Gord
2026-08-31 01:46 pm
Tonight, tonight, Through windows, the sky, Gimme, gimme, The other songs I like. Say say say, Bye bye bye, Turning points, Within my life, Whatever music, Is in the air tonight.
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Gord
2026-08-10 12:51 pm
Final arrangement of words, I am managing, without you, Despite how badly it hurts. Style, abasement of yours, Love songs only in word. Like wood, farmed for the pulp.
Gord
2026-04-18 08:52 pm
Dry fog, fight songs, In my arms, your arms, You talk, then I talk, But that life is long gone, A dry cough on a live vlog. What was it I lost? The right to be what I was? The fight to be what I'm not? From my thoughts: Fuck off. For a list of things you are: Love of fine art, Love of my arms, Love for my mom, Love, from wild mobs, Hate for me deep in your heart. Does that, to you, seem honest? Pleas, bargains, Over t-shirts, waterbottles, Street artist and colleagues, Live in trap houses on Mary St. Does that, to you, seem honest? They sleep under pizza boxes, Drunks, who can never play in concert, What was it I lost again? The right to be what I was? To fight to live and die on a cross, Live life on a cot? Instead, I'll climb the hill to the top.
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.
Gord
2023-09-17 07:37 pm
Was it like this all along? A bird wonders... Like gawkers, ponders what they saw... 'Would you describe me, inside of a bar?' 'Must again, you make things be so hard?' 'Wasp, like I bumble about the pollen, Following a humble belief seems wanton, When you believe in things so violent and wrong.' Bird, quickly describes in simple songs, Big cities, things it saw in the puddle, Colors of war, bees that talk. Freedom, it sings, is also simple, One really needs not drift apart. The big screen, another big scene, It was mostly a facade... Balk, talk is talk, feeling in the dark, But most of what a bird said, lived on, Proper relief is upon the soul after all... So they write less of evil on the walls, In the sky, on maps or village carts. Against nothing, see the days beyond... I suppose those concepts are behind us. Was it like this all along? A bird wonders... Is the city like a swallow, or like to swallow, and will he be the next one gone? Cause for alarm, make calls upon, Anything, but you lost the one. You love... Like a dog watching another sun set, More talk, another sun will rise again, Life for this bird is but more dogs. So like a coward, survives the storm, Shivering as they make their calls. Inevitably, to face the power lines alone.
Gord
2023-04-12 05:23 am
Birth mother, Are you done in search of justice? From hunger the feeling lingers on, I want to be created equal, in three parts: My heart, my dreams, my thoughts. To stomach decisions these fingers long: How much must one muster? The war is over, the performance over, The opponent is dead and gone. He hears the fear in his voice, Drinks beer, balks, talk circles, Inside he looks awkwardly, Leers like a child at adults. 'Blood eater, what of your cuts? Is your search for freedom done? What is your word for love? Of people, of reason, Like earth, sun, One deserves better treatment, But worries when wonders gone.' Colonel, a third of your country, wrong. Fanciful fawns, thoughts prancing, Warnings: Songs bandied to a swan. Wanting nothing, wanton, famished, Like night always says to the dawn: Our prospects have long vanished. It's more self talk, silence in response, Dancing alone, along to the bombs that drop.
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
2021-12-15 11:23 am
What am I to be? A hive of bees, I see. Time, clouds, Sky, crowns, Right now tied down, Time, dreams, Lies, deceit, An ice house drowns, What am I to be? Composer of songs, A giver of feelings?
Igor Goldkind
2021-02-12 12:44 am
LIVING WITH UNCERTAINTY What if we thought of this uncertainty as Jews consider our Sabbath— As a sacred space in time? Stop traveling. Stop buying and selling. Stop working. Give up trying to make the world better than it is. Instead, sing. Dance. Pray. Write songs and recite poetry. Paint the pictures from your eyes. Walk amongst the leaves and the stars. Touch only those to whom you have committed your life. Sit down. And when your mind and body have become still, Reach out with your heart. Know that we are connected in ways that are both terrifying and beautiful. No one can deny that now. Do not reach out with your hands. Reach out with your heart. Reach out with your words. Reach out with all the curled tendrils Of compassion that connect us invisibly, To where we cannot touch each other.
Gord
2020-11-06 12:40 am
A Fool, wreath of barbs, Writing of films' stars, Barns, and what lies beyond; Tools for reaching disembarkments, A cool way to clean her clock, A gun, put into a mouth, Entire crowd in shock; His cigar takes tocks, Ticks boxes and lives onward. He rewrites his ducks: swans, Cooks his brownies blonde, Looks at his frowning fawn, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Like drowning frogs, A fearless John. When he writes of life, It's to a howling mob, Sexy songs, luck gaunt, One of us, One of us, One of us, Eteonicus lives, reeds or not.
Gord
2020-10-07 08:27 am
Of dying and fighting, Best saved for last, Apologizing and crying, Inside the eyelids: Kiss my ass, my lover lives. Wind, harvested by mills, Jacks, coveted by Johns, Songs built by peoples, Hymns for the seasons. Rescinded politically, Not knowing what to believe in.
crybaby
2020-08-14 09:15 am
a kinda happy stuff i wrote while i was thinking about you
i wrote down my thoughts while you were on my mind
this is my happy song my first happy song and it’s about you like all my sad songs are like all my sad songs yeah they’re all about you. i feel like when we talkin’ cuz yeah we’re talkin’ it’s like we’re bondin’ it’s all about chemicals. i feel like when you smilin’ cuz yeah you’re smilin’ yeah you’re so beguilin’ it’s all about miracles. and it’s sooo good you made me feel like this you can’t even imagine it how how happy i am right now how how happy i am right now. na na na na na na na naaa na na na na na na na naaa nah, im not sad anymore i dont meet sadness no more while im on a date with her sister called anxiety oh no ‘what if you cheat on me what if you smile at him?’ that’s not me. ‘what if you run away and we never talk again?’ you asked me. oh please don’t do this to me just kill the party with me and we’ll never leave this life come on kill the party with me and let’s leave this house and i keep on smiling yeah im still smiling you did this to my body it’s all about romance. my life used to be a mess it was such a mess but with you it’s not like that it’s all about romance. and it’s sooo good you made me feel like this you can’t even imagine it how how happy i am right now how how happy i am right now. na na na na na na na naaa na na na na na na na naaa
Gord
2020-07-29 05:43 am
Storm the earth, Storm the sea, Arrive in myth, the people be, Not given bronze, not given sons, Living gaunt outside a lodge. Singing swans, singing songs, Zinc, gold, silver, iron, copper, In hefty sums, no bitten tongue. Dearth they arrive, murder at night, No allies, wyrms or fires to fight. Death they provide.
Gord
2019-12-12 05:32 am
Write your life, line by line, From post to post, time in finite, Decide. Vibration is not entirety, Leave flying to the pilot, Masons, vocational thieves. Applause, Songs written of concepts, Concert to the rest, nonsense. Only to soothe the soul, One forgives and consoles, Otherwise the wise have but knowledge, Lies are all but college, Which behold, Yet deny all the garbage they bestow. Take your hits, pipe by pipe, From fist to fist, time is final, Less vital due to all your fighting.
Gord
2019-03-02 05:17 pm
Seeking resurrection, I long to burn my hands, Incense smoke, friends. I tire of drawing nonagon, ocatgons, heptagons, hexagons. I have drawn triangles, circles, squares and beyond, I have longed for more irregular shapes. Older days, forgotten, songs, Lyrics erased, dreams decayed, Vocals crack on air, The priest is watching alone. I stare the beast in his eyes, and keep yelling despite.
Gord
2018-10-21 01:49 pm
The valley is my grave For I sit within the mouths of caves I shall not move for days Nor weeks nor years For even if I'm paid in flies My destiny, Tyler, I won't deny For one day when I die My body will atone For I could eat a stone twice my size My destiny, Tyler, I won't deny My afterlife, a Bulwark Frog Lo, to be a tadpole of one's own life For now, I just write songs Fantasies to make my family fear the valley's size Then bulwark on
The Sophist
2018-10-02 07:38 pm
Whatever they do find With whomever I don't mind Though I don't believe They must be alien I lost time Swear I'm not blind I look and see Words in the breeze Tongue-tied They oft-lie Telling tales of talking trees Ghosts will moan Beg and plead Selling rhymes But not this guy Not Today I don't got time Not for pizza Not for pie Not for holding others up Just to drop them when I die Today I built a shelf So they can sit there when I'm gone Thinking about nothing While they listen to my songs
Gord
2018-04-12 05:46 am
His life a vine, with walls to climb, A sign of reeds, tall as the ceiling. It reads: peace on earth, healing. He easily remarks, needing, tired, With nobodies hiring he sings songs. Shouts at the crowd pink psalms, skimmed, Thinking along, forward and onward; Successor non, foreign legion stalwart. His heart a fire, with walls to climb, Passions fleeting, of paint peeling, With art to desire, of maxims meeting. Of dirt green, or fences mended, Grudge son's, however defenseless.
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