Attack On The Ad-Man
This trumpeter of nothingness, employed
To keep our reason dull and null and void.
This man of wind and froth and flux will sell
The wares of any who reward him well.
Praising whatever he is paid to praise,
He hunts for ever-newer, smarter ways
To make the gilt seen gold; the shoddy, silk;
To cheat us legally; to bluff and bilk
By methods which no jury can prevent
Because the law's not broken, only bent.
This mind for hire, this mental prostitute
Can tell the half-lie hardest to refute;
Knows how to hide an inconvenient fact
And when to leave a doubtful claim unbacked;
Manipulates the truth but not too much,
And if his patter needs the Human Touch,
Skillfully artless, artlessly naive,
Wears his convenient heart upon his sleeve.
He uses words that once were strong and fine,
Primal as sun and moon and bread and wine,
True, honourable, honoured, clear and keen,
And leaves them shabby, worn, diminished, mean.
He takes ideas and trains them to engage
In the long little wars big combines wage...
He keeps his logic loose, his feelings flimsy;
Turns eloquence to cant and wit to whimsy;
Trims language till it fits his clients, pattern
And style's a glossy tart or limping slattern.
He studies our defences, finds the cracks
And where the wall is weak or worn, attacks.
lie finds the fear that's deep, the wound that's tender,
And mastered, outmanouevered, we surrender.
We who have tried to choose accept his choice
And tired succumb to his untiring voice.
The dripping tap makes even granite soften
We trust the brand-name we have heard so often
And join the queue of sheep that flock to buy;
We fools who know our folly, you and I.
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Onward....
the isolation finally makes
him thrive
he lets go of all those unnecessary parts
of him
he is pure soul now
traversing
another matrix
looking back from the
thick glass wall
that division that separates him
away from its
origin
he makes the comparison
of these two worlds
now with his ephemeral nature
he finds a new home
there is no language
no culture
he is not yet sure
not having mastered
this recent contention
for one thing
he has no feelings anymore
but only reason
it is like a painting
hanging in the air
glossy in the colors of
illusions
there is no more waking
neither sleeping....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Be As It Is to Please Those Who Enjoy That
It is what it is!
No matter if one's perception,
Does not reflect
What another should accept.
One who finds comfort...
Whether in chaos or conflict that sits.
If it is what it is,
And those have no problem with it...
Have ceased their explorations.
They express no desire,
To make something else from them...
And for them alone not to fit!
Then one who sees this activity differently,
Has a choice to leave it alone and split.
And in the leaving one discovers,
A peace of mind one takes away...
From that which isn't!
Since others see not.
And that which has been declared as 'is'
Finds its own purpose.
And 'is' to be left alone to be just that!
What it is.
Nothing more will it choose to be.
And choosing to see what is for what it isn't...
Provides no progess at all!
Not for the one seeking fresh...
Instead of familiar stale air which is kept,
As it is left!
To be as it is.
To please those who enjoy that!
Whatever that may be.
That which 'is' that leaves them pleased.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Blackberry Wine
Theres a south wind risin and the moon shines on my window sill
Ive got a feeling I might walk on over the hill
Im bent but not broken, all I need is some rest
And a bottle of your very best
Blackberry wine
Theres a new moon risin and the wind sings its old song
Pass it on over its a sin to be sober too long
Im bent but not broken, all I need is my share
Of a bottle of that very rare
Blackberry wine
My old gals got a new dress on five and dime
Try as she will she cant get me to come home on time
But Id never cheat her or mistreat her you know
As over the mountain I go
Blackberry wine
Ill be soft spoken
All I need is my rest
And a bottle of your very best
Blackberry wine
Now my days are numbered and one more heels been killed
Blackberry john left me his old recipe in his will
Im bent but not broken, all I need is some time
And a bottle of your very fine
Blackberry wine
Blackberry wine,
You know that Im quite dry without you
Blackberry wine
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Praise Up
Keep on praising, keep on praising
Praise up praise up
Praise up your mind to find a way to live
Keep on praising, keep on praising, keep on praising
Praise up all you people living in your fantasy
Praise up all you people trapped in mental captivity
Gonna free your mind, gonna free your mind
Right now with this feeling, feeling
Keep on praising, keep on praising
Praise up, praise up
Praise up your mind to a fine fine way to live
Keep on praising, keep on praising, keep on praising
Its your expression, its your expression
Its your expression that is leading me to see
Open up your eyes, this aint no compromise
Praise up on lord with this feeling right now
Oh lord what a feeling
Keep on praising, keep on praising
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sea-Swallows
THIS FELL when Christmas lights were done,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
But before the Easter lights begun;
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
Two lovers sat where the rowan blows
And all the grass is heavy and fine,
By the gathering-place of the sea-swallows
When the wind brings them over Tyne.
Blossom of broom will never make bread,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
Between her brows she is grown red,
That was full white in the fields by Tyne.
“O what is this thing ye have on,
Show me now, sweet daughter of mine?”
“O father, this is my little son
That I found hid in the sides of Tyne.
“O what will ye give my son to eat,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Fen-water and adder’s meat,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye get my son to wear,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“A weed and a web of nettle’s hair,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye take to line his bed,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Two black stones at the kirkwall’s head,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give my son for land,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Three girl’s paces of red sand,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give me for my son,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Six times to kiss his young mouth on,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“But what have ye done with the bearing-bread,
And what have ye made of the washing-wine?
Or where have ye made your bearing-bed,
To bear a son in the sides of Tyne?”
“The bearing-bread is soft and new,
There is no soil in the straining wine:
The bed was made between green and blue,
It stands full soft by the sides of Tyne.
“The fair grass was my bearing-bread,
The well-water my washing-wine;
The low leaves were my bearing-bed,
And that was best in the sides of Tyne.”
“O daughter, if ye have done this thing,
I wot the greater grief is mine;
This was a bitter child-bearing,
When ye were got by the sides of Tyne.
“About the time of sea-swallows
That fly full thick by six and nine,
Ye’ll have my body out of the house,
To bury me by the sides of Tyne.
“Set nine stones by the wall for twain,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the bed I take will measure ten,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
“Tread twelve girl’s paces out for three,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the pit I made has taken me,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Voice From The West
What is the voice I hear
On the wind of the Western Sea?
Sentinel, listen from out Cape Clear
And say what the voice may be.
``'Tis a proud, free people calling loud to a people proud and free.
``And it says to them, `Kinsmen, hail!
We severed have been too long.
Now let us have done with a worn-out tale-
The tale of an ancient Wrong;
And our friendship last long as Love doth last,
and be stronger than Death is strong!'''
Answer them, ``Sons of the self-same race,
And blood of the self-same clan,
Let us speak with each other face to face,
And answer man to man;
And loyally love and trust each other as none but free men can.
``So fling them out to the breeze,
Shamrock, Thistle, and Rose!
And the Star-Spangled Banner unfurl with these,
A message to friends and foes,
Wherever the sails of peace are seen and wherever the war-wind blows.
``A message to bond and thrall to wake:
For wherever we come, we twain,
The throne of the tyrant shall rock and quake,
And his menace be void and vain;
For you are lords of a strong, young land, and we are lords of the main.''
Yes, this is the voice on the bluff March gale:
``We severed have been too long.
But now we have done with a worn-out tale,
The tale of an ancient Wrong;
And our friendship shall last long as Love doth last, and be stronger than Death is strong!''
poem by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Trumpet Call
Trumpeter, sound for the last Crusade!
Sound for the fire of the red-cross kings,
Sound for the passion, the splendour, the pity
That swept the world for a dead Man's sake,
Sound, till the answering trumpet rings
Clear from the heights of the holy City,
Sound till the lions of England awake,
Sound for the tomb that our lives have betrayed;
O'er broken shrine and abandoned wall,
Trumpeter, sound the great recall,
Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us;
Sound for the last Crusade!
Trumpeter, sound for the splendour of God!
Sound the music whose name is law,
Whose service is perfect freedom still,
The order august that rules the stars.
Bid the anarchs of night withdraw,
Too long the destroyers have worked their will,
Sound for the last, the last of the wars.
Sound for the heights that our fathers trod,
When truth was truth and love was love,
With a hell beneath, but a heaven above,
Trumpeter, rally us, up to the heights of it!
Sound for the City of God.
poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Holy War...The Punishment Due
Brother will kill brother
Spilling blood across the land
killing for religion
Something i don't understand
Fools like me, who cross the sea
And come to foreign lands
Ask the sheep, for their beliefs
Do you kill on God's command?
A country that's divided
Suerely will not stand
My past erased, no more disgrace
No foolish naive stand
The end is near, it's crystal clear
Part of the master plan
Don't look now to Israel
It might be your homelands
Holy wars
Upon my podium, as the
Know it all scholar
Down in my seat of judgement
Gavel's bang, uphold the law
Up on my soapbox, a leader
Out to change the world
Down in my pulpit as the holier
Than-thou-could-be-messenger of God
Wage the war on organized crime
Sneak attacks, repel down the rocks
Behind the lines
Some people risk to employ me
Some people live to destroy me
Either way they die
The killed my wife, and my baby
With hopes to enslave me
First mistake.....last mistake!
Paid by the alliance, to slay all the giants
Next mistake.....no more mistakes!
Fill the cracks in, with judical granite
Because I don't say, i don't mean it I ain't
Thinkin' it
Next thing you know, they'll take my thoughts away
I know what i said, now i must scream of the overdose
And the lack of mercy killings
song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man
I dont know why I like him, I just only know I do
I dont know why I trust him, I just know his heart is true
I dont know why hes more a man than any man I know
I dont know how I know the mans for real but I still know
The man is more than what meets the eye
He is worn and weary from life
He is rugged but hes got style
The man has got what matters inside
Weary, yes he must get weary but he doesnt say
But you can read between the lines that wind along his face
The man has got his memories that he hides inside his mind
And you can see the sadness in the eyes they hide behind
The man is more than what meets the eye
He is worn and weary from life
He is rugged but hes got style
The man has got what matters inside
Love him, yes Ive always loved him and I always will
He holds a place in my heart no one else could ever fill
Hes always been my hero, the best friend Ive ever had
The man is something special and Im proud that hes my dad
The man is more than what meets the eye
He is worn and weary from life
He is rugged but hes got style
The man has got what matters inside
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In God’s Ways
We can know The Lord’s Ways, upon a path paved by Grace,
One that takes us to the place, where we accept God by faith,
As He lifts a veil from our face, the Truth of God we embrace,
Truth for all of the human race, revealed to us to God’s praise.
This grace takes all as they are, as fallen sinners near and far,
Right to the Cross of Calvary, where grace opens eyes to see,
Their need to embrace the Cross, as fallen men spiritually lost,
And to accept The Savior’s Love, to be cleansed in His Blood.
This is only where men start, as sinners with a change of heart,
When we believe in Christ Jesus, new direction, He gives to us,
Redirecting each heart and mind, to leave our old ways behind,
As we begin to follow Jesus Christ, in what becomes a new life.
In His Ways we learn to live, through the Spirit, God would give,
Through His Word we are lead, when with God, we move ahead,
Parting from the dark of night, we begin to live in Christ’s Light,
As we surrender to Jesus Christ, His Spirit helps us live our life.
We find God’s Ways we can trust, as our Lord takes care of us,
Sustaining us through all our days, while we live in God’s Ways,
Living our life on the narrow way, He helps us to grow each day,
As God helps us in all our ways, so we lift up to God our praise.
(Copyright ©11/2009)
A Poem Writes Itself
A poem writes itself
I merely follow
As it leads me
through the shadows
A poem seeks itself
And the light
I'll surrender …I write
A poem finds a way to be heard-
I try to remember each word from my
mouth to my ears to my hands
Then, to the world's
A poem finds a voice
I become, pen and paper
A poem makes a choice
I, the ghostwriter
poem by Sonya Florentino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Holy Wars...
Brother will kill brother
Spilling blood across the land
Killing for religion
Something I dont understand
Fools like me,who cross the sea
And come to foreign lands
Ask the sheep,for their beliefs
Do you kill on gods command?
A country thats divided
Surely will not stand
My past erased,no more disgrace
No foolish naive stand
The end is near,its crystal clear
Part of the master plan
Dont look now to israel
It might be your homelands
Holy wars
Upon my podium,as the
Know it all scholar
Down in my seat of judgement
Gavels bang,uphold the law
Up on my soapbox,a leader
Out to change the world
Down in my pulpit as the holler
Than-thou-could-be-messenger of god
Wage the war on organized crime
Sneak attacks,repel down the rocks
Behind the lines
Some people risk to employ me
Some people live to destroy me
Either way they die
They killed my wife,and my baby
With hopes to enslave me
First mistake...last mistake|
Paid by the alliance,to slay all the giants
Next mistake...no more mistakes|
Fill the cracks in,with judicial granite
Because I dont say it,dont mean I aint
Thinkin it
Next thing you know,theyll take my thoughts away
I know what I said,now I must scream of the overdose
And the lack of mercy killings
song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tragic
(a. bell / v. clarke)
Speak. spell.
Whats that word again?
In. out.
Of my head again.
Clear. cut.
Charmed Im sure again.
Merrity!
I wish for thought.
Oh, wise men indeed,
Are fools who believe.
Her heart on my sleeve,
Is laughing at me.
Best left unsaid;
Theres no truth in whats said.
Cloud. fog.
Looks like rain again.
Glass. wall.
Looks could kill again.
Clock. face.
Half past two again.
Turn again.
And how time flies.
Oh, wise men indeed,
Are fools who believe.
Her heart on my sleeve,
Is laughing at me.
Best left unsaid;
Theres no truth in whats said.
Dream. world.
In my pawn again.
Hot. cold.
Fingers burn again.
Teardrop.
To the floor again.
Cruelty.
How real is real?
Oh, wise men indeed,
Are fools who believe.
My heart on my sleeve,
Is laughing at me.
Best left unsaid
Theres no truth in whats said.
Oh, wise men indeed,
Are fools who believe.
My heart on my sleeve,
Is laughing at me.
Best left unsaid
Theres no truth in whats said.
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is It Still Over
=========================================================================
Being without you has turned out to be so inconvenient
And wishing I was with you just seems to use up all my time
You've been gone so long that it's hard to recall
Just how the dream went
And all but this broken heart in me I guess is doing fine
Chorus:
Is it still over, are we still through
Since my phone still ain't ringing I assume it still ain't you
I've half a mind to take the time to find somebody new
But I'm not too sure that I'm still over you
That lie that I tried to slip by you
Was told with good intentions
It was just another way to say I love you
And protect you from the truth
Half a pound of cure is surely worth a half an ounce of pure prevention
And trying to explain while I'm insane
Is the hardest thing I've ever tried to do
Chorus
If I repeat myself it's cause I've nothing else to do
And I'm not too sure that I'm still over you
=========================================================================
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Portrait d'une Femme
Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea,
London has swept about you this score years
And bright ships left you this or that in fee:
Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things,
Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price.
Great minds have sought you -- lacking someone else.
You have been second always. Tragical?
No. You preferred it to the usual thing:
One dull man, dulling and uxorious,
One average mind -- with one thought less, each year.
Oh, you are patient, I have seen you sit
Hours, where something might have floated up.
And now you pay one. Yes, you richly pay.
You are a person of some interest, one comes to you
And takes strange gain away:
Trophies fished up; some curious suggestion;
Fact that leads nowhere; and a tale for two,
Pregnant with mandrakes, or with something else
That might prove useful and yet never proves,
That never fits a corner or shows use,
Or finds its hour upon the loom of days:
The tarnished, gaudy, wonderful old work;
Idols and ambergris and rare inlays,
These are your riches, your great store; and yet
For all this sea-hoard of deciduous things,
Strange woods half sodden, and new brighter stuff:
In the slow float of differing light and deep,
No! there is nothing! In the whole and all,
Nothing that's quite your own.
Yet this is you.
poem by Ezra Pound
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How Can I Leave You Again
Di di di di di la la la la la la
In a spaceship over the mountains
Chasing rainbows in the setting sun
Leaving heart and home for the city of angels
I feel my life is undone
There are pathways winding below me
In pleasure Ive gone where they go
In the quiet stillness I can hear symphonies
The loveliest music I know
How can I leave you again
I must be clear out of my mind
Lost in a storm Ive gone blind
Oh, how can I leave you again
Oh, its been a long time since Ive listened
Still longer since Ive walked with you
For the first time I know what Im missing
Some answers are no longer true
So I question the course that I follow
Im doubtful and deep in despair
My heart is full of impossible notions
Can it be you no longer care?
Still, I ride on the wings of a high wind
Blowing steady and strong behind me
As the clouds surrender my fate is for certain
Im a sailor who runs to the sea
How can I leave you again
I must be clear out of my mind
Lost in a storm Ive gone blind
Oh, how can I leave you again
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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After All Hymn
After all I am human
And I get mad sometimes
Sometimes it is hard for me to think of something else in
Order to get rid of my anger
But I think I have to replace it with poetry
Poetry is my life
And I live writing poetry
Is poetry just a scribbling that doesn't make sense?
No
Poetry are feelings that are wrtten on a piece of paper or in the computer Scream
Poetry makes sense because every word I carefully select
And there are other words that might pop out of my mind
That I connect with the words in my heart
Do I use strong words in my poetry?
Yes I use strong words
Do I offend my readers with the words I pick?
That Is something that I try not to do
AAafter all
I am human and I do make mistakes
But after I make mistakes I try to move to the next step so I never get Stuck with my mistake
Yes poetry is my voice that is a message that I am trying hard to give to My readers
There are so many different styles of poetry
Haiku, rhiming, and free style
But I always stick with the free style of poetry
I find that it is the style that sooths me just fine
After all
I try very hard to live a modest life that is very plain and simple
From the one I lived 16 years ago
What is wrong to live a life of luxury to me?
First I need to have the money to live a luxurious life
The second part is that I don't want anything to do with a luxurious life
Because I am happy living my simple life
And I hope to live that simple life forever
I want to have dreams only and I don't wish them to turn into reality in My Life
Because I know that my dreams will be dreams
No I can't sell my dreams
Because my dreams are only fantasies that I face every night when I sleep In my bed
And after all I will always be human
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Big Parade
[ music: jerome augustyniak/words: natalie merchant ]
Detroit to d.c. night train, capitol, parts east.
Lone young man takes a seat.
And by the rhythm of the rails, reading all his mothers mail from a city boy in a jungle town postmarked saigon.
Hell go live his mothers dream, join the slowest parade hell ever see.
Her weight of sorrows carried long and carried far.
Take these, tommy, to the wall.
Metro line to the mall site with a tour of japanese.
Hes wandering and lost until a vet in worn fatigues takes him down to where they belong.
Near a soldier, an ex-marine with a tattooed dagger and eagle trembling, he bites his lip beside a widow breaking down.
She takes her purple heart, makes a fist, strikes the wall.
All come to live a dream, to join the slowest parade theyll ever see.
Their weight of sorrows carried long and carried far, taken to the wall.
Its 40 paces to the year that he was slain.
His hands slipping down the wall for its slick with rain.
How would life have ever been the same if this wall had carved in it one less name?
But for christs sake, hes been dead over 20 years.
He leaves the letters asking, who caused my mothers tears, was it washington or the viet cong?
Slow deliberate steps are involved.
He takes them away from the black granite wall toward the other monuments so white and clean.
O, potomac, what youve seen.
Abraham had his war too, but an honest war.
Or so its taught in school.
song performed by by 10000 Maniacs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hector The Collector
Hector the Collector
Collected bits of string,
Collected dolls with broken heads
And rusty bells that would not ring. Bent-up nails and ice-cream sticks,
Twists of wires, worn-out tires,
Paper bags and broken bricks.
Old chipped vases, half shoelaces,
Gatlin' guns that wouldn't shoot,
Leaky boasts that wouldn't float
And stopped-up horns that wouldn't toot. Butter knives that had no handles,
Copper keys that fit no locks
Rings that were too small for fingers,
Dried-up leaves and patched-up socks.
Worn-out belts that had no buckles,
'Lectric trains that had no tracks,
Airplane models, broken bottles,
Three-legged chairs and cups with cracks.
Hector the Collector
Loved these things with all his soul--
Loved them more then shining diamonds,
Loved them more then glistenin' gold.
Hector called to all the people,
'Come and share my treasure trunk!'
And all the silly sightless people
Came and looked ... and called it junk.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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my Hiding Place
When I'm sad and no one's around,
My feet are drawn to you and I bow down.
You always calm my aching heart,
Whispering to me, you'll never part.
Easing my mind to gentle rest
My sins to you, I will confess.
When I'm happy and no one cares,
I turn to you in heartfelt prayer.
You love me just the way I am,
For you are the one and only 'Great I AM'.
Thank you dear Lord for hearing my voice,
For you are my unrivaled choice.
You're my refuge and my hiding place,
You made me strong so I wouldn't break.
When I was weak and turned to you,
You picked me up, you saw me through.
Clear my mind and make me whole
Victory from my pain, is your goal.
In all I do, I will praise you,
My love and faith has been renewed.
I surrender all and everything,
My heart and soul I want to sing.
Every teardropp that falls from my eyes,
Leaves me bare and naked with no disguise.
Please listen to my heart's torment,
Hear me when I cry and lament.
Listen to my soul's distress,
Lead me now in ways to progress.
Hear me - I am calling.
poem by Meggie Gultiano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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