Gord
2026-04-16 10:41 am
Love from the art class... Is everything the same, Or have you changed perhaps? If my tomorrow never came, Am I still just some faggot, That never had your respect? We both know front to back, When it comes to class, but What about our crossed paths? Does it matter, about the facts? Whether I fell to able hands, You would rather write about it, You already decided, so sing that, And when you finally do get to it, You shove it up your ass. Love, from the bottom of my heart, They never taught you art in class, And you never learnt good taste, Is everything the same? No... I would say you changed, perhaps, But you never had any fuckin class. And, that comes from me... Love, from the art class, All the way to the current of my heart: Things have changed, It's better you stay hard, man, A wave from across the bar. Far away, like your honest thoughts.
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Gord
2024-10-01 12:19 am
Blue, vampire bat, I feel like that at times, Lies about my fangs, Silver metallic, Azul and cyan, Tired, of sky high tricks. I guess that's why I am, Grown men cry, surely, But then grown men die, Weapons about their side. Head held high, my friend, Surely, we will meet again, No shame in dying to a man. Right? Azul and cyan, In sake of blue, give me white. Am I doomed, to be a beast? Who bites? Well, then why alongside them, Question the carmine reds? All I want is life, beyond that, Perhaps azul and cyan.
Gord
2024-09-07 10:03 pm
Stygian Blue, Why can I see you now? Gibbous moon, Obscure behind clouds, Behind your truth, The way you see me now, I'm not like you. Suns, despite the clouds, Light the day, give them power. Unmoved? My son, Watch as I consume. Blue dyes, blue dyads, Subdue the fire, Blue dryad, bid adieu. You can speak in volumes, Ultimately, like cartoons, True rivals speak silence. Stygian Blue, I see darkness. Like the way you see me now, Like the day gives way to cancer, Blue dyes, blue dyad, give me favour. Lift my nails up from the bed, Grace my skin with pigment. Perhaps then how, you see me now, It's the colors you can live with.
Gord
2023-05-08 03:15 am
If I could, I would take my grey for your gray, My grave for your grave, but in the end I will fail. Take my blade and slay your beasts, hero. Even if all you see are beasts and famous people, Not beings from which you take a piece. In fear we never speak, like ancient egypt, People change, things remain the same for me. You aspire for some greater freedom, Perhaps, from up there you can label people, Teach them who should be sold as slaves. Maybe you can take those taken pieces, Build back the things you took from me. Gain more favour and speak loquacious, But gone are the days where you heard me speak, Gone are the days of our walks on the beach, Because even long ago I was but memories. Things have changed, besides the people, Weight and age mostly, But when I see your face, You want an escape, I can see it. A smile that lies on its face, But your heart plain as day. Rather than three hours too soon, One minute late
Gord
2022-04-23 12:43 pm
Atlas reaches, Earth teeters, Who cares who stares beneath. Apples, peaches, pears, kiwis: Tree, what are seed to thee? Tree, what are seeds to be? Blue, what does it mean, to be Green? Views beyond what one has seen. Speed, a pace, to place them at the peak, Then recede, what decides its meaning? Perhaps at the roots, the soil is gleaning, But at the root, a house teeters, Tepid falling upon the cedar greens, Of course, Of no fault to me, I feel. Accepted outcomes of little dreams, Confused with death, drift out to sea.
miherseed
2021-04-27 11:03 am
the santan dew crawls out of the stalk if you break it apart from the bush suddenly it burns brighter than dust small grand doors tiptoed to kiss their frames held by hinges, but try to reach north alas, their fates are back and forth there’s a somnolence to homes that are not yours holed with metaphors you never explored to tell your throat is for similes or possibly something else i wonder if wells hear wishes or if they are mere echoes of aired fulfillment perhaps that’s why the well water only gets to see the sky even if i bury my fingers beneath the soil, i am no root. even when i draw lines on the sand, i make no shore.
Innasense
2020-12-28 09:42 pm
Obsessions What power you hold over me... Every action, every thought Is just a push in your direction Feeding into the obsessions, Lost connections, misdirections, Absolutely positively coerced into these affections By a brain constantly seeking tiny moments of perfection. Though you kind of must admire this curation of adoration, All the mental efforts required to keep up the constant cultivation Of this undisturbed fixation, The impropriety and distraction of a single-minded meditation, All these mind-numbing, pacing, clock-like rotations Theoretically leading this obsessive mind to pure elation, The uninhibited fruits of this persistent dedication. Happy sighs and exhalations... But then... The sobering realization That somehow life existed before this shrine’s erection And perhaps the cracks start to show, Unexpected but apparent imperfections, Initially denied and resolutely rejected, The shattered shards of a crystal ball that disagrees with my projections, The deflation, depletion, extortion Of my vexation, Maybe leading to complete and utter exoneration... The disintegration of my fascination. Maybe someday... But for now I prefer to float in my comforting contemplations, Giving in to the infatuation, These happy delusions of my mind’s incarceration. And if the worst this should cause is These false exhilarations, Then I shall stay here for a while And enjoy the scintillating sensations Of my obsessive ruminations. A Temporary Salvation.
Innasense
2020-09-25 08:01 am
Throw back the covers on the incessant redundancy of another day. Putting in time for a world we no longer believe in, if ever we truly did. ...Them rose-tinted glasses were long-ago shattered... Our dedication repaid With more stolen hours Coming home with less time To spend with ourselves, Or perhaps those we purposely surround ourselves with, Than we’ll spend talking to ceiling tiles in the dark later on. Droning away the limited hours, The constant pull of a thumb , —Refreshing— Giving our ❤️s away In an opinionated match game Finger-fucking ourselves to sleep Just to say we felt alive Before succumbing to darkness With a see-you-later sayonara Whispered into black, Just like the onyx air pixels we’ll be counting later to lure heavy eyelids back into a much-too-finite slumber ...Or maybe the fluffy white bastards will do the trick Whatever helps you sleep at night... Next day, the inbox the same, Full of spam mail we unsubscribed to ages ago That somehow keeps rearing ugly heads, hydra-like with a pretty new name every time, to keep us believing in the possibility that this particular lovesick prince will be our salvation. DELETE to clear our foggy heads While trying to remember which ones are the liars. The mirage keeps on shifting. Repeat, repeat, World keeps on turning, pulling us along, A child’s toy on a string. But what if, for a moment, We turn away from from the unending axial spins, Sidestep the scythe again, seek out the sunrise... Find the beauty brave souls! Crack open that Earth-shaped geode and search out the wild world within And you know what... Go buy you a new pair of those pretty pink shades
Gord
2020-05-20 05:58 am
I guess I could write again, About life: All but writing. Perhaps mine inspire biting, Fists to the side inspiring. A couple stands, A couplet stanza, My life is not simple music, To play on verandas, Nightstand or castle. Rather it's a little shrew, His mind on what is new: "Is it food?"
Gord
2019-12-03 01:34 pm
Like a hurt cardinal, bandaged, Perhaps again it flies perverse, Perhaps times himself per verse, Per second, per lurch, per word; Managing his time it finds a perch, Challenging himself, flies the world; Flies and bugs no more, Pecking the spine it eats a horse, Like a fuhrer pardoned, seminal, Perhaps one finds it not so curt, Curtsies, words lies, Lord survives. "I would make gentle return, Messiah of none, I arrive, Time to waste no more." It hears but fury, speaks short, "Perhaps past such things were worse, Such meaning in verses, Supple leanings of wings of worry, Speckled and shiny this rock is yours"
Gord
2019-09-20 07:22 am
Pence felt worth, more than all, Dirty and small, spending curt. Maybe to shout, Maybe to doubt, Chasing two shorelines, Given scourge or knout. Schoolyards abound, Fence built high, to the clouds. Fools abundance, mountain climb, Peace can be free, expensive as dying, Riddled with fear unknown, prying, Heavy to swing for liars. Fences can be expressive as lessons, Lesions on the back of your neck, Illegal, yet a photography session, Perhaps I soon like Kim can attest.
Gord
2019-08-06 11:06 am
Check your profile: Analytics. Poetry descendant, effective, Perhaps too analyze their seconds, or thirds, fourth. Cheek and gumline: A forest of tics, A forced life of sickness, camera, A chance to be rich, rich. Lick, Lick, Bitch, Bitch, Brown Popsicle, tastes like poop, Why didn't I ask for one in blue?
Gord
2019-04-22 06:37 pm
Aye, they say, tide they say, Lunatic ideas, high tide sail. Curtain call to my avail, Perhaps too soon, perhaps to fail. A map, fools, kale, assets and nails, Attack anew, hula hoops of the wind, Plans eschew, I look into the distance, Eyes dismayed.
Gord
2019-02-06 07:32 pm
Sidewalks broken on my boulevard, Auburn hair where I used to walk, Talk, and think of her dialogue. I'd thought greenery would fall, Replaced with concrete barriers, Perhaps I'd talked too freely, Told one too many tale too tall To still be taken seriously. Discreet forever, words picky, Discrete for ever, world sticky, Disformity for even worms licking. Take me away from this place, For even screaming and kicking, Seeing worse, feeling indignant. Not to curse the growing infant, But the plants must go. No handlebars rusted, To bikes comprised of broken dreams, No van full of children hopeful, Just a van to the hospital, please, My heart is about to explode to pieces.
Gord
2018-11-05 10:53 am
My heart filled with love, Only my paintbrush coveted. Simply a coward with canvas, To give forms anew, forever, Formula new, for you toward, Perhaps to give in retort. To highlight, grey, Brush dusty and disdain, My desires of microphones, Speakers though, just saying.
Gord
2018-10-10 01:06 pm
Soon, my rooftops ventures velour, While his felt cap. So my life could be but parkour, Hostile to this running man, Denying his own strategy. Assume my caricature ugly, Underlying themes, nothingness, Prion disease and brain eating. I scream, away, shoo Like strained water, drained, Boon by foolish penmanship true. Dry humor, dishes in an apartment, States his wishes, his way were apt, One could have but half, contrite, In manacles, retarded and live happy. Perhaps education provides a tragedy, In return, for pardon of inadequacy. So, I too tiptoe guarded garrisons, My bliss beheld past, Soon their life could be of boars. Therefore course I lick, Stamps compelled to stick, What am I? A Saliva Lich? On course to death? Rich. I would embrace the quick, Lest this lifetime of fists.
Gord
2018-09-12 09:04 am
Solemn acoustic, play yourself, Silent, foolish, I wait for death, My chord arrest, My Lord attest. Holland music, half my breath, Tax my address for half my wealth, Alas my protest, perhaps my stress, In direct response, my indirect. The woman scoffs at his giving gifts, Living gifted is not an ornate box; Richly leveraged when you need a lift, More alike to a light that is simply off. She says, take me out, tonight, Whereto the people are young, Bodies are loose, fabric tight. He says, mistakes and lies, Too young to accrue true views, He mocks and chides.
Gord
2018-08-10 05:27 pm
Nails filed to the end, Sun setting in the distance, I scratch and claw endless, Failing to find a coin to spend, Flailing to mind my business, The new owner Olympus. Perhaps I am but foil to him, Poetically our lives akin. Though he sees me boiling pans, Loud as thunder in soiled pants, Sent on my way out the door, Rather than embarrassed again.
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