water droplet pacing. Lies, decadence, Left in the sunset. Am I adept? Think, look back. Flies in everything, Trying anything, I, tried everything. Trial, cherry picking, Many years, Their meaning? A small committee, Press, briefings: Ideas discrete, Their leanings. Where is the time for healing?
Gord
2020-11-13 07:17 am
To scratch to paper to feel, A rat pampered can keel, Catch as cant, caped and kneels. To manage a brokerage well, Manger broken, belly swells, Change hopeful, soon quelled. The train is gold but gone, Pain is old game to fawns, Again retold, they carry on.
Innasense
2020-09-14 11:17 pm
”The End” The night is young, Barely swollen with stars When the illusion shatters As though everyone I had ever known was gone The world as I had come to know it, Ended. Apocalyptic, And without near enough warning. Those paper souls lost, Their memories fast fading, The stories they told, Words lost in the wind Some names forgotten, Others stamped permanently onto my brain, autographs on my heart. I reminisced for a moment On the places we’d been, Conversations had, Friendships shared, Hardships weathered. Bright sunny days spent outside Or solitary nights spent avoiding sleep, Blanketed by the silent words between us, Alone but for each other’s company. Now I just feel alone, utterly, This finality staring me in the face Nothing left to do but face this music Slipping away at too rapid a pace These final notes, One last embrace. I tell myself I must accept this end, But allow myself one backward look Steel my heart, Heave a sigh, And with great trepidation... close this book. ❤️📚💔
Gord
2020-08-13 06:19 am
Capture paper, snapshot picture, Red, red, red, All one sees is the figures. Cannot a boy grow, Irrespective of now?
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?
Gord
2020-03-18 06:51 am
I spread fear across nations, Flear a cross paper, Peer no long favour, No wrong feeling, No wrong caper. I bend wills like cancer, Spread near and patience, Science clairvoyant, Poles of the earth moving.
Gord
2018-09-18 07:29 am
She won't relent, Heart of paper, stone read. Western hero, composing feelings, Zeal formulaic, deceit ceaseless. Eastern, kind words repentant, Unlikely to spend life waiting, Ferment, offense, to be condemned. Sweetheart, If one only dances, not for scent, Lance just for chests, Language, port for gents. Madame, another supplement, For what drunken mess is other, Than more time misspent? To see the end, would we prevent? Could we? All I see is a girl, a vent, Policy diverse, absurd, dissent.
Gord
2018-08-29 12:46 pm
I have a shelf of books, all ashes. My most disastrous, Poetically immaculate. Writing of real life intangibles, Kissing a boy by the shore, While the crowd screams more. That's the 21st century, man, Progress a little beyond books of ash, Paper plates and cheques for cash, Beyond are spaceship parts beneath trash. If Etan must, they probably may have done, So if May is upon, another spring comes, Against a flower one cannot lean butt, Especially with the shadow cast cut across. Don't show up at the poetry contest, Rhetoric political, ignorant, floral, passe, Or expect they place you last, lame, fake.
Gord
2018-08-21 11:26 am
Friends spoken to be millionaires paid, Mind hopeful, experience bar full, I'm hoping to get a millionaires pay, Friends along with, interiors vague. Though rhymes alone do not denote caste, They are like paste, or a paper, Clinging to the things we wish to frame. Like metal rods with a magnet lace, I walk back to my original place. Pens broken and arms folded in front, Mind hopelessly lost of useless knots. Life like a lark, but come too soon, So hopelessly lost, inside of dark, Heart fought and hard fought, And eventually the daybreak comes.
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