Gord

2016-02-02 12:00 am

Sun shining, Days simply spend inside,
Producing music, mp3 and wav files,
Meanwhile I see my Aunt smiles,
Her son shining shoes up in a crack house.
I'm pretty sure she's looking for my 26 thou,
So i ask her in the heat of the night.
'Tell me, How does the world look so bright,
through dirty sheets and a black gown?'
She replies down.

The Sophist

2015-11-24 12:00 am

Seal sutured my soul;
To a body- a home.
Come help make me whole.

Self life spent alone.
Warm bed 'side a warmer throne,
Bed heats by its own.

Ten times two is four.
Ten times lack of effort,
All effort is poor.

Tax taken from pews,
Poor unfortunate two,
Camels; too large crew.

To dust grind my bones,
Tear open by strings my heart,
Seal sutured my soul.

Gord

2015-10-01 12:00 am

Neither side Tamarack,
Fight of the fat necked fools,
Plague of constant addictions,
Evolving unemployment tools.
Told to stay, 
Yet constant movement with
No beast to slay, 
No need fur goods,
No need for gold. 
Dismay of only complacent future,
No brandy for feigning culture,
Prone future of needle-side nurturing.

The Sophist

2015-09-21 12:00 am

Three loveless dynasties divine.
Providence in sheep inside.
Bleeding,
'Treating to be blinded.
The Feigning Suicidals.

Three peasants covering their eyes,
Not displaying thoughts inside.
Blinded,
'Treating to be bleeding.
A hopeless heart reciting.

Bed made and three pillows aligned.
Love lost 'tween a bout and twine.
Meaning,
Ends of never starting,
Twelve sorrows between two hearts.

Twelve hearts;
Their grief imparting.

Twelve stars align to follow charts.
Cosmic games of skeet in the dark.
Teeming,
Conducted by the stars;
An opera of three parts.

The loveless damned to be confined,
Only singing chorus lines.
Finding love within their sources.
Slamming on their desks with sore fists.

Bed tossed and our feelings opined.
Love found 'tween a tackle and twine.
Value,
Still,
But still restarts,
Twelve griefs of an ardent heart.

Earnestly,
Your soul departing.

The Sophist

2015-09-10 12:00 am

Day 1:
No stoic women and no false metal,
Living the life,
Inside of a kettle.
Hopping and jumping,
Trying to escape.
Grinding my teeth,
While the symphony plays.
"Does it feel great?"
"Yeah, it really feels great."
"Now what should I do?"
"I'll cry the next day."
Weeping,
Watching the moon start to settle.
Disappear too soon below false nettle.
"With such regret I will miss when I die,
So I dream to escape the world I deny."

Day 2:
I sleep;
The moon and my mind both settle.
I no longer jump;
Steam fills my kettle.
These stoic women;
Fawns for false metal.
Living my own life;
Fit in fine fettle.

The Sophist

2015-05-22 12:00 am

I gave you that;
Which wasn't half bad.
I gave you love;
If you consider my dad.
Never gave my mom,
Anything we had;
So if I give you love,
Be warned I'll take it back.
If you find my love one day,
Just don't take it half bad.
Maybe it'll last for a day and a half.
I sip hate with a handle;
Pouring love with carafes.

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

2015-02-11 12:00 am

ACT I:
The brother of the first protagonist  challenges the first antagonist to a duel, during which the wife of the first antagonist interferes on the battle causing the brother of the first protagonist to be slain. The right hand man of the first protagonist slays the first antagonist in revenge, during which the wife of the first antagonist flees. The right hand man of the first protagonist is injured, and takes a much longer period to reach home than the wife of the first antagonist.

The wife of the first antagonist spread false rumors of cheating on the side of the brother of the first protagonist, and takes a secret lover as her new husband.

ACT II:
A long period passes and the first protagonist agrees to battle both the first antagonists wife and her new husband, who looks to regain the honor of his small kingdom against the wealth and influence of the wealthy protagonist.

During the battle, a man who looks alike to the first protagonist (second antagonist) shows up and watches over the battle as the first protagonist slays both the first antagonists' wife and her husband. As he celebrates his victory, the second antagonist slays the first protagonist with an arrow, and his right hand man disposes of the bodies.

ACT III:
A short period passes with no word of a victor on either side and the wife of the first protagonist has a breakdown, and she dies just before her husbands funeral.

During the ceremony the second antagonist shows up and declares that he is alive, and had just fallen into a river during their battle after slaying them both. A great celebration is held in his honor during which he does not question where his wife is until the right hand man of the first protagonist mentions it, which raises his suspicions. The Right Hand Man of the first protagonist is demoted whole the right hand man of the second antagonist is promoted.

ACT IV:
The second protagonist (RHM of the first protagonist) attempts to gain evidence against the second antagonist, however, the second antagonist falls ill and dies. The second protagonist gains evidence of the truth at the second protagonists funeral, but chooses not to reveal the sensitive information, and instead plans to slay the right hand man of the second antagonist, although he has reached a high ranking position since his arrival, especially as his name was left a large inheritance by the second antagonist.

Gord

2014-10-28 12:00 am

A million stars align to begin nothing,
Can truly the best begin insulting?
A test of love becomes benign offspring.
A gentle hand caresses a face softly,
Yet with the other casts aside a spade.
Cannot the hands of god be unloving?
Those wish for pain receive cavalcade,
Thinking prayer for cake, not for absolving.
Best rhymes touted as insults,
Trying to be what they aren't: wise.
True rhymes timeless be, no beauty sulks.
No man plays games to receive a prize.

Cannot you write of greater things?
Or still is life consumed with frings?

The Paraffin One

2014-09-25 12:00 am

Empty Silence tops a rattle of chain,
A whores horse then tries to evade.
To no avail, assailants fear no pain.
Those that must then ply their trade.
Grasping flail, to no avail legitimate,
For none is literate in God.
Often assumption made inconsiderate,
For law cares not if grass is sod.
That said, what lies here is often not.
Opinion tends to be but a clod tempest,
Consensus leaning toward an insane plot,
Mass opine religion of uneducated priest.

Green reds now shake with blue collars.
Only masons of insured welfare collard'.

The Paraffin One

2014-09-18 12:00 am

A bridge too far is a bridge too far.
Simply put it goes beyond.
Unnecessarily a player struggles,
To play an off-key yawn,
Play chords, save the trouble.
Nobody listens anyway inside of a bar.
Bridges that lead to beyond,
Then abruptly end in the sea.
Why turn from sea so calm?
You could jump to freedom.

The Paraffin One

2014-09-16 12:00 am

Crime rate bears no relevance,
As evidence now confesses,
Relatively they decide evidence.
An industry denies its heritage,
Evidently they know confused:
Rage declines its benefits,
Never does it consider time,
Crime is of no relevance,
As victims now stand blameless.

The Sophist

2014-09-04 12:00 am

Both sides support reform,
God I feel dumb,
Then I go back to watching porn,
That still too is dumb,
Ah, ugh, I'm wracking my poor brain,
Surely nothing can be done,
If something clearly is insane.

Begone to the pits of apathy,
Where men are fighting to succeed,
Be free from binds which binding me,
Lead me blind to blind society.
Truth be told it would be great,
To record sounds and meditate,
Without hoping to get paid,
Ad space isn't free,
We pity ourselves if ads are sent to peace.

We sent our brothers off to war.
Speaking of the fun;
Fighting for a rival hoard.
Dying in the sun;
Pierced by a brother's sword.
Ah, ugh, I'm wracking my poor brain,
Thieves thieved some time for fun,
Our heroes appearing more and more depraved.

To share the same disease,
Tortured through our dreams,
To decay among the trees,
Torment; a short and brutish piece,
Yet all of it is great,
Bleeding essence every day,
Alderson loop of disjunctive melodies,
Existence sings in remedies,
Never will the tempest ease,
Yet underneath there lay a silent tone,
Arranging scattered harmonies.

Gord

2014-09-02 12:00 am

I transform retribution,
I collide with an enemy,
Destined for fusion,
Corroding my memory,
Crashing the computer,
That is me.

I open on pretense false,
In hopes to gain my loss,
Yet no fate goes uncrossed,
No face goes on unmarked,
No bullet grazes,
They self aim and kill marks.

In honesty,
I hope for their retribution,
Not believing what you do,
I find no institution for truth,
Investigations reveal soot.
To conceal boots under sock.
Truth should be implied,
Secrets shouldn't even be whispered,
When no secret knock is employed.

Among Imperials, two faces clash,
Destroying the child middle,
Purpose born was to protect class.
Among the tyrants, 
A sleeping dog,
His brother opposite,
A sleeping god, 
Purpose forlorn and meaning lost.
Shoot the gun across, regardless,
Trees grow from the river,
Implying a garden should exist.

Yet at the bottom I find no solace.
No mythical beast of which to conquer,
Nor mythical flower of to tame beasts.
So no feast among mythical followers.
Sewn feet no longer bother to move.
Brooms no longer even bother to sweep.

I see Cost front by the citizen,
Expected which are also to clean.
Past participle's partisan cuts so cleanly,
No partisan is left opposite to thee.
Clearly, No god laughs,
Sincerely, No god falters,
And no human shots cast,
Except into human carnage.

No gain for loss,
No pyrrhic victory,
Due course.
No force of sympathy,
homeopathy, anthropology,
from the horse.
No, mostly poor choices.
Voices ringing with phones dead.

No voices in his head,
Scream morality.
of course.
No soldier gains a victory.
sans cost.
None recognize the courage,
of Hailey's comet.
So the gunfire blazes onward.

Amongst the slain, are the slain.
Those who shoot have bullets same.
My Deschamps is but modified Spinoza,
Which I modify to fit in holster,
As exactly as I imagined her,
Far above a reasonable caliber.
For a man who lacks resources,
For as a woman he lacked chorus,
Pestilence amongst the formal courtships.

How do we create such a melody?
Such harmony of utter melancholy.
How do we classify such insanity?
Such discourtesy on our society.
Such, bullets access and exit quickly.
Thus is the mark of beasts.
Thus a heart no longer beats.

Almost lack of mention was lack of faith.
Remembered and forgotten to become same.
All lost the castles of old days,
Only sandcastles remain standing,
Reminder of temporary management,
Of how well that pays.

I depart to vent,
Find myself post-traumatic,
I start to mention,
Find myself post-dramatic,
I mark myself bent,
Find myself post dragging.
Hoping to move forward,
Forgetting that lost in battle.

I sigh,
I realize that's not possible.
I stand purportedly screaming peace,
Screaming bullets purportedly corpse.
I stand in face of uproarious force,
Screaming should-haves,
Scoring for would-have,
Who now will manage.

Tired, I cast aside,
Casting stones seems now juvenile.
Especially in a world this finite,
Who needs to choir for killing time?
Button press' jest as being less vile,
Truth as masked chide,
Who now will bandage?

Gord

2014-09-02 12:00 am

I stand purportedly screaming peace,
Screaming bullets purportedly corpse.
I stand in face of uproarious force,
Screaming should-haves,
Scoring for would-have,
Who now will manage.

Tired, I cast aside,
Casting stones seems now juvenile.
Especially in a world this finite,
Who needs to choir for killing time?
Button press' jest as being less vile,
Truth as masked chide,
Who now will bandage?

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.

Gord

2014-08-21 12:00 am

I innocently sat sidelined,
While sidewinder missiles,
Blackened and filled the sky.
They saw no oversight.

Then calamity, personnel,
Call out and rome fell,
The claim don't prose well.
Well, I suppose they don't.
But I never was no poet.

The Sophist

2014-08-20 12:00 am

All that follows may be cheap.
A 'squito bite from a 'siah kiss
No mas, this mass a mess,
'Spose we're 'spose to say we're bless',
Well bless it ought to fess,
A feeling for a million fools,
Is wanton for a prince.
Yet elegant amiss,
Fools dancing on the Sun's drying lips,
As though it were a tryst,
Forcing Cosmos to a fit,
Perhaps the sun is but a tool,
Reflecting light,
Projecting an abyss,
Perhaps there's dimensions we can't see,
We dream beyond 3D,
Yet teach it in our school,
Rest inside to silence screams,
Our origins never will be seen,
Although it would be cool,
All that follows may be cheap.