No Change
In days of yore men preened and posed like peacocks to impress
the haute monde with their quality: Put on a brave display,
although often a hollow sham. Which only served to say.
Fine feathers do not make the man, although they may express.
His vapid personality and general uselessness
Today image is everything, it is the modern way.
We kow tow to celebrities, a silly game we play
We have not learnt lessons from history. That image matters less
Than well proven ability and sterling honesty.
We let ourselves be taken in by what spin doctors say.
We are to ready to accept as truth, the clever lies
Which at first glance appear to be completely bias free.
Well designed publicity by those who earn high pay.
by portraying as honest men: Thieving rogues in disguise.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I Took You Too Seriously
You have image with a sense of fashion.
You are cordial and appear to be accessible.
And you are social in a variety of public settings,
With a display of humor and wit on several topics.
And yet...
If only you had credibility, honesty and integrity,
You would make for someone a terrific mate.
I would even pursue you myself,
Again.
But just for the sport and challenge of it.
You have proven to be a fierce competitor.
I like that.
The first time around I took you too seriously.
However...
Today?
I can handle any charade.
Especially the ones I am familiar with.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Too Brave Are Those Orphaned
Too brave are those orphaned by a society.
And unaccustomed to display their fears.
Too brave these days are they not given consideration,
For the challenges they must face.
And unlike others given options to escape.
Too brave are the ones living alone,
To adapt immediately to situations...
Others could not and will not condoned.
Perhaps from a feeling of being trapped,
To accept conditions they wish they could disown.
And too brave are they unspoiled by fantasies.
With a speaking of their minds,
Regardless who opposes and may disagree...
When given an opportunity to be upfront,
And express from their hearts an honesty.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Give Me Image
Enough!
Enough of this...
Self righteous ambiguity!
Fed by those seeking consciousness.
Give me image.
I have yet to have enough,
Of this 'truth-as-I-see-it-life-I-live'.'.
Give me image.
How else can it be expected,
I keep my pretensions alive and thriving?
Do not rid from me my freedom,
To exist living for images I see fit to project.
I can not bare the acceptance of the reality...
Thrown in my face I am suppose to respect!
Give me image!
Do not strip me of my need,
To seek quality delusions to please, eat and feed.
Give me image.
So that I may feel free,
To live in the midst of unending fantasies.
And aspects of threatening truth...
Disturbs my mentality!
As I witness it pursue the awakening of masses.
Pass me my rose colored glasses, please!
Enough!
Enough of this...
Self righteous ambiguity!
Give me image.
I have yet to have enough,
Of this 'truth-as-I-see-it-life-I-live'.'.
Give me image.
Let those images forever in my mind,
Find within me reason to exist!
Give me image.
And enough...
Enough of this,
Self righteous ambiguity.
Fed by those seeking consciousness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A New Low in Popularity
A new low in popularity he has reached.
But this is expected.
When has truth and honesty...
Been a determining factor to reveal,
In one's public speech?
He is chartering fresh territory.
And this people can not accept or believe.
Many perceive this to be unthinkable.
Even discussing those elements,
Over a slice of homemade apple pie...
And icecream,
Could result in a neighborhood brawl.
And he has stated the facts...
Without the backdropp of sweetened props.
Orchestrated with harmonizing voices.
He is not hollow.
Nor does he take steps with shallow intentions.
And people unaccustomed to this kind of leadership,
Seek a leader pretentious with image.
And not one with image who will have none of it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Undervalued for Friend Leslie Alexis
Some gain fame undeservedly
The spot light of publicity
can transform a nonentity
into a new celebrity.
Like shooting stars across the sky
they brightly glow and quickly die.
They do not last although they try
Because there is no reason why.
They achieved fame in the first place.
They disappear and leave no trace.
Becoming just another face
amongst the teeming human race.
Replaced by some other would be
famous well known celebrity.
Selected by the powers that be
who can control publicity.
What makes me really furious
they have nothing to offer us.
At least nothing that’s serious
They act the fool and make a fuss.
The worship of celebrities
is a modern age disease.
Which fills me with a vague unease
It may be that I’m hard to please.
I must admit that it is true
Perhaps you think the way I do
I’m sure that there are many who
don’t get the recognition due.
Whilst some so called celebrity
receives unearned publicity
The heroes we don’t hear or see
languish in obscurity.
Nobody seems to recognise
the little men the working guys
are worth more than celebrities
who gained their fame by blatant lies.
6-Nov-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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A bright tomorrow
I don’t know how to work for better tomorrow
What are the rules that I have to follow?
How the thing to be allowed and grow?
No disturbances in life still nicely to flow
Mind doesn’t work in that direction
I wish to take no hasty action
Life seems full of uncertainties
One has to remain contended with varieties
It is always fine to move with great speed
You must remain healthy with good food and feed
Honest approach without any greed
Certainly to grow a fine plant from quality seed
No one is sure of what is in store
There should be no let up in efforts to explore
Even in difficulties try to salvage and land at shore
Think of another stage and try to act before
Result may not be fruitful or sign of encouragement
Life should be made full of movements
Ready to strike at any given time or moment
To accept the fate smilingly without offering any comment
I may not yield to pressure and allow the things to worsen
The difficulties may come on the way unforeseen
I may wish to cry by hiding the face under pillow
I shall be prepared for worst situation and bitter pills to swallow
Sun was blazing all the way
Striking heat waves with direct rays
Forcing people to find shelter on the way
but not letting any opportunity to pass or giving away
Have you learned about people who work under the sun?
They work continuously but don’t ask for anything or run
it is difficult o stand under direct waves at afternoon
They think it may pass off very soon
I had learnt about one farm laborer,
He looked to me as torch bearer
Sun was on top but he was sweating and singing
He has all the joy while digging;
I dared not to ask him “Will you eat some food? ”
It is nicely prepared, fresh and good,
”No dear sir” I am very sorry,
I earn sufficient and food is no worry,
I am able to make it today and so no need to accept or borrow
Today you are there but who will offer me tomorrow?
The reply saddened me for the moment and sent shock wave
what an answer or gesture? I really felt shame and couldn’t believe
Who can be considered as an ideal philosopher?
The person who has no knowledge of others
Or who consider themselves as great personality?
We can think positively about the fine blend and quality
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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I Owe It First To Myself To Be Honest
I owe it first to myself to be honest.
I use to believe it did not matter,
If I kept the depth of my feelings hidden.
But then I realized I had a wish,
To have at least one person unafraid...
To escape and leave behind their pretentions.
And today after doing it to strip myself free,
My ability to recognize honesty in others...
Is a feeling I get that is non-verbally expressed.
And I could care less,
Who accepts expressed pretentions!
I owe it first to myself to be honest.
I had been the last to know I'd been tricked,
By the foolishness of believing others had arrived.
To find myself deluded in the midst,
Of those too comfortable with the telling of lies.
I can now detect with my ears and eyes.
To leave my honesty disguised if I must.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Silly Game
I never thought u would be the one
That Id wanna run 2
I never thought u would be the one
That would make me care
And even tho u done me wrong
4 some strange reason I cant xplain
I get happy knowing u phoned
Cuz your voice could kill my every pain
Why do we play this silly game?
I never thought u would be the one
That Id wanna give 2
A diamond ring, anything that u ask me 2
But there u were, bragging 2 your friends
Making up a story thats so lame
That I was down 2 be your sugardaddy
One way ticket to ghetto fame
Why do we play this silly game?
Every other night u werent at home
Out in the streets, just acting grown
Never with a bodyguard or chaperone
Then I hear a rumour that breaks my heart
Instead of taking care of yourself
Ure tearing yourself apart
Now why u wanna
(why u wanna, why u wanna ...)
Now why u wanna go and do that, love?
Why do we play this silly game?
I never thought u would be the one
(that Id wanna run 2) that Id wanna run 2
I never thought ud be the one
That would make me care
No matter how far I run
Ill never be the same (Ill never be the same)
In the end, in the end, theres only us 2 blame
Why do we play this ...
Why do we play this silly ...
Why do we play this silly game?
Yeah
Ooh-ooh
Tell me why? (tell me why? )
Oh why? (oh why? )
Oh why - why?
Why do we play this silly game?
Game
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Image Springs to Mind
An image springs to mind:
A child, with childish innocence
upon the shores of life, inclined
to play, without pretence
or mask. Or, if a mask there be,
it still retains a quality
allowing all with empathy to penetrate behind.
An image springs to mind:
So freely see the child dispense
the sifting sand, so unrefined,
with slight apparent sense.
It takes some perspicacity
to see each grain is memory -
dispersed or treasured as may be - quicksilverly defined.
An image springs to mind:
The shifting sands are implements
used differently by different blind
for good or ill intents immense.
Some knowledge is acquired for free,
transmitted some, instinctively,
the balance, finely tuned as we progress or slip behind.
An image springs to mind:
The grain in youth packed tight and dense
Age often loosens, cannot bind, -
how great the difference!
If we could meet mortality
with every thought recorded, we
could help those after us to see the answers we can’t find.
An image springs to mind:
These answers must, in self defence,
be hid from those who’d grind Mankind,
enslaving innocence.
Both Time and Knowledge thus should be
weaved secret in Life’s mystery
from here until eternity - or so it seems designed...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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You now have to decide what 'image' you want for your brand. Image means personality. Products, like people, have personalities, and they can make or break them in the market place.
quote by David Ogilvy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Peace Proposal
Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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With It You May Gain Wisdom
They don't have the honesty to tell you the truth?
I can't believe I am hearing 'you' say this!
When did you become an advocate of truth?
And who or what threatens your perception,
To finally accept it.
And what are you expecting as a benefit?
The repeating of corruption and deceit?
Well...
The process of truth,
Will be proven to be cost effective!
And with it you may gain wisdom.
However...
Believing you will pocket with truth as an asset,
May disappoint a greed you've been accustomed...
To feed with the ease of telling quick lies.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Crazy
It's the ability to burn without fire
Its being able to hear the truth from the liar
The constant torture without pain
Losing yourself to find something to gain
It's the cuts that don't bleed
It's the want without the need
The sight with blind eyes
Wishing for wings when you can already fly
It's the voice from the mute
It's the gun no man can shoot
The cry with no tears
The ability to face your fears
It's the water that is dry
It's the life that can't die
The logic you can't apprehend
Because you know a reality that won't bend
It's the wish that is never made
It's the waterfall that never will cascade
The lies one can make to hide the truth
The ability to believe without proof
It's you and I sat side by side
It's the love that won't bind
The dream from a land of make-believe
An image that only our minds eye can conceive
To the crazy it's the truth
To others it's the foolishness of youth
It's the delusional world insanity creates
The world you know is a lie but now it's too late
poem by Rebecca Pepper
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Fashion Passion
In days of yore the dandies wore
embroidered clothes in colours gay.
Fine velvets, silks and coarse tussore.
The current fashions of the day.
Each dandy felt he must display
Like peacocks vying for a mate.
No price they thought too high to pay
Their refined taste to demonstrate..
Beau Brummel won everlasting fame.
By wearing only black and white.
He was a master at the game
and in due course he was proved right.
The followers of fashion fail.
One style cannot suit everyone,
the latest trends grow quickly stale.
So set a style that’s yours alone.
Ignore the experts pointedly
as they ignore your shape and size.
No need to dress expensively.
You wear what suits you if you’re wise.
12-Apr-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Realpolitik
A trumpet blared defiantly.
Into a hell of shot and shell,
a gallant charge of cavalry
But few survived their tale to tell.
There is no place in modern war
for such outmoded strategy.
More suited to the days of yore.
Today there is no chivalry.
You must defeat the enemy.
Attempt to take him by surprise
and gain superiority
by any method you can devise.
Improving your technology.
You have to strive to keep abreast,
increasing your ability
To kill more quickly than the rest.
The rules of war are broken by
most nations when its suits their book.
They are prepared to cheat and lie.
They mean to win by hook or crook.
The winners write the history.
Which proves that they were innocent.
They could have been quite possibly
Devoid of any ill intent.
I find it difficult to believe.
Perhaps I am too sceptical
of the facts I can retrieve.
from stories that are typical.
Attempts to prove the enemy
were without doubt the ones to blame.
Proclaim themselves to be guilt free.
All part and parcel of the game.
The winners speak eloquently
The losers are denied a chance
to state their case with clarity.
In the prevailing circumstance.
The tales you read of chivalry.
may serve quite well to entertain.
The tales of friendly rivalry
Cannot be true: I must maintain.
I try to keep an open mind.
When I am reading history.
But the anomalies I find.
Merely serve to convince me.
The first casualty in any war.
Is the plain truth, it has to be.
As the opponents jockey for
their chance to rewrite history.
Lies damn lies and statistics prove
Exactly what the victors choose.
It seem historians approve
Perhaps they have too much to lose.
25/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Still Smoking a Rant
A cigarette will soothe away
the stress and troubles of the day.
That’s what the doctors used to say.
When I was young
When feel down and skies are grey
a smoke will drive the blues away.
That’s what the doctors used to say.
When I was young.
A smoke will help you work and play
and do no harm in any way
That’s what the doctors used to say.
When I was young.
New fads and fancies come along.
Without admitting they were wrong.
The doctors sing a different song.
Now I am old.
If they were wrong why should we
believe their latest theory.
The doctors sing a different song.
Now I am old.
Smokers die younger so they say
younger than who I ask today.
The doctors sing a different song.
Now I am old.
I have smoked since I was ten,
part of my daily regimen.
The doctors sing a different song.
Now I am old.
Presumably I should be dead.
If I believed the lies we’re fed
The doctors sing a different song.
Now I am old.
The choice is yours to quit or smoke.
Myself I treat it as a joke.
The song the doctors sing today.
I am quite old
Both smokers and non smokers die
which I accept I don’t ask why
Despite the song the doctors sing.
I’m still smoking.
(7-Aug-07)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Very Image - To Rene Magritte
An image of my grandmother
her head appearing upside-down upon a cloud
the cloud transfixed on the steeple
of a deserted railway-station
far away
An image of an aqueduct
with a dead crow hanging from the first arch
a modern-style chair from the second
a fir-tree lodged in the third
and the whole scene sprinkled with snow
An image of a piano-tuner
with a basket of prawns on his shoulder
and a firescreen under his arm
his moustache made of clay-clotted twigs
and his cheeks daubed with wine
An image of an aeroplane
the propellor is rashers of bacon
the wings are of reinforced lard
the tail is made of paper-clips
the pilot is a wasp
An image of the painter
with his left hand in a bucket
and his right hand stroking a cat
as he lies in bed
with a stone beneath his head
And all these images
and many others
are arranged like waxworks
in model bird-cages
about six inches high.
poem by David Gascoyne
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The Image
Written by: richard marx & fee waybill
Hope you dont believe a word
Of all the things I know youve heard about me
Really just a pack of ies
You see the truth before your eyes around me
Hard to keep it straight
The real from the ruse
Probably way too late
What can I do, but its
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Its just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
Would it be too much to ask
That you could just gvie me the chance to prove it
Or would it only be a waste of time
To try to make you change your mind and use it
What Ive been looking for
Isnt what I thought
Not behind the golden door
Youre all Ive got, and its
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Its just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
What Ive been looking for
Isnt what I thought
Not behind the golden door
Youre all Ive got, and its
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
Not what you think
Not what you hear
Not what you see
Its just the image
Its all on a string
All fantasy
Not really me
Its just the image
song performed by by Richard Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spin, Spin (New York Remake Version)
So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and I'm caught again!
In the web of wild design,
I do not know what fate is mine!
All the day sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
And my daddy said when I was young,
"Beware the web of love, my son,
To be in love is to be insane,
Make an old man groan, a young man pain!"
All the day, sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
Then I did go and the time did fly,
Many a true love passed me by.
And then you came like a blinding storm,
I landed in your web so warm,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and I'm caught again!
In the web of wild desire,
And I cannot control the fire!
All the day sit and spin,
You spin your web and you draw me in.
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spin, Spin
So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and Im caught again!
In the web of wild design,
I do not know what fate is mine!
All the day sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
And my daddy said when I was young,
Beware the web of love, my son,
To be in love is to be insane,
Make an old man groan, a young man pain!
All the day, sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
Then I did go and the time did fly,
Many a true love passed me by.
And then you came like a blinding storm,
I landed in your web so warm,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and Im caught again!
In the web of wild desire,
And I cannot control the fire!
All the day sit and spin,
You spin your web and you draw me in.
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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