For some reason most critics have a hard time fixing their minds directly under their noses, and before they see the object that is there they use a telescope upon the horizon to see where it came from.
quote by Allen Tate
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scrutinized For Their Blemishes
It is easy for many to sit back and critique,
With a judging done of those tasks...
Others produce with a doing to complete.
And if some people are prolific,
From experiences live that dictate this...
The critics are quick,
To stampede out from nowhere it seems...
With criticsms prepared,
Not to uplift or encourage...
But instead,
Demean.
But when given the opportunity to highlight their gifts,
Critics often spew excuses...
As those under microscope,
Are scrutinized for their blemishes.
Although,
Even those who enjoy themselves as critics...
Have moments they don't admit but wish,
An attention given to be critiqued...
Would validate a reason to rid their insecurities,
With a purpose in their minds that solidified their existence.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Object
You know you turn me on
Eyes so white and legs so long
But don't try to talk to me
I won't listen to your lies
You're just an object in my eyes
You're just an object in my eyes
Sophisticated smile
You seduce in such fine style
But don't try to fool me
'cause i can see through your disguise
You're just an object in my eyes
You're just an object in my eyes
But i don't mind
I just don't care
I've got no objection
To you touching me there
Object object
Object object
Object object
Object object
You know just what to do
Lick your lips
And i want you
But don't try to hold me
'cause i don't want any ties
You're just an object in my eyes
You're just an object in my eyes
But i don't mind
I just don't care
I've got no objections
To you touching me there
You're just an object object
Object object
You're just an object
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All The Critics Love U In New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U don't have 2 keep the beat
They'll still think it's neat in New York
U can wear what U want 2
It doesn't matter in New York
U could cut off all your hair
I don't think they'd care in New York
All the critics love U in New York
Why U can play what U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
They won't say that U're naive
If U play what U believe in New York
Purple love-amour is all U're in it 4
But don't show it
The reason that U're cool
Is cuz U're from the old school and they know it
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
All the critics love U
song performed by by Prince from 1999
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Search the web there's nothing to search
the webs are all inside
intro inter exter ior design
do not search in vain
do we need a telescope to see
the top of our own noses
to tell between the fresh and the rotten
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Critics?
Critics?
They do what they do best...
Undress those who create.
It is easier for them to probe,
Than appreciate.
It is a frustration of sorts,
To be boxed within boundaries.
Not knowing or understanding...
What the force behind creativity means,
Or where it begins...
With perceptions taught and conceived.
They have an awareness of it.
Or so some believe.
Although a conformity upon them visits.
But to comprehend what it is...
And why some have it and they don't,
Really makes them pissed.
Although an 'intelligence'
Once applied can hide this.
Is that why they delight in being critics?
As creators sweat to expand their wits,
Critics enjoy deploying...
A complete misunderstanding of it!
As they assist others like themselves...
Attempting to expand minds of limited demands.
Hoping this attachment,
Delivers to them someone's attention span.
And they get it!
That is why there is so many critics.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maori Greeting
No matter where the cafe or the bus stop
The pub or sidewalk of the busy street
It's part of what is their time honoured custom
That Maoris will rub noses when they greet.
Do not ask me why the Maoris rub noses
For about their culture there's little i know
Perhaps their great ancestors brought it with them
From outer Islands centuries ago.
It's Maori way of saying how are you buddy
They always greet each other with a smile
Rub noses and shake hands and sometimes embrace
So good to see you it has been some while.
There is a comraderie amongst the Maoris
The brown skinned people of Pacific Land
They are great warriors but they too can be gentle
And their culture can prove hard to understand.
No matter where tavern or super market
Or side walk of the busy city street
It is part of their old time honoured custom
That Maoris will rub noses when they greet.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I Can I Do I Do I Do
I have believed
with good reason;
for an observed
justified qualified;
period of time now.
That Those That Can Do!
That Those That Can’t! Just Talk About It...
Those that can
write
produce
create
enrich
this world
with wonder
of vision realized
Those that can’t
are critics...
have you noticed?
Some critics
are really
acidic?
Those that can’t
just talk
talk
talk
talk
about it
what they will do
When they are happy
in the mood
the time
is right
talk talk
but never do
The time is
always now
the time
to do to do
There is that
which is written
to enlighten...
There is that
which is written
to entertain...
Rarely
are they
one
and the
same
Critic
don’t be
at cross
purposes...
Be an artist
of critique
empower
to believe...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Short Peoople
Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
To live
They got little hands
And little eyes
And they walk around
Tellin' great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little fett
Well I don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Round here
Short People are just the same
As you and I
(A Fool Such As I)
All men are brothers
Until the day they die
(It's A Wonderful World)
Short People got nobody
Short People got nobody
Short People got nobody
To love
They got little baby legs
And they stand so low
You got to pick 'em up
Just to say hello
They got little cars
That got beep, beep, beep
They got little voices
Goin' peep, peep, peep
They got grubby little fingers
And dirty little minds
They're gonna get you every time
Well, I don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
'Round here
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quite Shocked And Appalled
Quite shocked and appalled are they.
The ones accused to be the reason,
Why a way of life is 'rumored' to be tied...
Directly to them.
And the cause of a downslide and bankruptcy.
They don't accept this.
Although maintaining pretentions,
Can be quite expensive.
They feel offended when it is broadcast on TV...
How their children who lack discipline,
Respect, hygiene and social etiquette...
Is directly connected to a reflected negligence.
And those fingers are pointed to them.
Because of their feelings of being entitled...
And the laws that are 'designed' to protect their whims.
They don't accept this.
Although maintaining pretentions,
Can be quite expensive.
And the money that is spent,
To keep their symbolic points of view...
Gleaming in their minds,
And where these images are found...
Has broken their backs,
To bring their knees to touch the ground.
And...
They don't accept this.
Although maintaining pretentions,
Can be quite expensive.
And they protest and picket their leadership,
To change what they've done quick...
Or,
They will find themselves replaced.
They demand at any cost,
To have their delusions better represented.
And 'this' they will accept.
Although maintaining pretentions,
Can be quite expensive.
Quite shocked and appalled are they.
The ones accused to be the reason,
Why a way of life is 'rumored' to be tied...
Directly to them.
And the cause of a downslide...
And bankruptcy.
Attached to their credit.
And upaid loans.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Short People
Short people
Short people got no reason
Short people got no reason
Short people got no reason
To live
They got little hands
Little eyes
They walk around
Tellin great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little feet
Well, I dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
'round here
Short people are just the same
As you and i
(a fool such as I)
All men are brothers
Until the day they die
(its a wonderful world)
Short people got nobody
Short people got nobody
Short people got nobody
To love
They got little baby legs
That stand so low
You got to pick em up
Just to say hello
They got little cars
That go beep, beep, beep
They got little voices
Goin peep, peep, peep
They got grubby little fingers
And dirty little minds
Theyre gonna get you every time
Well, I dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
round here
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beyond The Horizon
Yonder in the West,
Just before it sets,
Sun lingers, as if to cast one last look
Over what it illumined through the day.
Soon the sun shall bury itself,
Deep down the horizon in the West,
As if to rest;
And rise again to illumine-
What it had illumined earlier-
And again and again and again......
And when I look into the mirror,
And see how time has greyed over my head,
Deep in my minds eye
I find myself-
Time ravaged and a lonely soul-
Standing far in the horizon
- where life and death meet-
Craving to cast one last look
On your beauteous figure:
At this moment a thought sweeps my mind,
Shall I also go down the horizon,
Just like sun,
To be born again and seek you
In my next life
And next and next and next...... [1973]
An Array And Plethora
An array and plethora,
Of love...
Is too diverse for me.
I like it,
Directly!
An array and plethora,
Of love...
Is too diverse for me.
I need it,
More directly!
I want to know that which is given,
Has no loopholes I could miss.
I want to know my feelings felt,
Aren't pushed aside to dust on shelves.
An array and plethora,
Of love...
Is too diverse for me.
I like it,
Directly!
When I'm wrapped in a hug,
And my lips are kissed...
I like it,
Directly!
When I see eyes on me melt with mist.
I like this...
Directly!
I like to know that which is given,
Has no loopholes I could miss.
Oh,
I like it more directly.
I like to know that which is given,
Has no loopholes I could miss.
And...
I like it more directly.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sex Object
Yes! No!
Yes! No!
I don't want to be your sex object
Show some feeling and respect
I don't want to be your sex object
I've had enough and that's a fact
Yes! No!
Yes! No!
I don't want to be your sex object
You play your tricks they're just perfect
I don't want to be your sex object
You turn me on then you forget
No! Why? [sex]
No! Why? [sex]
Maybe, Perhaps, Yes!
Maybe, Perhaps, Yes!
Yes! No!
Yes! No!
I don't want to be your sex object
You play your tricks they're just perfect
I don't want to be your sex object
I've had enough and that's a fact
[Spanish: No! Yes! Maybe Perhaps Yes]
No... si, si quieres
No... si, si quieres
Por que? No. Quizas.
Por que? No. A lo mejor.
Sex object
Sex object
No... si, si quieres
No... si, si quieres
Por que? No. Quizas.
Por que? No. A lo mejor.
No! Why? [sex]
No! Why? [sex]
Maybe, Perhaps, Yes!
Maybe, Perhaps, Yes!
[German?]
Sex object
Sex object
No! Why? [sex]
No! Why? [sex]
Maybe, Perhaps, Yes!
Maybe, Perhaps, Yes!
Sex object
Sex object
song performed by by Kraftwerk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All thought must, directly or indirectly, by way of certain characters, relate ultimately to intuitions, and therefore, with us, to sensibility, because in no other way can an object be given to us.
quote by Immanuel Kant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The critic
The status of critics has changed,
The most important critics were those who stood on street
corners
Full of gossip and finger wagging
Or the busty burly matrons whispering over washing lines
These critics were the slanderers
The little vipers who hung by the school gate
Some still do,
This time they sink a pint or two,
In the pub with a couple of pug nose friends
But there is a class of critics
That whitewash your pale white words
Austere and aloof from the proof,
Scrubbed clean and mean,
They murder sentiment
Mock fools without 'a scene'
Redefining the 'new' 'illiterattii, ' who never went to school'
These critics wear brogues.....? ?
Am I being cruel? [or just ironic? ]
The men drink whisky
The women a gin/ vodka and tonic!
Fifty years ago they would 'parade'
In a uniforn of tweed and plaid
Post public school
But some critics just thumbnail through
Half asleep over scripts they render dead/ unread
'They are not amused'
So don't lose any sleep
They have no time you
yvette smith may 2009
poem by Yvette Smith
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Good Man
Album : Silencer (2001)
You never had much style about you
We never knew the reason that you
You sat around almost every hour
And quickly lost your bargaining power
You can't be me
I'm convinced you're twice the man we are
And you cannot clear your mind
Cos in our eyes we're fine
And you're running out of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're blind
And its such a waste of time
The threads you wore were something tragic
The words you spoke were so emphatic
The records that you make are tasteless
And eloquence with you is wasted
So whats your method, whats your scheme?
The whole scene knows what you already mean
And you cannot clear my mind
Cos in our eyes you're fine
And you're running out of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're blind
And its such a waste of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're fine
And you're running out of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're fine
And you're such a waste of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're fine
And you're running out of time
But its not to do with us
And you cannot clear our minds
Cos in our eyes you're fine
And you're such a waste of time
song performed by by Zed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Love....
i love...
that's the reason i walk,
the reason i breathe.
the reason i grieve.
the reason i dance.
the reason i smile.
the reason i listen.
the reason i offer a hand.
the reason i see beauty.
the reason i see both darkness,
and light....
the reason i take chances.
the reason i keep going.
the reason i get angry.
the reason i forgive.
the reason i touch.
the reason i question.
the reason i believe.
the reason i am tolerant.
the reason i understand.
the reason i fall.
the reason i fly.
the reason i write...
the reason i am what i am!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No One Here Has Been Invited To Do The Boogey
With a-pitching and a bale-ing all day the hay.
And a-picking the tobacco...
Everyday until the Sun fades away,
Reminisces up my ancestors.
With a reminiscing up their lives...
And what it takes,
For me to stay...
As I am this day today.
Is a reason why I pride my dignity.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
No time to do a hi-dee-hey!
And no time to drink up my hard earned pay,
To be buzzed around...
From midnight until dawn!
No...
No time to do a hi-dee-hey.
And no time to drink up my hard earned pay...
To whisper gossip,
With a nonstop to dropp it.
Like if I cropped it.
To then sweep a floor...
As I whistled while mopping it.
No!
With a-pitching and a bale-ing all day the hay.
And a-picking the tobacco...
Everyday until the Sun fades away,
No!
To then sweep a floor...
As I whistled while mopping it.
No!
Like if I cropped it,
With a nonstopping to it?
No!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
'Uh...
You?
The 'artist'!
I like your footwork.
But no one here has been invited to do the boogey!
Got that?
Good!
Now do your chores! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Telescope
my hearts beating
noticably without warning
racing this tune
writing a poem
stuck in the underworld
forever starless night
light abandoned me
then I saw the stars in your eyes
you pulled me out
like a lifeguard
giving me back breath
awakening my soul
Now I see
A myriad of stars
I look up
I see you
Flashing and blinking
Your shooting
Across the night sky
In through
My telescope
My telescope
The universe
Has never looked so grand
In all my years now
Possibility floods in
Like molten lava
You branded me a new name
Now I see
A myriad of stars
I look up
I see you
Flashing and blinking
Your shooting
Across the night sky
In through
My telescope
My telescope
poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
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If It's Love!
It's important that unshown love,
Comes directly shown from you.
To say it...
Doesn't make,
That-love-be-true!
It's important that unshown love,
Is a thing one wants to do...
Just to prove what is said,
Is absolutely true.
A hug,
And maybe a kiss.
A touch,
That has been missed.
A show of thoughtfulness...
Can go a very long distance.
A call,
Every once in a while...
Will go further than a mile.
If love is there to be shared...
Show someone they are cared for!
And doubts will come no more.
It's important that unshown love,
Comes directly shown from you.
To say it...
Doesn't make,
That-love-be-true!
It's important it's directly shown,
If it's love.
Yes!
It's important it's directly shown,
If it's love.
Yes!
It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown,
If it's love!
It shoos a boo-hooin'...
Known.
It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown,
If it's love!
A hug,
And maybe a kiss.
A touch,
That has been missed.
A show of thoughtfulness...
Can go a very long distance.
It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown,
If it's love!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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