A Willingness To Let Go Of The Old
May the coming new year,
Bring to all a refreshened outlook with insight.
And a willingness to let go of the old,
Tried and true for most not to relive to redo...
On a voluntary basis.
Since a holding onto those denials,
Without the facing of facts...
And being betrayed by entertaining delusions,
Will not present mental benefits to come...
For anyone,
With beliefs the feeding of entitlements...
Will be restored intact when they slowly come back.
And justifies their stubbornness to stay fixed,
In positions that are changing around them...
Swift and quick.
With hopes to stop,
That moving forward of a ticking tock heard...
From a clock watched.
And one that is definitely on the scene,
To erase and replace...
All,
To re-arrange like nothing ever known before.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
It Implies Not Looking Back
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
So many have been comforted,
By schedules made and keeping set dates.
With a scratching off from a menu decided,
To replace or hesitate to eventually procrastinate.
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
Even Mother Nature comes to assist with this movement.
With a shifting of Earth and turbulent winds.
Spinning storms called hurricanes,
From the shores of Africa that begin...
In vast waters referred to as the Atlantic Ocean.
And still there are those demanding entitlements,
With preferences prayed in a daily devotion.
As if they have rights to insist a life liked to live.
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
But...
Unfortunate are those who believe,
A moving back in time...
Is a choice to make as to who will lead,
Them away from truth...
To produce more delusions and fantasies!
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
And leaving behind many detached,
Who will never become attached to reality.
Moving forward is the change everyone will believe in,
Whether to embrace, accept or not.
We live to experience, grow to then distance,
From aged beliefs to advance to other adventures.
With a wisdom kept to keep to be reminisced but not lived,
Repeatedly to comfort our insecurities.
'I hate change.'
Me too.
I wish I had more dollars.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Empty False Praising
Methods used to create new enemies,
All but seem increasingly less effective...
These days of fading hollow gestures.
Even traditionalists once quick,
To defend their self righteousness...
Are re-evaluating their positions.
Mostly based upon myth and superstitions.
The end has come to empty false praising.
Tick tock,
That clock with time...
Has been blocked to stop!
The end has come to empty false praising.
Tick tock,
That clock with time...
Has been blocked to stop!
More are more willing to switch beliefs,
Than to fight against...
Those conformists frozen and locked,
In mindsets of deceit.
The end has come to empty false praising.
Tick tock,
That clock with time...
Has been blocked to stop!
The end has come to empty false praising.
Tick tock,
That clock with time...
Has been blocked to stop!
Methods used to create new enemies,
All but seem increasingly less effective...
These days of fading hollow gestures.
Even traditionalists once quick,
To defend their self righteousness...
Are re-evaluating their positions.
Mostly based upon myth and superstitions.
The end has come to empty false praising.
Tick tock,
That clock with time...
Has been blocked to stop!
The end has come to empty false praising.
Tick tock,
That clock with time...
Has been blocked to stop!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Automation
Tick tock, tick tock,
computer's clock,
steal lady of the night.
She sits alone while birdies flock
to bid her a goodnight.
Tick tock, tick tock,
computer's clock,
the world's automated
and the lady in a metal cloak
will live alone, unaided.
Tick tock, tick tock,
computer's clock,
her hard drive stirs again
and while I type this poem,
so dies my mighty pen.
Tick tock, tick tock,
computer's clock,
so true, so true the fear
that life as we once knew it
has slowly disappeared.
Tick tock, tick tock,
computer's clock
we victims of our time.
The last bird flies above us
while all of nature dies.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Pleading For More Time
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
And I don't want to be the one,
Pleading for more time.
And I don't want to be the one,
With a trying of time to find...
When it's gone!
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
I fear...
The ticking of a clock heard.
Tick-tock-a-tick-tick-tick tock,
a-tick tock.
And I don't want to be the one,
Pleading for more time.
And I don't want to be the one,
With a trying of time to find...
When it's gone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Facing What Could Have Been Done
By the time a maturity awakens,
In the minds of those seduced to stay asleep...
An existence of truth that has always been available,
Will be as useless as those wishing to eat steak...
Carved up on a plate,
And with a readiness to satiate...
But without neither real or false teeth.
And although it may be 'gummed'...
The act of facing what could have been done,
Is a pointless one.
Since there is no point,
In turning back a clock.
If the ticking of the tock of it...
Has long come to a stop!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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School's Out
Watching the ticking of the clock,
Tick-tock tick-tock
The clock that counts our days away.
Tick-tock tick-tock
Two minutes left and shrinking fast.
Tick-tock tick-tock
It’s summer time and school is out!
Thank you Sir for teaching us
Another year is gone.
Thank you Miss for showing us
The meaning of those songs.
Summer’s here, summer’s here,
School is out, school is out.
Although we’re glad it’s holidays
Thank you for the year!
Heavy feet trudging through
The sweet smelling grass.
A sneeze, a speck of hay fever,
Blame it on the class.
A fire bell with lots of groans,
Hurry up, we want to go home,
Ticks on registrations chart
Jimmy, here ma’am, no it’s Mark!
Yes Sir no Sir, three bags full Sir.
Left right, left right.
Emily, Amy, quiet now!
Tick-tock tick-tock
I’m too hot in here now Miss!
Tick-tock tick-tock
Sssshhh, there’s only seconds left.
Thank you Sir for teaching us
Another year is gone.
Thank you Miss for showing us
The meaning of those songs.
Summer’s here, summer’s here,
School is out, school is out.
Although we’re glad it’s holidays
Thank you for the year!
It's now the summer,
School is out,
The last day gone with and enormous shout.
Some of us you'll see again,
Some of us you won't.
But the thing that we want you to know is
Thank you for the year!
poem by Thistle Wargul
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Her Insomnia
this is a private affair
between her and her wall clock
there is this consistent rhythm
of the tick tock tick tock
her pupils roll and sometimes
still
staring at the walls of the house
restless she avails of all the possible
combination of postures
but to no avail
the clock keeps on ticking and ticking and ticking
she feels like a tick
and she cannot talk
this is her private affair with her wall clock
above her head
her mouth is closed shaped like
a lamppost
without a light.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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That Genuine Factor
Many lack that genuine factor.
And the ones who overcompensate,
With a masquerading...
Seem suspiciously to be protecting,
Insecurities they would rather erase...
Than to be placed in awkward positions.
We all have flaws some have evaluated.
And at times wished them not to be seen at all.
But eventually we can not fake them without facing,
A participating with others...
On some kind of regular basis.
Affording us an escape from ways that isolate.
Many lack that genuine factor.
And the ones who overcompensate,
With a masquerading...
Seem suspiciously to be protecting,
Insecurities they would rather erase...
Than to be placed in awkward positions.
'Some of my best friends were once 'Negroes'.
Now they are 'Black'.
Should I have said that?
Or do you prefer something much more updated?
I'm doing the best I can to accept diversity.
You may not believe this...
But just the other day I had my first taste,
Of chitterlings and collard greens.
And I must say...
They were quite delicious.'
~There's nothing like making that first impression.
Is this your first visit to the 21st century? ~
'Of course not.
You people are so...
Entertaining.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Tickity Tick Tock
can't sleep.
don't sleep.
won't sleep.
shan't sleep.
never sleep.
never sleep.
never sleep.
tick tock
tick tock
tickity tick
tock
tock
tock
the little hand drills a hole into my tired mind.
can't
tick
don't
tock
won't
tick
shan't
tock
never
tick
nev er
tock
never sleep
the clock keeps ticking
as my mind struggles to keep up
too many ticks.
too many tocks.
the clock's too loud
it echos through the silent night
too many thoughts
all at once
i need them on paper
scribble
tick
scribble
tock
that fucking clock
it never fucking stops
i cant fucking sleep.
a dog barks
tick
a car screeches
tock
a horse neighs...what?
i can't be that tired
i can't be hallucinating
i
can't
sleep.
don't sleep.
won't sleep.
shan't sleep.
never sleep.
i need a digital clock
Trixi The Pixie
Trixi the pixie worked for Father Time,
which was just Jim-dandy fine.
One day Father Time fell asleep
and suddenly time stopped
and nothing moved anywhere.
Trixi decided what she had to do
to get things going again
and wound up the universal clock,
but when she wound it,
something went badly wrong.
Time instead of going forward
suddenly started going in reverse.
Birds started flying backwards,
things went back into holes
where they had just come from.
Cars whizzed by at an alarming rate
with drivers looking forward
and the car speeding in reverse.
Everything was retracing itself in a backward mode.
The world was in chaos
with ships steaming backwards
and their funnels steam going in instead of out.
Just at that moment, Father Time awoke
a bit dizzy as he watched the hands on his clock
spinning wildly in reverse.
Oh my, Oh my, he shouted
Trixi what have you done?
The futures going backwards
and the past is coming forward.
He pulled on the large handle of the universal clock
and everything came to an abrupt stop.
He adjusted the leaver slightly
and pushed it forward and everything rushed forward
this time at an accelerated rate.
A snail broke into speed and broke the sound barrier.
Things were getting silly again.
Everything was moving faster than they should.
Transport was finishing journeys in seconds flat.
Time was spinning well out of control.
Oh my, Oh my, Trixi what shall we do
and pulled the leaver again,
then again into reverse everything flew.
He pushed the leaver slowly forward
until normal speed was restored.
He yawned and said I am tired.
Trixi wake me in an hour
and with the way time is going
when I awake it will be next year.
15 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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Cuckoo Clock
We knew it must have been late
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We had no time to wait
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I went to light the fireplace
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I planned it all this way, and
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I snuggled close to her
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
Her heart began to purr
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I held my breath inside, and then
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I put my arms around her
(tick-tock)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo
I put that birdie away
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
His cuckoo was gone to stay
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We both apologized for why
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
Forgave that doggone cuckoo
I went back to her side
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I had to swallow my pride
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
The fire had almost died away
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We just got situated
(tick-tock)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo
I took that clock apart
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
I broke the cuckoos heart
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
Hell never bother us again
(tick-tock, tick-tock)
We just forgot about him
(tick-tock)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo (go away silly bird)
Cuckoo, cuckoo
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Accepting To Protect False Beliefs
The telling of lies told and sold,
To deny in a hiding of one's insecurities...
Does not prevent,
An increasing mental instability...
As witnessed by those,
Not only experiencing buyer's remorse...
But shows the ones who have lied,
Responsible for much that has gone...
Misunderstood most of their lives,
While fighting against denials.
And today...
There is no way of escaping,
With a possibility on either side of truth...
To correct relationships destroyed to redo,
By accepting to protect false beliefs as done.
Or can fix to mend anyone's heart broken,
Of those victimized who have forgiven.
Since they will never be able to erase in time,
From their minds...
The effects of what has happened to them.
Accepting to protect,
False beliefs...
Doesn't shadow,
A truth that's known.
Accepting to protect,
False beliefs...
Doesn't shadow,
A truth that's known.
Accepting to protect,
False beliefs...
Doesn't shadow,
A truth that's known...
To keep those from being aware,
With a clearing of polluted air.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Waiting For Hours
Not a clock heard ticking with a tock,
Is doing it slower at one's advantage...
To block the stopping of procrastination.
However...
Nothing prevents a hand to reach out,
For a muffin to stuff a mouth.
OR a burger with a side order of greasy fries,
To find its way to satisfy taste buds.
And people can be seen waiting for hours,
Patiently...
To get their hotdog topped with sauerkraut.
Not a clock heard ticking with a tock,
Is doing it slower at one's advantage...
To block the stopping of procrastination.
And yet...
People give more time in the doing of it,
But will stand in line for days without a single complaint...
To pay to entertain themselves with an array of nonsense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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On The Otherhand
The facts are left unapproached.
To acknowledge them would mean,
The facing of mistakes made.
And that for many,
Has never been a prerequisite,
To the obtaining of comprehension.
On the otherhand...
Not that one.
The other one.
You have two.
Most of us do.
The boosting of delusions...
Is celebrated on a daily basis.
To maintain a mind kept entertained,
With beliefs that success is perceived...
As the taking of something not earned.
And easily as it can be done,
From anyone who sacrifices time and effort.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Not One Of My Greatest Attributes
My position has always been,
To present the facts!
With the getting of them out of the way.
To free the air of false pretentions.
But many refuse to see the facts,
For what they are.
And instead wish to embellish their delusions,
With beliefs facts presented...
They can re-invent with a bit of flourishing.
Only to later discover those facts presented to them,
Came from experiences many fantasized do not get.
And being patient is not one of my greatest attributes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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New-Year's Eve
Good old days--dear old days
When my heart beat high and bold--
When the things of earth seemed full of life,
And the future a haze of gold!
Oh, merry was I that winter night,
And gleeful our little one's din,
And tender the grace of my darling's face
As we watched the new year in.
But a voice--a spectre's, that mocked at love--
Came out of the yonder hall;
'Tick-tock, tick-tock!' 't was the solemn clock
That ruefully croaked to all.
Yet what knew we of the griefs to be
In the year we longed to greet?
Love--love was the theme of the sweet, sweet dream
I fancied might never fleet!
But the spectre stood in that yonder gloom,
And these were the words it spake,
'Tick-tock, tick-tock'--and they seemed to mock
A heart about to break.
'T is new-year's eve, and again I watch
In the old familiar place,
And I'm thinking again of that old time when
I looked on a dear one's face.
Never a little one hugs my knee
And I hear no gleeful shout--
I am sitting alone by the old hearthstone,
Watching the old year out.
But I welcome the voice in yonder gloom
That solemnly calls to me:
'Tick-tock, tick-tock!'--for so the clock
Tells of a life to be;
'Tick-tock, tick-tock!'-'tis so the clock
Tells of eternity.
poem by Eugene Field
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Abstracted To Dance Around
More abstracted to dance around the facts,
Has become an acceptable transaction...
Between those who choose,
Their fixed entitlements as an excuse...
To not abuse delusions held exclusively,
Kept to confuse an implementation of fiction.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Even We
I am a clock
Tick tock
I never stop
Tick tock
I tell time
Tick tock
"When will the
school day be over? "
I will not stop
Tick tock
Until they leave
Tick tock
No!
Tick tock
"Then I still keep going."
I jump off the wall
and be crazy with my friends.
Then at 7: 30 a.m.
I stop and go back.
But- you see?
Even we
need a time to have fun.
Knock By Mocking
Knock by mocking.
The clock will not stop.
Intimidate by shocking.
Your destiny becomes the one that's blocked.
Reduce those to tears and fears.
Make it clear the greatness of your power.
And every hour the ticking of the tock that is heard...
It is you that becomes devoured!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Clock Keeps Ticking
I want alone to be
I want to drown in lonely sea
But the clock keeps ticking
I want to stop
I want to forever halt
But the clock keeps beating
I want to run
I want far away from land
But the clock keeps pursuing
I want to hide
I no more want to think of fight
But the clock keeps shouting
I want to rest
I want in dream hibernate
But the clock keeps breaking
I want to sing
I want to strengthen the spring
But the clock keeps shaking
I want to only follow
I no longer want to know
But the clock keeps pumping
I want to hurt
I don’t care if I should hate
But the clock keeps moving
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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