A Bravado Meant To Impress
A relating to a yesterday of one's greatness,
To leave none of it invested in younger generations...
With a maintaining of it as a prize to prioritize,
Can not for them, the young alone...
Be expected to achieve to keep uplifted on myth!
While their elders glorify themselves,
With an inconsistent showing...
Of a bravado meant to impress,
As those mentioned deeds done by unknown ancestors...
Seem to be suitable to fit any scenerio of told heroism.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Younger Ones
The younger ones,
Do not wish any part of it.
The fragmentation solicited...
Or the family divisiveness.
They have witnessed what the elders have done.
And this has made many of them turn away quick.
Because the younger ones wish,
Not to have any of the negative rifts!
They have witnessed what the elders have done.
And the elders are the ones that do not get it!
The younger ones,
Do not wish any part of this.
In their hearts and in their minds,
The youngers ones may not express it.
But their actions are quite dramatic.
And observing that is obvious and emphatic.
The younger ones have had it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They're Our National Treasure
If there's one thing in life which will start a war,
It's conflict between the young and old,
Let's stop and reflect and start asking what for,
These disputes can and do leave us cold.
I observed an old guy the other day,
As he was carrying out a menial task,
When I offered assistance he said, no way,
I'm grateful but there's no need to ask.
What a stubborn Old Git I thought to myself,
He's just bitter because he is old,
It's not my fault he's been left on the shelf,
His attitude did leave me cold.
Then I thought to myself, what would I be like,
If I ever reached the same age,
No more football or stunts on my bike,
That notion placed me in a rage.
Like me he must have been young and fit,
Yet this old guy I was trying to deride,
I knew by his actions his fire I had lit,
He was showing me he still had his pride.
This got me thinking about why we fight,
The reason we are so far apart,
Generations divided by who's wrong or right,
To bridge this divide we must start.
There's so much our Elders know about life,
Yet their knowledge we choose to ignore,
Our attitude towards them can cause so much strife,
They're our mentors they should not be a chore.
Yet in truth they know more than you or I,
They've been round the course a lot longer,
We forget they were young that we cannot deny,
Why don't we try make our relationships stronger.
We must have a truce and evaluate each other
Both our groups have so much to give,
Our differences we know can and do smother,
We must learn to live and let live.
This works both ways, they can be the same,
Saying their time was more respectful than ours,
In life generations go through much the same,
We have weaknesses but we also have powers.
It's our turn next so don't ever forget,
Respect as a gift must be earned,
We owe all our ancestors a massive debt,
Without them what would we have learned.
It's a fact of life that we become more skilled,
Each generation improves on the last,
Thanks to our Elders future dreams are fulfilled,
Only our memories remain in the past.
The reason for this fact is plain to see,
Our forefathers did their job well,
Skills they've given us you'd have to agree,
Is the reason we can now excel.
No group in history has ever got it just right,
Fact is we will all make mistakes,
That's how we learn to make things right,
By distinguishing the real from the fakes.
If we'd treat each other with more respect,
Our differences we could make disappear,
If on each others attributes we tried to reflect,
Then both parties would have nothing to fear.
We all need each other we know that is true,
Living in harmony would give both parties pleasure,
Without our Elders what would we do,
in truth,
‘' They're Our National Treasure ‘'
Youth Always Wins
Generational change
wins always
because the old and middle-aged
develop a clouded lens
and can' t see Now
because focused on Yesterday.
Is good advice for Youth Now
consist of lessons learned yesterday,
when yesterday no longer exists?
Can we tell the Young that yesterday
is relevant
when all yesterday is dead and gone?
How can we council that the old views
and yesterday make sense
when conditions have so changed
have been rent,
mangled beyond
recognition?
Young people
as they must
absorb much from us,
but their capacities
and needs are so much greater
than our meager philosophies present.
For the first time in history
young people are smarter
than their elders who
barely know how a computer works.
First time in history the young
are wiser than the septuagenarians.
Generations are additive
and while all youth stands upon
our shoulders
it also means they can see further
than we
planted on the ground below.
We see ground level and the past-
they see above the clouds to that future-ness;
and we complain
because we know in our Youth
we did
exactly
the same thing
against our parents
who always thought
they too,
knew best.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Scenerios
Scenerio One:
You hung up the phone on me.
And in doing so,
You did me a favor!
Scenerio Two:
Yes...
I did say I would return your call,
When time permits.
And I felt like it.
I have no idea when I will feel that feeling,
Again.
Scenerio Three:
Stop calling me!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Cherish Those Steps Taken By My Ancestors
I cherish those steps,
Taken by my ancestors.
And I do my best...
To reflect against their shadows left.
I hold my breath,
With wishes to please.
I am here to uplift their spirits,
With a selfishness to receive...
Their blessings.
And to leave my mark,
To enlighten the brightness...
Given to me to spark,
A continued greatness...
My ancestors afforded me.
To fulfill with a belief I can and will
A destiny achieve!
And feeling proud I am allowed to labor,
In this quest with a life...
Blessed with such an honor,
That ignites to incite an encouraged insight!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Know Your Dreams
Claim you will not maim,
Those goals you have named to achieve.
No matter if your shoulders hold a heavy load...
Keep your motor fueled.
Don't be fooled by losers.
Wishing to melt away your 'cool'.
Keep that heat you've got,
Turned up and piping hot!
Don't let that boat you row spring a leak.
Or be stopped by a rocking that shocks...
Your eyes,
Away from the prize.
Keep alive,
Those dreams not meant to idle.
Claim,
You will not maim...
Those goals you have named to achieve,
Accomplish and to realize.
Keep alive your eyes and kept on the prize.
Know your dreams,
Are not meant just to idle.
Keep that heat you've got,
Turned up and piping hot!
And know your dreams,
Are not meant just to idle.
Keep alive your eyes and kept on the prize.
Know your dreams,
Can be achieved and realized.
Keep that heat you've got,
Turned up and piping hot!
And know your dreams,
Are not meant just to idle.
Keep alive your eyes and kept on the prize.
Know your dreams,
Can be achieved and realized.
They're not just yours,
To sit around and idle.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Those of Actions and Less Words
Anyone can make comments,
About feelings meant.
Feelings claimed to have!
But kept in one's mind,
Where that time has been spent!
However...
Those of actions and less words,
Impress with images lasting.
And it is the consistency of their thoughts and deeds...
That keeps one in someone's mind,
As one that can be believed without doubt or question.
Too many people today express in public flair,
How deep their loyalty for another is...
And so profess what is kept,
But not truthfully there to be addressed.
With confessions made to others,
As if this passes a test.
While it is the things done they do...
That disproves a conviction spoken.
And not in their hearts to followed through.
Although dramatized displays are created,
To show how someone by another,
Has been made to become upset.
This is straight from a 101 Beginner's Acting Manual.
And those on the receiving end,
Are not tricked to be fooled by deceptions that begin.
Feelings they have are invested too!
And these feelings for them are protected to defend.
Not tossed about in meaningless conversations.
Conversations to impress but without a depth connected.
Anyone can make comments,
About feelings meant.
Feelings claimed to have!
But kept in one's mind,
Where that time has been spent!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Not On My Side Of Sanity
I'm expected to be in place,
For those that are inconsistent?
And unreliable too?
I don't think so.
I may live in that kind of environment.
But being part of it,
Is not my commitment.
I'm not loyal to anyone's agonies.
I'm expected to sit and listen,
To others who boo-hoo about their every pain?
And I'm suppose to remain attached,
While they stay uninvolved to play games?
I do 'not' think so.
Not on my side of sanity.
People like that I leave alone.
And stay as distant as I can be!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Once From Their Sight 'Your' Treasures Leave
As long as someone 'assumes' there is a benefit,
You will be shown some aspect of respect.
By those who prioritize the feeding of their needs.
And you might be left to believe,
Any attention you receive from them...
Is a result of your radiant personality.
There is nothing wrong with 'your' perception.
If from them you now get a wished reception.
In an atmosphere of shared embellishments.
We all keep some delusions handy and accessible.
However,
This is generally the 'observed' scenerio:
If you have nothing others can value,
Or 'things' available that impress...
On sight and can be used.
To address 'their' hangups and insecurities?
No one is brave enough to face seriously.
You will not maintain their attention!
Listen...
Maybe with a mention of disgust on their lips.
That's just how it is when people are first taught,
To worship...
And 'prey'
On others with a solicitation that leeches,
In support of their greed!
This is felt as you will witness this.
Especially once from their sight,
'Your' treasures leave!
That's just how it is when people are first taught,
To worship...
And 'prey'
On others with a solicitation that leeches,
In support of their greed!
That's just how it is...
In the land of 'opportunity'.
Where the breeding of this has yet to cease.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Drifting To Shift Away
We seem to have been always great.
With the feeding of this,
Throughout generations.
And accepting nothing less,
Served to us on an overflowing plate.
Room that left opportunities,
To become better...
Did not exist.
Many had no time for this to fit.
Since what we were in our minds,
Was a perfection to be envied.
And a way of life,
That was hard to resist!
With an easiness to define.
And...
Defend with quickness.
We seem to have been always great.
With no tolerance for others...
That did not equal,
Or emulate the image.
With an appeasing done,
To uphold those preferenced druthers...
The chosen and elite believed one needed to meet.
Or challenge,
To be selected for defeat!
And still,
To this very day...
We express, we do, our dissatisfactions!
Becoming dismayed...
Towards those who are different in custom.
And mannerisms diversed in ethnic actions displayed!
To perceive a greatness understood...
Should and could become strengthened from within.
But,
Then again...
To ignore and rid of constant discipline...
With no attention given to it or its importance,
Will eventually find concrete foundations...
Crumbling into quarreling divisions.
With a hated directed and mentioned,
On everyone's lips.
Shared until it bores from familiarity.
Leaving 'this' ideal of a greatness to sit.
Until the memory of it drifting to shift away,
From a purpose...
Any purpose.
Fades,
As if...
Every thought of greatness was no more than a myth!
Like a victim of a tragic coincidence observed..
But left unassisted with an interest vanishing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Out of Their Comfort Zones They Are Thrown
People are too accepting,
Of their learned and enforced perceptions.
Envisoned with fixed images in their minds.
Like men aren't expected to cook or do chores.
Or women who look feminine,
Shock others who see them box in rings.
Or play basketball with hook shots,
To achieve high scores.
Men who sing and write,
Are expected to be limp of wrist.
While those who appear to be 'supermen'
Stop traffic when seen,
Holding hands to then kiss.
And women who wear lipstick,
Are often approached by men...
For sex and overnight 'flings'.
When they announce they are lesbians...
'Homophobics' do not begin,
To rejoice and sing.
People are too accepting,
Of their learned and enforced perceptions.
When out of their comfort zones they are thrown...
Those who are not like them,
Are condemned to be sinners!
As if a wholesomeness can not be lived...
Unless pretensions are embellished,
And mentioned to impress...
Over again and again.
With a 'normalcy' perceived...
That does not threaten what is believed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wished In Retrospect
How legitimate can contributions,
Of a poet made can be?
If comparisons are made to another poet,
Who spoke from a time...
When poets expressed themselves,
From a different philosophy...
That occurred in a past be gone history.
I always accepted poetry to be commentaries,
Of that which depicted activities existing.
But there are those who today compare,
A cobbledstoned road of yesteryear...
To a highway today needing constant updating.
Since those who travel on it...
Have mentioned little interest,
Of using a covered horsedrawn wagon!
And most people afraid,
Will always attempt to validate nonsense.
Since this nonsense becomes romanticized...
As a time when exquisite etiquette was expressed,
As wished in retrospect...
By those whose ancestors were highly illiterate.
And lived amongst themselves in a welcomed ignorance.
And some like me are today told...
Our poetry is not European,
Therefore the quality of it...
Will never achieve exquisiteness.
And I sit to compose caring less,
About comments made by those...
Who have chosen themselves,
As images of correctness...
When generations of them,
Have chosen to digress!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It's Never Too Late
An influence not received,
By young children unfamiliar with discipline...
In their most impressionable and growing up years,
Is almost impossible to prioritize.
Especially when those disguises,
Have been tried on and adorned.
Listening to a lecture delivered by either mom or dad,
When a sitting behind prison bars...
Has been an effective sentence given.
Aspects then mentioned about moral values...
And the benefits of maintaining good sportsmanship,
Is about as meaningful with content...
As dangling a steak in front of a starving dog.
What purpose is a lesson to teach...
To captivate with imagination,
If the classroom has been long cleared of its students?
And every avenue to one's learning process,
Has been padlocked.
Those who argue it's never too late,
To initiate the implementation of an investment...
With the expectation of dividends,
That will benefit handsomely the lives of their children?
Well...
Not to be perceived as a pessimist,
There are those times when one waits much too long...
To get an effective message across.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There is no prize, out there. The only prize is, this one, and what you feel and what you want to accomplish. And if you can, as you start out, these what could be lean years or could be fat years. I feel that I very often watch a lot of young people sort of meander around without any idea about why they're doing what they're doing. I mean to want and to be ambitious and to want to be successful, is not enough. That's just desire. To know what you want, to understand why you're doing it, to dedicate every breath in your body to achieve... If you feel you have something to give, if you feel that your particular talent is worth developing, is worth caring for then there's nothing you can't achieve.
quote by Kevin Spacey
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.
quote by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Defeating Insecurities
Allowed to manifest an infestation,
That protested a digesting of progress.
With visions kept focused on ignorance...
To leave all to seek the best of their weeping.
Look!
Simply put.
Flourishing hype and propaganda,
Debated for the purposes to maintain greatness...
Does not meet to satisfy,
Those pushed to the streets...
To glorify a losing quality of life.
Simply put,
And without proper etiquette...
Days of high profile postering,
In stances taken now weakened.
Has increasingly decreased a respect once received,
Defeating insecurities...
And those pretentions kept to have others believe.
Politics and indecisions exposed,
Does not keep aged old traditions fading...
Upper most in the minds of those in tattered clothes.
Fresh minds advancing to reach new plateaus...
Have decades ago,
Left horse drawn carriages.
While a population strolled along,
Under oil lighted street lamps...
Slowly walking upon those cobbled stone roads.
And the ones holding positions,
To keep days and times like this standing still...
Are the very same people,
Wishing to keep an implementation...
Of this mindset for many no longer exists.
An ignorance cemented and does not self examine,
Loses more than memories to relive and breathe.
Minds fixed and stubborn inflict wounds never to heal.
Wounds future generations will remember as revealed,
As those times when their ancestors fed upon greed...
And lost an opportunity for a greatness to seal.
Allowed to manifest an infestation,
That protested a digesting of progress.
With visions kept focused on ignorance...
To leave all to seek the best of their weeping.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Haunted By My Own
Haunted by my own.
Haunted by a bloodline...
My ancestors have sewn.
And I confess...
My obsession to do my best!
This wont leave me alone.
I feel I am here,
To make their voices known.
I can not neglect a moment of respect.
To be perceived as a disrespect.
I must protect and protest indignities!
Haunted by my own.
Haunted by a bloodline...
My ancestors have sewn.
And I confess...
The challenge to please them,
Leaves me restless to achieve.
To heights of a success...
That will have all believe I have succeeded.
And my ancestors can attest,
I have done them well!
Although my haunting will continue,
Since they and I are not quite through...
To convince with proof what I am here to do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Devoted To A Going Through Of The Motions
Is it in the routine shown,
That I believe I am and get favor...
From a 'deity' I wish to impress.
Because of the ritual of the act,
I address as told is expected...
To achieve the best affect.
Or is it my expectation that I receive it,
As I acknowledge my ability to forgive...
To others with proclamations stated,
That I am chosen and highly favored...
Since I am devoted,
To a going through of the motions.
And to do this I am,
With all of the artifacts adorned and attached...
With a flaunting of it to ensure they are seen,
By others familiar with going through the same routine.
And I can redeem myself while passing judgement,
On others anytime I choose and wish.
No matter how artificial the entire process.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Psalm 78 part 1
Providences of God recorded.
Let children hear the mighty deeds
Which God performed of old,
Which in our younger years we saw,
And which our fathers told.
He bids us make his glories known,
His works of power and grace;
And we'll convey his wonders down
Through every rising race.
Our lips shall tell them to our sons,
And they again to theirs;
That generations yet unborn
May teach them to their heirs.
Thus shall they learn in God alone
Their hope securely stands;
That they may ne'er forget his works,
But practise his commands.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Andrew Marvell
Spirit, that lookest from the starry fold
Of truth’s white flock, next to thy Milton there
Accept my reverence though but feebly told.
And oh! My heart from thy example rare
Henceforth its being for worthiest ends would bear.
Thy deeds, though plain, were towering all and bold,
And like the stedfast columns that uphold
Some awful temple, to thy duty were.
How much thy story has enlarged my ken
Of real greatness! Of mere conquerors I
Read but with anger, or with shame; but when
Of thee, uplifted into virtue’s sky,
I glory in my brotherhood with men,
And feel how nobly all may live and die.
poem by Charles Harpur
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