A song has to become as much a part of you as a tailored suit.
quote by Martha Reeves
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Matter How Good One Looks
Promise anything.
But not delivering on anything...
To maintain one's integrity,
Will not sustain...
An awaiting patience,
For too long!
No matter how good one looks,
In a tailored suit!
That enhances a fresh impressive tan.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Is Not Going To Become Less Obvious
It is not going to become less obvious,
That a pitbull is going to be mistaken for a snake.
Even if a suit is tailored with a bowtie worn.
Many with their eyes open,
Can tell the difference immediately.
But will sit frozen in disbelief.
However...
There will still remain those debating over it,
Until someone admits to becoming nauseated.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Removing The Grease Paint
Removing the grease paint,
From the face of any clown...
And a circus is not what first comes to mind.
Although,
Clowns determined to start their own circus...
Will find a way to do it,
With a more acceptable appearance.
And one dressed in a tailored suit,
Can achieve remarkable success.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Perfect Song
If I wrote the perfect song,
Its notes and how the cords
Ought to be played-
The song would be one to
Describe our love's journey
All our highs, lows, ups, downs,
Laughs- our cries—
Its melody would be tailored by
Orchestral instruments;
A shed of electric guitars and drums,
Its beat, our heartbeat- beating as one,
Choir of two, we would sing this song
Lost in ourselves; alto, baritone, bass,
Soprano, tenor- oh! The jollity,
Singing our past, singing our present
And our future- the now
We would sing with our heart and voice
The perfect song would never end.
poem by Isunge Mwangase
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Those Then Who Had Nothing
Not only were they given the keys and the tools,
With delivered messengers...
Giving them the answers to the prayers,
They...
With absolutely nothing but their biases,
Turned their backs away.
Not one of the messengers drove a Mercedes.
Not one was wearing a tailored silk suit.
Not one of the messengers had been a social butterfly.
And not one had a Doctorate's degree to be declared...
Worthy of giving attention.
So,
The messengers were sent away.
And today,
Those then who had nothing...
Have a lot less!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Siren Song
This is the one song everyone
would like to learn: the song
that is irresistible:
the song that forces men
to leap overboard in squadrons
even though they see beached skulls
the song nobody knows
because anyone who had heard it
is dead, and the others can’t remember.
Shall I tell you the secret
and if I do, will you get me
out of this bird suit?
I don’t enjoy it here
squatting on this island
looking picturesque and mythical
with these two feathery maniacs,
I don’t enjoy singing
this trio, fatal and valuable.
I will tell the secret to you,
to you, only to you.
Come closer. This song
is a cry for help: Help me!
Only you, only you can,
you are unique
at last. Alas
it is a boring song
but it works every time.
poem by Margaret Atwood
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Same Place, Same Song...
because the song is played
you have no choice but to remember it
at first you say it is just a song
and you are a man
the song goes on and on
and beneath the song is a big river wanting to end its life joyfully
into the sea
because you are alone
and you have no one to cling to
you follow the river
and the flow goes on and on and on
and then you drown yourself inside that big river
now you have chosen the song
and it has become another part in you
it settles in your heart
and then you pay the bill, do not finish your beer and you go away
to have a dose of fresh air
same boulevard, same walk, but now at a different time
because this place has become
a part of you
and then you drown yourself into said
memory
what a joy can this be
again and again and again.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The song I sing
The song I sing
I sing ta u the song I sing is joy
If you were gone then part of me would die
I would go on and leave part of me behind
for you and I are one in twined
I sing ta u the song I sing is faith
But the thought of you would never fade
the thought of blue sky's would turn to haze
I would prefer to help you through this maze
I sing ta u the song I sing is love
your very footsteps are notes to a song
and many loved ones sing a long
and of that chorus I belong
poem by Paul Cutting
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With my eyes still jaundiced, blessed
The nights are so faded I fear each death
Each nocturnal shadow a day we have left
Each hemlock of passion dawn has to set
Leads us much closer that wayfarers step…
In webbing's tomorrow of a spider's eye
We'll glibly be tailored a silk suit to die
A carnal butterfly I doused for her love
Anemic of her flesh I alight upon her soul
Like a pearl cocooned heavenly dove
In a wine sack dressed, I broke home
With my eyes still jaundiced, blessed
poem by Mark Heathcote
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How To Make a Man
You need four things-
Silicon. quartz, titanium and wit.
Maybe a bit of the old drawing board, for foiled days.
He will be rusty at first,
Until you grant him speech,
To rise above the animals;
And then his desire to know what he is
Will be all-consuming.
It is only natural.
I like the idea of giving him a scowl;
For a robot shouldn't laugh at his maker.
Then a suit of blue clothes,
Nicely tailored for the world of wannabees.
He will make a living, all right.
But to raise a family is like being
A flock of birds in orderly flight.
If he does that, I'll make another:
Every man should have a brother.
poem by Stan Petrovich
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The real master
a part of me
i could name you
all their functions
a part of me
i could not fathom
the master
behind them all
the same master
works the lotus
each morn
petal by petal
little by little
till it dances
like a pretty lass
the water
when it drips its last
from the world
i too would follow suit
when the master
thinks it time for
all the blooms
to call it a day
and say goodbye
i too would follow suit
the plants, water, light
and me are one
as blood is to this physique
me bound to the world
tight as steel
though free to roam
mother and child
when the conscious part,
the physique go
i join the trees, water, and the master
to work his world
late grandma
see she is now a row of seeds
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Surprise in Japan - New Suit
bad laundry work
the fashion store gives me
a new suit
Quite a surprise. The laundrette I sent the suit to for dry cleaning did a bad job. The suit became like a three year old piece of junk. I showed it to the fashion store in Kinshicho where I bought and strangely the manager gave me a new suit.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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A Different Kind Of Love Song
What if the world was crazy and I was sane
Would it be be so strange
I cant believe that I am alone in saying
The things Im saying
I am part of you
These are universal truths
Were all part of the light that flows through everything
This is a different kind of love song
Dedicated to everyone
Different kind of love song (oh , oh)
This is a different kind of love song
A higher plane we can go on
Different kind of love song (oh , oh)
What if the world calmed down and we could all breathe
Together easily
Connecting the sky and the ground with you and me
And everything in between
I am part of you
We have living proof
There is some kind of light that flows through everything
This is a different kind of love song
Dedicated to everyone
Different kind of love song (oh , oh)
This is a different kind of love song
A higher plane we can go on
Different kind of love song (oh , oh)
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He asked why and I said, 'Because Gwyneth has a fat suit, my wife has a fat suit - I don't get a fat suit?' He looked at me and said, 'You mean you don't have one on?'
quote by Joe Viterelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cape Town (in winter)
I am here, close to you but so far away
The blue of the ocean mirrors in your eyes
Your eyes the same temperature as the water
As dark as the earth
As vibrant as the movement of the city
Hidden behind dark shades
I followed you blindly
Because I said that I would
Is that really you - the stranger in the tailored suit
Armed guards on the doorsteps
Bulletproof glass
Silence in the middle of the city
Among strangers
Conducting transactions
Your eyes as you play poker
Reflecting the man I don't know
But then - a spark in your eyes
You're turning to me
And - I recognize the man that I love
© 2011
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Knee Deep In Their...Situations
It is amazing!
How those achieve their influence.
Some on merit.
Many by being...
A convenient nuisance!
And that has to be the reason...
Why those ceilings of incompetence,
Are crashing down all over the place.
Leaving those in their tailored silk suits...
Shrugging up their shoulders.
Not knowing what next to do!
But hey...
They do look the part!
Like someone's work of art.
And those giving them the attention,
AND titles...
Have looks of despair.
Knee deep in their...
Situations!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Song of the World
such a wonderful song
song of life
song of death
wedding song
famine song
happy song
sad song
love song
all-american song
bullshit song
druggie song
girls' song
sweet song
crazy song
MY song
poem by Rachel Stoddard
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As I Sing Your Song
When I sing your song
I feel lifted up
I not only see the constellations
But I become a part of them
I don't only see Polaris or Orion
But I am one of them
When I sing your song
I forget all my fears
I see the vastness of the universe
And see the earth a part of it
I see the Milky Way and other galaxies
As I sing your song
I forget all earthly worries
I am not only an observer
Of the celestial things
but I'm shining with them
As I sing your song
There's no more day
Nor there is night
For I see the sun and other stars
Always shining bright
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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A Famous Man
he was observing from the
upper part of his terrace
an old woman down the street
eating a ripe mango
without slicing them
using her bare hands
peeling it and sucking
the pulp
savoring every sap
she is enjoying it
she is enjoying it
she is enjoying it
that is what he says
he writes, she is enjoying it
and yet he is so famous
in this city
munching what fame is
there
tailored for him
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Very Best Of Their Addicting Fictions
A writer who plays with politics,
Is not the same,
As a politician who writes...
To have people read to see it known,
The very best of their addicting fictions told.
And a writer who recites to speak,
May sound as if he could preach.
And from pulpits quote...
The very best of their addicting fictions told.
And no one would ever know.
With eyes closed,
Who should they follow.
Who is perceived to lead.
With eyes closed.
And who...
Eventually is discovered to have credibility,
With the telling of the truth.
Words delivered as they are and not dressed,
In a tailored suit and silk tie with spit shined shoes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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