Aging Hands
There are those,
Spoiled from birth...
Who believe they can do,
Exactly what they please...
When and to whom they choose.
They do not accept responsibility for their actions.
And accuse others for being insensitive,
When their lack of accountability...
Infringes upon those deeds they perceive,
Are discussed too direct and much too frank.
These folks,
Are fighting internal battles.
And they surround themselves with others,
They rely to protect them...
From the pain of reality.
Unfortunately,
And eventually...
They are 'forced' to be the adults,
They dress outwardly and masquerade to be!
Very few,
Walking upon this Earth...
Are going to stagnate their own growth,
Raising stunted children's minds...
Charading themselves in adult bodies,
For too long!
Knowing something about this,
Is sick and wrong!
These times are changing much too fast...
To keep a grasp onto aging hands!
Especially when the traffic,
Is moving like it is...
In all directions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Those of Childish Minds
Those of childish minds,
I had to sever and leave behind.
They no longer fed my views of life.
I had been hatched from adolescence,
Many years ago...
With an expanding insight.
Rehashing redundant deeds done I did...
I could no longer validate,
Those actions of adults that reminded me of kids!
I began to feel imprisoned,
By this useless activity for me I could not envision.
That began to smother my mental growth...
And its clarity,
Beginning to feel remote and provoked.
I had to sever and leave behind,
Those of childish minds.
They found routine attractive to them.
And within me routine was not meant to be.
I am an adult!
And others who are...
Is a rare find today by far.
Leaving me to wonder,
As my aging process flows...
How gracefully can those grow old?
And where do those of childish minds go,
When an age upon them obviously shows!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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An Exchanging Of Footsteps
Could it still be a possibility,
That one's life lived exclusively...
Running away from responsibility,
Can learn after many years spent...
Ignoring the benefits obtained,
In acquiring skills in arithmetic.
Or the process it takes to comprehend,
What has been read to broaden a limitation...
Accepted in one's head instead,
To begin to attach those pieces that fit.
And they eventually could sit patiently,
With a doing of this?
Let us not be quick,
To lift with a raising up of our right eyebrows!
Many dismissing the discipline it takes,
To quietly absorb a practice in listening...
Actually wait until it's too late,
To find someone desiring to teach an adult...
To undo those childish stunts in a mind done.
Even children in their fifties can learn!
Let us not be quick,
To lift with a raising up of our right eyebrows!
A willingness to waste another's time,
Is okay.
Until it has become decided,
Someone's seriousness is ready to be displayed.
And...
Is reason enough to give away,
Those experiences acquired by someone else.
And we all can participate in the joys of life.
Let us not be quick,
To lift with a raising up of our right eyebrows!
There are people all over the place,
Willing to sacrifice their time, minds and efforts...
With their experiences suffered alone to condone,
In an exchanging of footsteps!
All it takes...
Is just for 'one' of us to let this be known.
Let us not be quick,
To lift with a raising up of our right eyebrows!
Let us, you and me...and Mother Love,
Just for a few moments abandon realities!
And...
Use our minds to perceive of this,
Idealistically.
'Yep!
Didn't I tell you?
They were doing much more,
Than the changing of test scores...
In the teacher's lounge.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Aging Excuse Making Children
Difficult and with stress it is,
To be an adult.
And live in an environment surrounded,
By old and aging excuse making children.
Difficult to know it is who is being responsible,
And who to hold accountable...
For the raising of disrespectful kids,
Found totally without initiative or discipline.
It is so hard to maintain one's patience,
And make attempts to explain...
Even to those who appear to have brains,
What the benefit of staying motivated is.
And if one should expose to show concern,
With sincere understanding and comprehension...
One has learned from experience,
This is interpreted as trying to be better than the others.
And eventually...
The one who has grown to be that mature adult leaves,
To keep a nurtured peace of mind...
And those perceptions aging children keep to believe,
Alone for them to condone.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What Nerve In Your Body Is Disconnected
What makes you think,
I will be discussed and talked about...
And not know it?
What nerve in your body is disconnected,
From your brain.
I happen to accept we are all part,
Of this 'Oneness' existing...
We choose to call life.
And not observers from the bleechers...
Cheering on a favorite team to win!
What makes you think,
My ears do not listen?
Or my eyes do not see?
We were all created by an 'Entity'!
And this 'spiritually' I believe!
There is no such thing,
As an inflicting of pain on someone else...
And not eventually feeling it yourself.
That's not the deal we have here on Earth.
Nor was that a contract signed upon our birth.
What makes you think,
I will be discussed and talked about...
And not know it?
What nerve in your body is disconnected,
From your brain.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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That Beating Of The Bush
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I have this 'thing' about honest and truth.
And those who become offended,
By declaring them too harsh to accept!
There has not been an experience I received,
I regretted with a wish to forget!
And those attempting to live their lives,
In pretense to deceive believing this is not deception...
Will always escape with excuses and alibis to make.
Charading as if...
No one recognizes,
Who is in masquerade.
And who amongst them fakes!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
An honesty and truth spoken,
From deceivers is rare.
Those who deceive perceive...
Those who are direct and honest,
Are insensitive and do not care!
With a sharing of this mentality...
To those empathetic,
In a keeping of delusions...
Spared from despair!
But I know I'm not the only one...
Who elects to see,
Dishonesty from all people get up and leave.
I can't be!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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They Come To Go
These times are moving too rapidly,
For anyone to perceive they can keep moments...
Once experienced from a past preserved.
To remain unchanged.
Whether or not attempts are made,
To hold onto them as tightly as possible.
They can be discussed on a daily basis.
Or ignored as they speed away.
These days that we have been given to witness,
Will be better off lived...
Then reminiscing how they were,
And what was done.
Too many will discover themselves lost,
In the things they once did.
And not prepare their minds for what comes,
With maintained faith and not delusions.
These times are moving too rapidly,
For anyone to perceive they can keep moments...
Once experienced from a past preserved.
To remain unchanged.
And fixed to keep them revisited.
Especially when those changes made,
Aren't here to stay for anyone.
They come to go.
With no empathy shown,
To those who don't grow.
For anyone to perceive they can keep moments...
Once experienced from a past preserved.
To remain unchanged.
And fixed to keep them revisited...
To live and adjust as they must.
Will discover all their beliefs,
Dusted.
These times are moving too rapidly,
For anyone to perceive they can keep moments...
Once experienced from a past preserved.
To remain unchanged.
Whether or not attempts are made,
To hold onto them as tightly as possible.
A letting go,
Is the best thing to do to experience growth.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dreams, Dreams, Dreams
Most children want to copy adults fast;
They try to dress and talk and walk like one;
They want to do the things what adults do;
But children can’t be adults before time!
Adults dream of their childhood years at times;
They cannot move or speak or walk child-like;
They cannot be innocent like children;
They can’t become children again in life.
The elderly have dreams of their own too;
Oh, how they wish they were younger in age!
They recollect the things they did when young;
Their frames and minds are weaker than they think!
All human beings live in dreams galore;
Most dreams cannot become reality;
Our dreams must be something we can well do;
Too much of dreams don’t help to dash ahead.
Each stage of life can be lived only once;
One cannot go back or ahead in time;
Be happy with whatever you’ve achieved;
Life is so wonderful they way it is!
Just keep your mind and heart as per your age;
Be aware of the limits, risks, you take;
Life shouldn’t be lost even through accidents;
Life is the greatest gift of God to you!
Thank God for whatever you are in life;
Thank Him for gift of human life and soul;
Thank Him for all the things, He’d done for you;
Thank Him for all His love and kindness shown!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 10-12-2008
poem by John Celes
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Baby vs Adult
Baby is dumb
Adult has wisdom
Babies are small and crawl
Adults are tall and fall
Baby demands
Adult commands
Baby yearns to walk
Adult learns to work
Baby weeps
Adult sleeps
You carry a baby
You marry an adult
Baby chokes
Adult smokes
Baby stays at home to play
Adult brings home the pay
Baby cries
Adult sighs
Baby spikes milk
Adults like silk
And I saved this for the last
Baby at birth
Adult at death
Baby vs Adult becomes a thing of the past
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Idlers’ Paradise
Empty minds of pride and gait
Who shall for you open the gate?
So you perceive freedom
And intelligence of dome
For the far you see
Is no far than the folly sea
The near you perceive
Is no near than deafness can receive
You dream of glory
For no one do you feel sorry
Like thorns tearing flesh
You are insensitive when you thresh
Your haven is ignorance
For you give knowledge no chance
Your glances are squinted
And feelings stunted
Your glory
Is purely gory
How for food you wish
Yet you never learn how to fish
Your privileges fill up your bowels
And the your scotch drains our wells
We work no harder that you do
Only we don’t remain constant like sky-blue
We invent and innovate
When it is spoilt we renovate
But you will never graduate
From folly to better state
Hark! O ye that spill grain
Grain that left backs with sprain
Without raising a finger
Or even colluding with the harvest singer
To motivate they that toiled
You have come and spoiled
What you never for moiled
Granted an Armageddon is coming
No matter how much it will be raining
When the firing comes
You will not be saved under any terms
poem by David Munene wa Kimberly
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To Get What It Was to Do Done
It has been a long time since I had been a child.
Such a long time,
Those actions I did then...
Were tolerated and condoned by someone else,
Who I respected as an adult and it reflected.
Whether or not I accepted.
And from those who taught me,
The difference as I grew.
I knew when I matured...
So few did that too.
And while they now make excuses,
For everything that they do...
Or not.
Expecting to be dismissed...
Like children throwing tantrums,
And spoiled fits.
Upon others they drop.
To do flip flops...
With something childish,
They can not stop!
I wont put up with it!
No matter how 'old'...
These ageless 'kids' may get!
I'm not going to put up with none of that one bit.
I have learned to be accountable.
And responsibility for my actions...
I take.
I have learned to embrace,
Take hold and move on!
No matter who around me,
May hide or deny...
Any action I may make.
With a mind that is awake.
I might undo it.
But...
Whatever that decision is,
It is done by me to say...
'Something'
I had to do to get what it was to do done!
Whether those of childish minds are left stunned.
To get from point A to B does not require a Phd!
Or a pail and shovel to collect sand.
I have been taught not to be afraid to take a stand!
And...
Get it over to get over it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Zombies Have Been Seen
Children are permitted to be taught lessons.
To grow to become successful,
With each progressive step.
Who then decides when the experience of it should end?
And where did the adults go...
To remove anything learned,
From minds they felt
In need of complete vacancy!
To leave the responsibility of accountability...
Placed upon the shoulders of teachers.
Who are accused of not being qualified...
By those who expose a lack of brain activity.
This is frightening.
Nothing heightens,
An expanded consciousness.
That broadens the experience,
One shares with another to leave.
Even zombies have been seen,
Performing...
In choreographed routines to thrill!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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More Pretense Than Passion
When we each came to be sixteen,
Planting expectations with claims to fulfill hopes...
On hills with slopes overlooking streams.
Nothing in the World appeared mean back then.
Or did folks with bad thoughts
With worse on their minds,
Complain or whine,
Backstab then wine and dine their neighbors
Family and friends.
Again, back then.
By our mid-teens the life that held dreams,
We lived to create
Those scenes to forever lay within them insatiated!
Believing lives with no fear of apologizing would ever end.
But they did. And they do...
To leave us more apologetic for our deeds,
Or the lack to inspire them.
To discover us now pleading for signs of sanity.
Or something that resembles it.
Some of us were nurtured with thoughts
We would always be beloved, belonged
And provided lives gift boxed!
There is no joy when the connections to reality
Begin to snap in place.
We are no longer where we were...
Or in times when then we thought,
We knew what and who!
When we became sixteen...
Too much rebuttal spewed
Unrelenting to forgive,
Forget and mend!
Brewing still we are
For decisions that are made on a whim...
None of us can say
Changes brought our choices to satisfied the men,
And the women to find contentment in these times,
We are living now!
And no heart becomes spared,
For cares that surface on matured emotions.
They show quicker when aging begins to speed.
At sixteen no one is looking to sing a 'blues' duet...
Or think of aging as a death sentence.
Yet,
It is!
As we try to cling onto a bittersweet existence,
With the persistence of a spoiled child.
We eventually leave sixteen to welcome and adopt,
Comfortable habits we can not dropp but defend.
Venturing to speak of new paths to take.
But bluffing as if time had not revealed...
We are still more pretense than passion.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I'm sick
I’m sick of always waiting for the breaks I never get,
I’m sick of being left behind and sleeping in my sweat,
I’m sick of making money when the ends are never met,
I’m sick of being sick of life I’m trapped inside a net,
I’m sick of having to be strong when I’m a nervous wreck,
I’m sick of working dead-end jobs that lack any respect,
I’m sick of waiting in a line where I am never next,
I’m sick of knowing that I’ll never truly be the best,
I’m sick of acting normal when I know that I’m a mess,
I’m sick of other people saying that I’m really blessed,
I’m sick of having all this pain I feel inside my chest,
I’m sick of being stressed, I’m feeling so depressed,
I’m reaching for a goal that very few are to obtain,
And no more strength is left in me because of all the pain,
I know that I have said that there is God inside the rain,
But where is God in moments when my bodies feeling drained,
And where is God in moments when a prayer won’t explain,
The fact that I was born a baby lacking half a brain,
The fact my hands and feet are tied together by these chains,
I can’t break free I need some help but all I get is blame,
I’m blamed for the mistakes I’ve made and it is such a shame,
I know that I’m a winner yet I’m losing to life’s game,
I’m losing my religion and all I do is entertain,
The other mindless people I swear this life is so mundane,
I’m always asking why,
I always say I try,
I’m looking to the sky,
Accept the pain and fly.
poem by Nathan Streango
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Adolescent Deeds
Spoiled children encouraged,
To sit and witness their siblings...
Restricted from doing things,
They believe can be manipulated eventually...
Will make attempts to do anything.
If this means to them,
A getting of an attention given.
Believing with an 'innocence',
A 'cuteness' is determined.
But some children grow.
To leave behind their childishness.
With a learning not to disrespect.
Or expect child-like tantrums accepted,
Without someone rejecting their selfishness.
To then make claims of being neglected,
When left to be held accountable...
For actions that reflect,
Immaturity at its best.
And as aults who have aged,
These same 'children' become insulted.
When others too mature no longer will endure,
With a tolerance depleted and absent to feed...
Spoiled children encourage,
To perform adolescent deeds.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Something To Offend
One's prolonged obsession,
With soliciting empathy...
Eventually gains them a sympathy,
For possessing a mentality...
That has left a maturity,
Something to offend the ones...
Who will never in their minds,
Self examine their insecurities to address it.
And it continues to hurt those,
Forced to remain stunted and stagnant...
By those who can not divorce from the hold,
On their limited views on growth...
While advocating the advancement of ignorance.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I like to protect children. I mean, there's nothing wrong with having adult programming for mature adults that can selectively decide what they want to watch and what they don't want to watch.
Left To Examine
People seldom select rebellion.
From a truth spoken and understood.
Yet those upset and labelled rebels,
Know too well...
They've been deceived and meant to be.
With perceptions shallow and kept to believe,
And fed to a consciousness deluded to depths.
And difficult it is to keep people like this,
Conformed to accept values distanced from reality.
Realities often thought to be militant with intent.
And long mentioned by the ones...
People decided they would choose to shun.
But themselves left to examine and now have begun,
Analyzing traditions and values with a doing done.
With a wondering of which standards to use.
Where to go and who to question,
To release them from confusion.
And self inflicting mental abuse.
Protected in historic denial hypnotized to seduce.
Left to examine...
These times.
And how will they be...
Redefined.
How will that begin to be done,
These times.
And how will they be...
Redefined.
Left to examine...
These times.
And how will they be...
Redefined.
How will that begin to be done,
These times.
And how will they affect,
Minds!
Left to examine...
In the coming of the changing times.
And...
How will that begin to be done,
In minds,
Left to examine...
In the coming of the changing times.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Having Very Little Fun
There are those
Still wanting to play hide n' go seek!
With truth and reality...
As if in their aging days...
It is okay to sneak a peek!
Wanting to be chased...
Leaving behind excuses left as clues.
They may not know where they are,
Even though you do!
But choose not to!
Let them play...
These adults are the reason,
Most children are lost today!
Let them play!
They will never admit to what they've done.
Even though the rest of us are paying...
At a losing game,
And having very little fun!
Many can claim,
Those actions have brought them none!
With nothing that is gained to show...
Or to prove anyone can win,
When blinded eyes can not see,
What they have ignorantly begun!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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With A Catering Done
Education will always be a deficient process,
As long as people are offended...
By anyone expressing intelligence.
And when the raising of children,
Isn't done by adults with a goal to increase...
Perceptions to connect a comprehending growth,
Shown that is released.
People become defensive when in the presence,
Of one who has experience to share.
And instead of being respectful with a listening...
One's biasness takes over.
And a critiquing diminishing from them begins.
With that as the awareness there to be given.
Education will always be a deficient process,
As long as people are offended...
By anyone expressing intelligence.
And when the raising of children,
Isn't done by adults.
With a catering done to an ignorance as a result...
An encouragement of mediocrity flourishes without end.
'So what is the ultimate solution? '
Something that will remove biased attitudes.
With an implementation in everyone's mind...
To find reasons to respect with a leaving them colorblind.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Process One
History hides its emotion just as absolution is not an absolute cure
Man's reason and purpose is to protect the innocent and the pure
The raising of chiildren belongs in the family not an amateur.
Life is much more than just the pasing of earthly or spatial time
It is the legacy we leave our children who are the fruit of our vine.
To give and leave them images of value and virtue for their minds.
Children are invited to come and contribute whenever they can
To know life's purpose and reason, is the union of woman and man
The mind of a child needs to be challenged so they can understand.
The children are no longer our children when they leave home
To carry forward and give to their childen who are really a loan
The capacity to ask questions as all answers come from the dome.
The continuity, salvation and redemption of those here and to come
In the hands of all God's children for through them its will be done
Humanity is singular and inclusive and their gender is two not one.
All children filled with the energy of life and an unfettered mind
To have their time of peace to play, question, and eventually find
To participate in life with good purpose and reason and never resign.
The children can move our world forward and even far beyond
Always to be, think, and acknowledge; mankind's most common bond
We on earth to come together and teach our children to get along.
From the beginning to the end all on earth can be for naught
If the children refuse to participate and grow, all will be lost
A shared responsibility to question, listen and all signs to watch.
11-03-05 Aho Speaks
poem by AHO Speaks
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