I am a journalist in the field of etiquette. I try to find out what the most genteel people regularly do, what traditions they have discarded, what compromises they have made.
quote by Amy Vanderbilt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freed From Quantitative Measures
Too many traditions have been enriched,
By proper etiquette.
And what is deemed as political correctness.
An evaluation taking place,
Have many coming face to face...
With what makes them happy.
Some are finding happiness,
Is not being self absorbed with the wishes of others.
And a desire to return to a quality of life,
Freed from quantitative measures...
Pressured by the onslaught,
Of egotistical impressions to make...
For the sake of being accepted,
Has increased in the exchange...
Of what is more valued.
Too many traditions have been enriched,
By proper etiquette.
And what is deemed as political correctness.
These depictions have been subjected to rapid change.
With a simple hug from someone touched,
The only desire sought these days.
And a sincerity felt has become more precious.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Anybody who accepts mediocrity - in school, on the job, in life - is a person who compromises, and when the leader compromises, the whole organization compromises.
quote by Charles Knight
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ticking Time Bomb
a box was discarded
in a dark empty field
sometime during the night
sometime before
early dawn hours
in a suburb discretely
a box left
innocently
in the middle
of a field
by the hand
of who?
dawn came
people passed by
some noticed
an abandoned
box in an empty field
after many hours
became suspicious
called head of community
bomb squad was called
standard procedure
approached with care
approached with caution
approached with fear
fear of threat unknown
fear of danger unknown
this was several months
ago near my home close by
before neighour journalist
was shot dead in the chest
just outside his driveway
no warning shot was fired
thief executioner awaited
journalists days end return
home plan steal brand new
motorcycle belonging to
his happy son's friend
they were both safe inside
what did bomb squad find
abandoned in box of cardboard
abandoned in an empty field?
a new born baby girl discarded
born this very day thrown away
Java Indonesia common this happens
in my daughter Kayla's class
there are two adopted abandoned
children who were left discarded
at birth on doorsteps
during night dark hours
adopted by a very good
Islamic woman
adopted by a very good
Islamic family
both these babies
were luckily adopted
this also is common
others less lucky
litter many orphanages
why abandoned?
perhaps
born out
of wedlock?
illegitimate
babies
are social stigma
still in Islamic societies
by mean hearts persecuted
but not never mass murdered
in mass abortion programs
common in Western Societies
advertised called family planning
your western contribution
to abortion crime solution?
paid for with your tax dollars
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Best We Ever Got
At Christmas, we want to give
our children the best,
the toy of the year,
the one that is most after sought.
Although we get it
and after a few months we find it
is discarded for another
and left behind.
If we remember our own childhood
the toys we liked the best
weren’t the ones that cost a fortune,
but the ones made with love and care.
They weren’t discarded,
but loved and treasured
as we grew up through the years.
The memories they hold
stayed with us always
and to us will remain
the best thing we ever got
because of all the love behind them
that came from a heart of gold.
Like all presents,
it is not how expensive they might cost,
but how much love went into them
that’s what really counts.
poem by David Harris
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They Talk About...
They talk about customs traditions rituals and religion
and question me for marrying my daughter to a half
Muslim half Hindu down south in an unknown family
as if in desperation for failure to find a match in own caste
community religion or region and curse for compromising
family interests. They forget the cruel joke of marriage
of our son in Rishikesh and how they discarded traditions
and their own daughter to have a dip at Hardwar leaving us all
hungry. They didn't show the courtesly of seeing us off or the guests.
we swallowed their muck then as we suffer their painted love for daughter
that keeps her from accepting us as parents or husband and child
as her own family even after three years the gamble
continues. I live my faith awaiting the change in consciousness
while destiny drives the wheel through generations beguiled with
ego-fested myths, manicured mind and vested imagination
-R.K.SINGH
poem by R.K. Singh
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Journalism?
He was a strong and gentle man
With strong and gentle hands
He was a leading journalist
A carreer he had not planned
People trusted him completely
And had great respect for him
He was no cheque book journalist
He believed that truth would win
When he retired, the legal scene
Was never quite the same
But this is all a fantasy
For Lou Grant was his name.
poem by David Keig
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Sophisticated Love
Few will ever risk it.
Or admit this from their lips...
It's hard to find and keep,
Sophisticated love.
Too fussy to get busy,
When such etiquette is wished.
In a publicly addressed expressed,
Sophisticated love.
It's hard to get too physical,
When make-up touched gets rubbed.
With a maintenance existing,
In sophisticated love.
It's hard to get too physical,
When make-up touched gets rubbed.
With a maintenance existing,
In sophisticated love.
Few will ever risk it.
Or admit this from their lips...
It's hard to find and keep,
Sophisticated love.
It's hard to get too physical,
When make-up touched gets rubbed.
It's hard to find and keep,
Sophisticated love.
Too fussy to get busy,
When such etiquette is wished.
It's hard to find and keep,
Sophisticated love.
It's hard to get too physical,
When etiquette is wished.
It's hard to find and keep,
Sophisticated love.
It's hard to get too physical,
When etiquette is wished.
It's hard to find and keep,
Sophisticated love.
Too fussy to get busy,
When such etiquette is wished.
It's hard to find and keep,
Sophisticated love.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Assange is not a 'journalist' any more than the 'editor' of al-Qaeda's new English-language magazine 'Inspire' is a 'journalist.' He is an anti-American operative with blood on his hands.
quote by Sarah Palin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In any event, the proper question isn't what a journalist thinks is relevant but what his or her audience thinks is relevant. Denying people information they would find useful because you think they shouldn't find it useful is censorship, not journalism.
quote by Michael Kinsley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Feet of Justice
the feet of justice
walk these barren grounds
occasionally getting a sliver
or a rock between the toes
my feet of carelessness
on the other hand
float above the ground
never worrying about the slivers
or the rocks
justice shall be discarded
so that the slivers
and rocks
of our world may be discarded
and we may all unite
in a unity of carelessness
the world would be a better place
full of happier people
and those old and wise
those like me
would know that we had made the world
a better place
for humanity
and ourselves
poem by Gerald Flippinhanger
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Genteel Madness
Devolved into a genteel kind of madness
And no longer beloved today
Morphed more…into a still stranger likeness
Removed of reality in every way
Scant recognizable
In the mirror of my mind
As well reflection
In rain silvered window
This genteel kind of madness
Be it yours? …tis it mine?
And if tis truly madness
How would one truly know?
poem by David Whalen
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To The State...
the distance between two decisions
is heaven and earth
i am situated between these two extremes
i belong to that spot
where compromises are made
i am but
a compromise too
my nature speaks a lot about this and that
and this space in between
i live here
in this place where people wear two faces
we have four hands
and four feet
but we do not display them
we fear you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Whether They Are Participants Or Not
In support of some traditions,
That should remain unchanged.
To smear and diminish them,
Should leave those responsible...
Feeling both ashamed and blamed.
There is no documenting of discipline,
When this occurs.
Depending on who is involved.
And whose peace has been stirred!
'Some' traditions should be kept valued,
Like treasures to admire and respect.
Although there are some traditions,
That are questionable!
And they are the ones that initiate public unrest.
With the creation of havoc.
And the calling of police to make arrests.
These traditions are nothing more,
Than some folks approving...
Getting their frustrations off of their chests.
And the taxpayers are issued the bill.
Whether they are participants or not.
It's the old, 'I'll do as I please.
And set my own agenda.'
From a certain group of folks,
Believing their destruction...
Are acts of good natured fun when done!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Time Spares Nobody
Time spares nobody
Lying in the grave
Under mound of sand
He heard voices of people
Crying and sobbing
They had come to bury
One more body
Their expression of grief
Meant nothing to him
He sarcastically smiled
Remembered
Long back
In the same way
People known, unknown
Had brought him here
Crying and sobbing
Visited him regularly
Slowly they stopped coming
Now he lies all alone
Same will happen to the one
Who just joined the fraternity?
Memories fade slowly
Time spares nobody
Does any body
Really love somebody
The question
Haunted him regularly
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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We have to find compromises. That's the way it is in Norway.
quote by Kjell Magne Bondevik
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Genteel
Strange, range!
Elsewhere,
Genteel;
But please, let me know.
Range, strange!
But please, let me know when you are ready.
Tiles, gentiles!
Drunken birds,
Seen everywhere;
Trait, portrait!
Created after its kind;
Where, elsewhere!
To protect them;
Tile, gentile!
Don't you know that you're so beautiful? !
Like the muse of love.
Cord, record!
But, Yahweh is the Creator of all things;
Wells, dwells!
As numerous as the stars of the sky;
Steel, genteel!
But, i have now taught you how to do it;
So, you can now live alone.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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An Old Tyre (Fun Poem 79)
Someone had discarded an old tyre.
It was all battered and worn.
As I stared at it, I wondered
of what journeys it had been on.
How far had it gone,
and if it had seen
some interesting places on its travels around?
That old tyre discarded on the ground.
When I think of the travels
we make in our car each day,
I bet that old tyre would have a lot to say.
However, it is abandoned,
no use to anyone.
When I looked the next day and the tyre was gone.
Overnight it must have stood up
and rolled along on more travels I presume.
Therefore, this ends the tale of an old tyre,
which was discarded on the ground.
14 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Best Time
six p.m. is the best time
to find you, when you sit upon
a fallen tree
drifting upon the oceans
of your self-pity,
six p.m. is my best time too
to feed myself
with hope, when the rest of you
are inching steps
towards the
Dipolog cemetery
the people there are zombies
walking to and fro
like metallic pendulums with
their bob heads
unwavering for the possibilities
of life's
compromises
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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We Promised There Would Be A Return
Why the somber and solem looks?
The dark suits?
And the meshed veils,
Covering the women's faces.
'We are celebrating the return to our values.'
This reminds me of a funeral procession!
'You have forgotten traditions once highly esteemed.
Soon we will return to them.
And it will be as if,
You had been awakened from a nightmarish scheme.'
I am sorry.
This is just too much darkness.
'You see! ?
How much discipline you have been missing?
We promised there would be a return.
And here we are.'
What you represent has an absence of fun!
In fact,
What you propose is quite scary.
'What is more important?
Image?
Or the implementation of rules and proper etiquette? '
Ugh.
Ugh!
MOMMY?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If I have smashed the traditions, it was because I knew no traditions.
quote by Maude Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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