I get embarrassed listening to my last CDs. I've got a lot of work to do, let's put it that way.
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Glad I Had Nothing to Do With It
Am I embarrassed?
By what?
'Anything' I've ever done?
As a performing artist?
Why...
Do you think I should be?
Are you referring to that porno movie?
Now 'that' was a brilliant work of art.
And that was thirty four years ago!
Embarrassed?
Are you kidding?
I have more than gifted jewels to expose!
I'm a performing artist!
Not a scientist...
Wishing for my talents!
However...
I must admit,
I am a bit experimental!
Isn't that what creativity is?
Afterall...
Look in the mirror!
Two performers were very creative,
To put 'that' together!
But don't blame God.
He assisted them the best He could!
And I doubt...
If He is embarrassed at all!
Not saying that He should be.
But I am very glad,
I had nothing to do with it!
God delivers.
And we must accept it.
No matter if we are pleased with what we get.
Or not!
But keep faith!
Someone is there somewhere,
To love us for who we are.
No matter what we look like!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Listening Week
This is the listening week of the year
Listening-in.
A-cock and alert is the national ear
Listening-in.
All over the land in the country towns,
From the back of the Leeuwin to Darling Downs,
Layers of 'quids' or the odd half-crowns,
They are listening-in.
On the far-flung farms they are round each set,
Listening-in.
The work and the worry they all forget,
Listening-in.
Wherever an aerial soars in space
To the Cup, or the Oaks or the Steeplechase,
To the roar of the ring and the lure of the race
They are listening-in.
In the far outback there are sun-tanned men,
Listening-in.
Where the woolshed stands by the drafting pen
Listening-in.
Old Dad's come in from the Ninety Mile;
He scored on the Cup and he wears a smile,
And he 'reckons this game is well worth while'
So he's listening in.
To the edge of the desert the sound-waves go;
And, listening-in,
Ned of the Overland, Saltbush Joe
Listening-in
Recall the giants of years long past,
And the loneliness of these spaces vast;
But they reckon that life's worth living at last
With this listening-in.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
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Embarrassed?
You seem to have no problem,
Admitting those things you've done.
Even those things not socially accepted,
Others in a similar position...
Would try to hide or lie about them to run.
But you...?
You almost seem to brag,
About those things that shock and stun.
Why is this?
People today expect remorse shown.
At least some sign of embarrassment.
But you...?
You want it known what you've done,
With an emphasis in expressed sentiments.
'Embarrassed?
Are you kidding?
Why should I be embarrassed,
To experience and adventure?
I've been blessed with life,
To explore and discover...
Those things for me that are right.
The walking on water to prove I can do miracles,
Has already been done by the Chosen One.
And IF I am going to be doing any walking on water,
It will be frozen to be witnessed by at least someone.
Embarrassed?
Are you kidding?
And I am certaily over qualified to run for politics.
I do not lie or deceive or pretend to do magic tricks.
Or use religion...
To deny my sins committed.
With a doing them over again...
To dilute a forgiveness to me that had been given.
Embarrassed?
You make me laugh.
You see those people over there,
Hanging their heads down in despair?
They are the ones embarrassed!
Not me.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I know you are going to be embarrassed. We're all embarrassed by it, but to hide the embarrassment... silence has never protected women or helped them. We need to talk about it more with our, you know - whoever - our friends, our family.
quote by Cybill Shepherd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Tired
and i imagine her
laughing
as though
she is sure of herself
as she removes the
patches
covering her eyes
and she tells me
that i am embarrassed
or that i must be
embarrassed at the end
she is the woman
so sure of herself
when she wakes up
everyone has left her
for good and they
are not coming back anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My friends never talk to me about my poetry because they're embarrassed that I write it or they're embarrassed by what I write about which are not such extraordinarily terrifying things, but they are the state of human existence.
quote by Peter Davison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Embarrassed And Battered
Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Some people bring home their tempers to leave.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
While others show their hearts hanging on their sleeves.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Dragging on their backs every burden to keep.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Bringing on their moodiness when they turn the key.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Keeping everybody up so they can't sleep.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Some people bring home their tempers to leave.
Bringing on their moodiness when they turn the key.
Dragging on their backs every burden to keep.
While others show their hearts hanging on their sleeves.
Keeping everybody up so they can't sleep.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Embarrassed and battered.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Listening
Listening.
And being there for someone loved...
To do just that!
With a mind willing,
To be receptive and clear...
Of opinions sitting,
On the tip of one's tongue.
With a giving of attention,
And staying mum.
Listening to someone.
Listening is not easily done.
For those who have experienced...
A life in which peace of mind has come.
When a listening ear,
Had not been volunteered by no one.
And some who know this...
Do their best to sit with patience.
Listening with no other reason...
But to be there as is wished.
For someone who has selected you,
Just for this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Four Letter 'Work' Song
Work me up, work me out, work me flip side down.
Work me here, work me there, work me with renown.
Work me hot, work me greedy,
work me through and through.
Work me to the very marrow,
work me just like I'd work you.
Work me proud, work me late,
work me do not hesitate.
Won't you let me work for you?
Work me til I'm black and blue.
Work me steady, work me needy, work me to a lather.
Work me til my backbone breaks, and the buzzards gather.
Work me in, work me under, work me til I bleed,
Work me over red hot coals, work me like a boss in need.
Work me nasty, work me silly, work me through the clover.
Up down, 'n' in between, into a slipknot sweet Jehovah.
Work me, work me, go ahead.
Work me, work me, til I'm dead.
Buddy Bee Anthony
poem by Buddy Bee Anthony
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I gave the couple a hint of a design that would work great with the bones of their home. They weren't ready for it, and they embarrassed themselves and that's too bad.
quote by Douglas Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You've Enjoyed
I thought you would stay as dumb as possible?
Where has this test failed?
There is no one else left,
To depict low life and ignorance AND incompetence,
Except...?
Well...
I thought you would stay as dumb as possible?
There is no where else to turn.
To seek a replacement.
Except...?
I thought you would stay as dumb as possible?
Everything to keep your intelligence unnoticed,
We thought had been done.
Tell me...
I mean 'us',
Tell us more embarrassing things about yourself.
Something tells me...
You have not been embarrassed at all.
Your eyes begin to 'twinkle'...
Each time you are sought to reveal some 'dirt'.
Have you done this on purpose?
Believing we would think you to be embarrassed?
In fact...
You've enjoyed every moment of being depicted like that!
Haven't you?
You have...
Haven't you?
Knowing we would find,
That the being embarrassed...
Does nothing to your cost of expense.
Does it?
Why don't you answer me?
'Oh!
So NOW you want to know what my thoughts are?
And who pays me for this admission?
You?
Or 'we'? ...or both? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Cyber Cafe Embarrassment.
She embarrassed too much the moon,
And for the fact she enjoyed it the dawn,
Watching secretly not to open the truth,
But to open because of denials the moon,
I called a cyber cafe and school embarrassment,
She embarrassed too much the moon,
And setting her Dogs in watch the dawn,
But eyes open but couldn't see still,
She needs but denials the moon,
I called a cyber cafe distractions for Art,
She embarrassed too much the moon,
And brought in are confusions,
And still cannot understand still,
A naive may be the moon dawn,
I called in darkness cyber cafe embarrassment.
She embarrassed too much the moon,
And dash out and dash in of its different gimmicks,
For a confusion of no meaning,
For its beauty in glory,
They tried to catch but couldn't,
They tried to obstruct but its morning shine!
I called in its windy liars and denials,
She embarrassed too much the moon,
We spoke even if its called an unspoken words,
We spoke and communicate very silently,
We ate but very silenced also,
But denials in reality of its greed the moon,
I called its security what J. p Clark refers 'SEASONS OF OMEN',
I called cyber cafe embarrassment in-depth,
I called my cyber cafe embarrassment in lust of love!
A cyber distraction diaspora.
poem by Bunmi Orogun Samuel
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I'm foremost an actor. I feel embarrassed being compared to the guys who really work at it. I fake it, I make believe I know all about it, which is what you're supposed to do as an actor.
quote by Lloyd Bridges
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0008 A Ghazal
I lie awake as the light night-rain falls, listening
to its irregularities, listening
as the breeze blows it now and then
against the window and the curtain flutters; listening
and wondering if I can hear
the rain listening
to itself, as if – I sometimes think I hear this –
there’s a moment just before it stops as if listening
to its own decision to stop, as if it sighs,
thinks, that’s enough; it could be listening
to the gratitude of the closed flowers, the wet earth,
the ecstasy of roots which are themselves listening
to the flowers sleeping, sighing in their sleep.
But do you wonder why I’m listening
instead of sleeping, this warm rainy night?
What’s so important that it needs my listening?
It was the rain that woke me; and as I turned, sighed,
it was the thought of you last night here next to me, listening
not to me, but to your own dreams – which I may never share;
though I may share you in my listening
to your sweet sleep’s breath, felt faintly on my shoulder;
and so, there’s a question in my listening –
did you awake at the same night rain, you so far away,
awake, sigh, and in your half-awakened listening
know that I too, thought of you?
Sighed that sweet thought, of our shared, single listening? …
As the perfume of a rose may be more evocative than the rose,
So sweeter, steadier than thought, dream, memory – the listening!
[A ghazal has a rhyme scheme aa ba ca da >]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Turn Off The World
Got to pull it up
Got to pull it out
Got to survive
Got to stay calm
Got to think fast
Dont want to burn
Searching for a door
Searching for a way
Out of this thing
I dont know whats wrong
Dont know what to do
Im out of control
Nothing I can do
Nothing seems to work
Im barely alive
Got to slow it down
Got to do something
Or give in
Watching us fall
Trying everything
Fighting for life
Running out of time
I dont have a choice
Im riding it in
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
This is the fear
This is nothing like
You could believe
Panic in my heart
Like a cold hand
Pulling at strings
Ill do anything
Even pray to god
Just let me out
Turn off the machine
Turn off all the noise
Turn off the world
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
You learn fast when everything breaks down
You learn fast when thats all that you can do
You learn fast or nothing
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Have Written Too Much
I HAVE WRITTEN TOO MUCH
I have written too much -
I have published too much-
I have worried too much
About the making of my own name-
I have wanted fame and honor too much -
I have made too much of myself -
I am embarrassed and ashamed
About the excessive attention I sometimes receive-
After all I am only a little man
Who has wanted to hide away in his own dreams-
A little man embarrassed when singled out for the special love he wants so much-
If I were completely honest I wouldn't even write these lines,
But I need to write to live-
I don't think I really need anyone to read them
But of course I want still to be praised for them.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Payment
A tortuous path of neurons arced a call: ‘Awake! ’
I did; in rising, peering, stretching, bearing,
Pained anticipation saw it all:
Foretold, another filthy day.
I drew the drape: diluvian lay the ground
Beneath a lazy leaden cloud – apissing out
The puddles; irksome on the roof –
The drumming drops of bitter glee
Were hounding out a hapless me –
Reinforcing doubt that I am sound.
I left the house
to go to work
to earn a crust
without a perk
then on to bust
another straining vessel.
Trudging on thro’ mud and clay, I pondered:
‘Why a drought of happy times?
Auspicious climes were
Old and fusty books
Atop a dusty shelf
Inside a morgue-of-a-room,
Somewhere in a long-forgotten library
Down a lane without a way.’
I thought again: ‘And still I pay.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
O how I
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Work, Sleep, Work, Sleep, Work
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work:
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work.
Oh free me please with gentle ease
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work!
This odium, pounding tedium
Of my work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
Just whisk me off to lands afar
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
That grinding train of rhythmic pain
Called ‘Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.’
Poor neural circuits fizzle and pop
In work, sleep, work, sleep, work,
In trying to make some sense of all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
But Hark! I see a golden gleam -
A saving spirit of hope:
‘You’re fired! ’ He screams. What news to bear,
This wondrous hangman’s rope!
So now I’m free, released from all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
Eternal peace and rest for me, no
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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S.O.S.
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
I'm shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'll be standing here and I'm miles away
Making signals hoping they'd save me
I lock myself inside these walls
'Cause out there I'm always wrong
I don't think I'm gonna make it
So while I'm sitting here
On the eve of my death bed
I'll write this letter and hope it saves me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm stuck in my own head and I'm oceans away
Would anybody notice if I chose to stay?
I'll send and SOS tonight
Wonder if I will survive
How in the hell did I get so far away this time
So now I'm sitting here
The time of my departure's near
I say a prayer
Please someone save me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm lost here
I can't make it on my own
I don't wanna die alone
I'm so scared
Drowning now
Reaching out
Holding on to everything I love
Crying out
Dying now
Need some help
Is anybody listening?
Can you hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening?
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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