Gord

2026-08-31 05:52 pm

Different roads, difficult war,
Torn apart by digital swords.
Drinking alone, 
Along to William Burroughs,
Distance from home, 
Infinite, growing.

Gord

2026-05-26 03:17 pm

What matters most, when writing a book?
Followers, forewards, then crying a wolf.
What flatters most, when writing a note?
What do you think? Yes, maybe, or no?

But what matters most?
Peace between war? People you know?
You're not beyond greed of the sword,
But you're beyond breathing of smoke...

I really feel sorry, and fear on reproach,
It's not the party, and people, you know?
It's that we hardly ever spoke,
I feel closer to death than a dreamboat.

But, you're beyond breathing of smoke,
I really feel sorry, for fire upon the roof.
You're not beyond greed of the sword, 
But you're beyond letting me know.

So, this is how it goes...

What matters most, when writing a book?
Survival, reprisals, the life that was took.
Who chatters most, with somber looks?
Violent rioters, petty drunks, 
Armed with popular science.
He said different horizons, 
Dressed in the same wools.

Gord

2025-11-04 06:58 am

Every artist has a last work,
Cherry blossom fall to earth.

Scary monsters have last words,
Respectfully, mostly bollocks,
Withdraw the sword and worth,
It's nothing after all you've done.

Gord

2024-11-20 04:53 am

On his arm the sword breaks,
God never saw the world in 4k,
Never saw intelligence of things.

He never saw an independant film,
Or the world of endless suffering,
He never saw people at level 100,
Tripping on mushrooms, unstoppable,
Unlimited gold stars in them.

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

2023-03-29 05:31 am

Swordsman, go home!
Forests shall be no more,
Our taste for war is gone,
Favoured trees have grown.
Nobles shall be no more,
No new kings be proclaimed,
Of all her princes, gone,
Her world led astray.

Open doors, open forms,
Cold, Enourmous castles,
Forts, or formal courtyards.
Informal castes, people,
Making walls, floors, or ceilings.
It matters where you stand, to the boards.

Suppose also, toward unknown,
Battlefields always need a war,
Despite reform, broken bones,
Foreign loans, foreign ownership,
Moral codes or mortal blows.
For it heeds no appeal,
Not even for their souls.

Dinner for four, e un quarto
However, foremost, they see trolls.
A photo's floorboards, reasons for war.
Yet they sit aside and hope for resolve,
Fear in their heart they hope to ignore.

Gord

2023-01-11 06:09 pm

A rabbit runs free, in the past,
Toward nothing it finds meaning.
Fish of streams, pivot teeth,
Laughter, tongue chatter, sea.
By the brine they find peace,
And man, king of beasts.

Man forms groups, 
Parts in two, like lips,
The bartender and you.
Glass tightly in a grasp,
Like a woman's clasp,
Like a rabbit in a trap,
Wiggle dance, calls,
Nobody calls back.

Like man, cash advanced,
Wiggle dance, calls,
Calls, nobody calls back.
That man can run like a rabbit,
Dance like a rabbit,
Hears like a rabbit,
Fears the language of diagrams,
Candles and passwords.
He describes freedom, devoid of it's traps,
Talking about assholes out of sadness and anger.

He tries to understand, too foolish in banter,
Expanding his mind with standards that matter,
His reaction barely examined, rather managed,
Inside he feels his wiggles, the dance begins,
What can exist, he thinks as a passing thing,
Kicks and springs his feet, never hears a ring.

Gord

2022-10-26 02:34 am

Alone, he works, 
A loan, he works,
Alone he works his loan off,
Alone of course.
And alone in the dark he hopes,
For a road that leads north.
A lot like a microphone,
like a diving horse of war,
Spoken to, of, admired so,
By eye, tongue or sword

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

2021-04-01 11:42 pm

sycophantic silhouette
stalks into the room and
the woman who casts it brings death, immortal doom
she bids disguise fall when the man sees her through
never a dame, but bluegreenbrown eyes, same as you

you, who lives their life by ritual, routine
will never see the cold, red blood or the glistening sheen of
sweat on the brow of a new, soft corpse
or the embers of the flame that drive you north
your cadence keeps you pliant, your rhyme bids you no further!
what drove you to this, to poetry, to murder?

as the blade bids adieu through the back of his skull
and the red of his head grows increasingly dull
and the light bleeds out of the sword in his eye
‘any woman can see him orgasm, but how many see him die?’

Gord

2020-01-24 07:18 am

She says with her eyes: I am gone,
Evil days begone though.
Friday I am home,
Peace be with you, they say some words;
"Does a partridge purr?
Does a catalogue write itself?"
Words themselves can be like a cone,
Until one meanders about the dwelling.
Lonely girl, what do I know?
Is not the world yours to sell?
Would Lucky keep a sword or bow?
Would she emblazon her chest,
With Lions, giants, family crests,
Sayings of young exuberance,
No room for the later lessons.
Spear and shield,
All you need is God's help,
Divine wealth, stature,
Time and a long winter,
Along those lines,
I feel you'll get better.
No sous vide or fried Kelp.

Gord

2019-11-12 07:25 am

Write not of tramplings,
Tramp whispering, quiet:
Were you to write a hymn,
For him, would it be so pious,
So timeless, could it be?
Could you close your eyes,
See peonies in a garden?

What is a peony, but alive,
Without a whistler to guide?
What is my life, but pennies,
Withstanding misers in life,
What is the point, but a sword,
Curt be I to point or hide.

poetessdarkly

2018-11-05 01:27 am

Fruitful sword lily ablush
 Nestled in gardens lush
Pigments triumph aplenty
Resilient verdant sentry

Colossal erectile shoots
Ingrain deep abyssal roots
Precious tis platinum spun
Abreast a rising sun

Glorious tis a supple reign
Aubade a beauteous refrain
Vibrant a gladiolus plant
Borne on Gaia’s decant

Traverse archaic path
Helios waning wrath
Shadows await dusk
Absconding obligant musk

Gord

2018-04-20 07:16 am

Nickname earning: flight to nursing.
Pursuing blind rhymes eyes dictate,
Spouse filate, being bed-ridden,
Fed paste, lies told too tasteless.

The self irate, then ergo inflated,
A burrowed snake safely slithers,
Within a borough named Richard,
Who lives past the poison sword,
Ego position lord, nails fingerless.

No one wants to die a virgin,
but some are doomed to that fate.
It's a cruel world, I know. Lates.

Gord

2017-11-14 07:03 am

Traversing the forest,
Lakelands' Adonis denies support,
A life abridged, lies purported,
Rhymes dismissive,
Current from shore;
Spies thwarted, imported, 
Assorted, awarded, 
Escorted, extorted, 
Aborted, recorded;
Rewarded as kings,
Buried like swords.

Verse, chorus,
He is upon us,
Life no more warm;
Files, less security,
Flies less than before.

Gord

2017-09-12 09:42 am

Swords filed down to soot,
Roses thrown at their feet.
No proof of their misdeeds,
Long Forgoing unlikely heroes,
The Earth rolls on it's shape,
Divides by zero then escapes,
Sequence complete,
Even if it seems short of an era.

Could I program a world so full hate?
Only more divisive,
 with my heart to feint on;
Should I find a brush to paint,
I could not,
Nor would I make clay forms,
And force them to mate,
As Satan does.

Who more lovingly than I,
Is timed less?
I would laugh at the sheer thought.
Cakes of dirt and mud pies,
Fed to a princess,
For the world outside she knows not of,
What a austere world to take from.

Gord

2016-12-06 12:00 am

Feather aloft, with folded wing,
Birds gliding as the summer sings,
Turning only to check the fitting.
Bastion of the great lords,
Last swinging his great sword,
Breaking bones he sees fit.
A life in three parts,
As though it was,
And so it is.
Life lays it's judgement,
As one tries to live.

Gord

2015-01-29 12:00 am

Voice 1
[name] lies slain, with no equal,
Peerless upon the battlefield;
No sword could cleave, 
No arrow shot could find peace,
Only freedom.
Now only the beast remains free,
Feasting upon our arrows' fleeting;
Damage so immense, I see no fleeing,
Alas, only further death.

Voice 2
Begone, for I fear not cancer.
[name] does not meet demands;
Will being not to die as asked of.

Voice 1
Cannot a voice reach thy ear?
Cannot a man be slain by sword,
Common for the man of little fear?
A million miles lies between us.

Voice 2
My man does not fight to falter,
Nor sing songs of issue paltry,
Yet, alas, at last I hear him not.
Only cheers of men which he fought.

Voice 1 exits.