Are You Serious?
What you believe was available,
To have at your discretion...
Has expired its shelf life.
And has depleted all of your misconceptions.
Not only is it not accessible...
It was not there to exist for you,
In the first place.
Who prepares your delusions?
Do not take what I say to you personally...
But there are more than a few of your brain cells missing!
'I'm not suppose to take that personally?
That's not very kind of you to say.'
That depends.
Do you have a consciousness that comprehends?
Able to digest...
And understand when something is meant to offend?
'I guess I do! '
Well...
When the fool in you stops guessing,
Perhaps your questions will find answers...
Delivered.
And you will know then which ones are brutely direct!
'Oh!
Okay.
So...
You don't like me?
Is that what you're saying?
There is no chance for you and I,
Just to have sex?
It's not like we have to have a relationship.
Or anything like that!
Just sex.
I wont take that personal.'
Do you see that truck speeding towards us?
'Yes.'
Jump in front of it!
'Are you serious?
Naw!
Are you? '
Naw!
Seriously...
Are you? '
Anything to remove an idiot from my vision.
'You real funny!
So...no?
Or yes,
To the sex.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The right to private property meant at the same time the right and duty to be personally concerned about your own well-being, to be personally concerned about your family's income, to be personally concerned about your future. This is hard work.
quote by Mikhail Khodorkovsky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mixed Messages
Do you know,
What I think I do?
Your messages are sending me a meaning.
I interpret most of them as being mixed.
I think you know it.
And that's intented.
Do you know,
What I think I do?
Is there something here we should be investing?
With some time given,
To digest!
If we conversated to replace the guessing.
I'm not the one to be confused about a message.
I'm the kind that likes it more direct.
If you've got some feelings for me confessed them.
Help me out here,
Let's not start a mess.
Eliminate the guessing,
And put this at rest.
Do you know,
What I think I do?
Is there something here we should be investing?
Let's eliminate the guessing,
And put this at rest.
Do you know,
What I think I do?
Help me out here,
Let's not start a mess.
The less guess work will put my mind at rest.
Do you know,
What I think I do?
Less guess work will eliminate a mess.
Help me out here,
Let's not start a mess.
Less guess work will eliminate to put this mess at rest.
Do you know,
What I think I do?
Your messages are sending me a meaning.
I interpret most of them as being mixed.
I think you know it.
And that's intented.
I think you know it.
And that's intented.
But mixed messages are not the kind,
I think are the best.
If you want some answers,
You're the one that must confess.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0181 Ouch! You've been prioritised....
You quite like going to school,
‘cos your best friend’s there
and you hang out together;
then this morning, they’re with
their new best friend..
don’t take it personally,
you’ve been prioritised
You like your job,
you’re doing good work,
and the boss knows it,
gives you the special jobs;
then this week someone else
is in the boss’s good books
and due for promotion..
don’t take it personally,
you’ve been prioritised
You have the happiest,
most secure relationship
you could ever have hoped for;
then as you dance in your elegant outfit
cheek to cheek, your partner
looks over your shoulder, and
looks… and looks again…
don’t take it personally,
you’ve been prioritised
and you wonder
what angels find to talk about?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Knowing Idiots
Sunday.
I don't eat by myself
So I leave the television on
To fill in.
The food is cold in my fingers
And warm in my throat.
A forgotten rerun;
A sorry substitute for people.
Sundays are awful days
With such a lot to think about.
I think about
Where you are
Right now.
And how you are.
I hope you're sad.
Real sad.
I hope you feel like ripping your heart out.
But mostly I wonder
Why you are.
I don't like idiots.
You shouldn't be.
Saturday.
An idiot sits in front of me.
The idiots is happy with a lump of plasticine.
See how the plasticine, see how she changes
With me.
But child, you're not the one playing with plasticine.
It's the other way 'round.
Wednesday.
Saw the idiot in totality.
The idiot was all smiles.
I knew why
But didn't understand.
Idiots are beyond me.
What the idiots knows
Only the idiot knows.
The idiot is real smart.
So I want to give up on the idiot
While I'm still alive.
But before I do
I just want to see the idiot cry
And know what it's been like
And what it feels like
To be a fool.
poem by Shikha Gupta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Take It Personally
Here's a scoop,
For those who have been duped.
Don't take it personally.
People who do this have no idea,
You may be among the few...
Who are aware of what they do.
And you are not blind,
To what they pursue!
With an awakened consciousness,
Here is what truth will prove...
Know they represent your environment.
And If I were you,
I'd assess the others living in it...
To see if there are signs,
Of a collective mindset...
That embraces a thought process,
That anyone possesses.
And this has not yet...
Been considered a crime.
And be cautious to what it is you exchange,
With anyone who seems 'sane' of mind!
Some folks have lips like leaking faucets.
Here's a scoop,
For those who have been duped.
Don't take it personally.
People who do this have no idea,
You may be among the few...
Who are aware of what they do,
With an awakened consciousness.
However...
This is suggested!
Do not become suspected,
Of over using your point of view.
To then become publicly detected,
Of making attempts to walk tall...
With bright and unclouded eyes.
That are able to see through masquerade.
Or charades that are disguised.
Or those 'promised' opened doors,
Will suddenly slam close.
To then have you 'tarred and feathered'.
Or even perhaps fire hosed!
Or both.
Vicious are those who become exposed.
You have then to 'them' become the enemy.
One that has discovered a secret perceived,
No one sees.
A discovery of witnessing them...
And theirs and most of their kin,
As deceiving thieving busy bees.
Here's a scoop,
For those who have been duped.
Don't take it personally.
Those who believe themselves superior,
Have labelled you a fool!
Just be cool about it.
And observe and notice what real fools do.
Someday this may be of benefit to you.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Delivered And Personally Addressed
Some are able with an ability to see,
Events before they actually occur.
And there are regular worshippers,
Who pray for answers to their questions...
To be revealed to help them heal.
With a preference wished...
Noticed and preferred.
And when the answers come,
To be delivered by 'someone'...
God has chosen to deliver to them,
That message without a moment hesitation.
Those very same folks who say they pray with faith,
Turn away to dismiss the gift that has arrived.
And to them given!
WHY?
People are conditioned to go through their routines.
And this they do without purpose or meaning.
And their 'why' expressed is always attached,
To a 'me' that suffers duress.
And no one confesses to dismissing,
A message delivered and personally addressed.
'What are they looking for?
Someone dressed in 'Tux and Tails'...
With an orchestra and chorus led by a conductor? '
~Your Majesty...
I wish I had the answer to this dilemma.
But You must agree,
These creatures are Your creations.~
'I am reminded everytime,
I hear them complain, moan and whine.
And 'still' they refuse to listen to Me.'
~Maybe it is in the disbelief of their beliefs.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have a much wider, freer view about spirituality. I feel that people need to pursue it on their own, personally. You know, let it be theirs - a personal relationship with their soul, or their God, or with their church.
quote by Peter Jurasik
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The System Remains
Secrets deception
Answers to give their own strength
As I look into your eyes questions need
Your silence and compromise
In my mind your voice towards me is wasted time
In your life there's frustration
And we fight for your say
It's your time for creation
As your time fades away
Is there a right and is there a reason
Do they lie and blind our own eyes
We strive for life a fight in the system
Only to find they supply our destiny
Twisted Ignorance
To those he lies for his own gain
Will you side away or be blinded to mine
Do we still fight trying to seek life in a better light
In our day
Here in our life is there a chance for this place in time
So we know
Threats trades negative power in rage
In a system that still remains
Knowing what could be
As we ask alone
Will we see as one
Do we still fight trying to seek life in a better light
Here in our life is there a chance for this place in time
Is there a reason for all the wrong
We need a change in vision
Needed for us to grow
Why I was chosen you are to blame
My mission here in power is my domain
You look for the answers seeking the chance
Are questions worth giving the system remains
song performed by by ZeroHour
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Instead Of Being A Pessimist
You want answers to your questions?
Ask yourself this...
What began the origin of those questions.
And...
How did they begin for you to exist.
You want a life you like?
Oppose to the one you don't?
Why have you chosen to dislike what you do?
And who enforced this dislike upon you.
Do you live with wishes to fulfill your dreams?
Or are you focused on others,
Who seem to have 'your' things.
Are you focused upon others,
Who seem to be living your life?
Doing those things,
You wish for you also to like?
Perhaps those questions you ask,
Are not yours afterall.
And perhaps those answers,
That have come to you answered...
You ignored them to disbelieve,
Those answers received...
Were not yours.
Because you spend your time,
In the minding of other people's business!
And your business,
You haven't given your time to see...
Succeed.
But your time is spent,
Lamenting others you despise and criticize.
You want answers to your questions?
Wait for therm patiently to come.
Before you impatiently decide,
To get up and leave.
Believing they can be found,
With you not around.
You want answers to your questions?
Ask yourself this...
What began the origin of those questions.
And...
How did they begin for you to exist?
Ask yourself that.
Instead of being a pessimist!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Until I Fall Away
I want to tell if I am or am not myself
Its hard to know
How far or if at all could go
Ive waited far too long
For something I forgot was wrong
I dont know all the answers
I think that Ill find
Or have it within the time
But its all that Ill have in mind
Until I fall away
I wont keep you waiting long
Until I fall away
I dont know what to do anymore
Until I fall away
My fear pretend that Ill never be in love again
Its real to me but not like these fools
And not like this scene
I wont find or have it within the time
If its all rusted and fade
In the spot where we fell
Where I thought Id left behind
Its loose now but we could try
Until I fall away
I wont keep you waiting long
Until I fall away
I dont know what to do anymore
Until I fall away...
When theres no good answers
And no new questions
Another personal disaster
Theres nowhere to go but down...
song performed by by Gin Blossoms
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Will You Be Able To Understand My Last Option, Or Just Tell Me I'm Wrong?
i can tell you how much i hate my life,
and still you would not understand my stuggles,
everyday i find myself in a place i don't like,
and can't seem to excape,
i wonder when i can find peace,
just to live my life,
to enjoy it like i use to,
but now it became hard,
my cloulds are gray,
with lots of rain,
and it seems like nobody even cares,
when i scream at the tops of my lungs,
it's like nobody hears,
they missing what's in front,
without knowing how to help,
it's like i'm trapped in a place,
i don't want to go,
but, nobody knows how to help,
lost and confused,
where my only option,
seems to be suicide,
but so many questions left remaining,
whether it be about my family,
and others i leave behind,
without a reason of my absance,
just a broken heart and anger,
into why i did it,
why i take the easy way out,
without getting help?
to me, my only question is,
what would they do?
it seems as if nobody can understand,
let alone find a way to help,
so my last question is,
why not do it,
everything else seem to already fail?
Copyright © 2009
11-18-09
poem by Mona Martinez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Cares
They stand and look at things
with their eyes closed tight.
They claim to see just what others don’t,
branding someone a liar and deceiver.
Sadly, they are the ones
who deceive themselves all the time.
Who worries if someone uses a different name
whenever they sit down to write?
I personally don’t.
Who cares if they make up an age they want to be.
I personally don’t.
Who cares if they exaggerates
about what they may or may not have done.
I personally don’t care.
Everyone no matter who they are
wants to be someone different at sometime or other,
and there is nothing wrong in that.
Just so long at the end of it,
they are happy in their own way.
I have no quarrel
with what anyone does
and I don’t think
anyone else should do neither.
1 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Questions?
i am tired of questions
all of them
too familiar and all
with ready
homemade answers
canned questions
and answers
in one book
scanned for years
and you all know them
canned laughter
canned faces
canned souls
canned and caned and chained
bones
they rattle and they shake
and roll
i have no answers.
i am throwing all these questions away.
i live everyday. i look at the trees
and the forests.
i simply live. Now.
i have no more questions.
neither will i demand
any answer from you.
go, go, find yourself.
i stay here wanting to find nothing at all.
i guess, after my 48 years
there is this truth
that i find: there is nothing
nothing to find
nothing to expect
nowhere to go
it is just this and this and this.
the one that i have in my hand
the one that i keep on holding
i enclose it and keep it warm
and alive
and you do not even care
this is it: me, myself, and I
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jack The Idiot Dunce
Whos the fool with the cross-eyed stare,
The turned up nose and moronic glare?
Whos that simpleton standing over there?
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
Whos that dumb-looking freckle-faced runt?
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
He walks like his feet are on back to front,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
When he waddles down the street he looks kind of queer,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce,
Because hes got two left feet and taxi-door ears,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
And when we laugh at the clothes he wears,
Jack just smiles cos he dont care.
Whos that fool? whos that ninny?
Whos that twit? whos that chump?
The idiot dunce, the idiot dunce.
Who is always the bottom of the class?
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
Whos a fool? whos a boob?
Whos a kook and an ass?
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
When we take examinations he never gets a pass,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
And we all put him down cos he cant think fast,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
We ridicule him and punch him around,
But jack just laughs and stands his ground,
The idiot dunce, the idiot dunce.
Yeah, hes so unco-ordinated.
Yeah, and so disorientated,
And when we have a high school hop
You ought to see that idiot bop
And his arms and his legs
Seem to have minds of their own,
And you dont need brains
To have educated muscles and bones.
Yeah, you ought to see him dance
He moves like hes in a trance,
And when we have a high school hop
You ought to see that idiot rock,
And hes finally proved
That you dont need a high i.q.
To make your body move.
Now hes created a dance that everybodys trying to do.
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
Do the idiot dunce.
All right put your finger on your nose,
Now cross those eyes.
Put your hands on your hips,
Now wriggle your backside.
Now youve got the knack
To do the idiot jack
From your head to the tips of your toes.
Now the whole worlds doing it and everybody knows,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
Hes a real cool cat and a real gone groove,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
And the girls go crazy when he starts to move,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce
Now jacks a success hes got nothing to prove,
Jack, jack the idiot dunce.
Even though jack is dim
His mother is so proud of him.
Hey, whos that groovy looking dude
Dancing with all the chicks?
The idiot dunce, the idiot dunce.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Sugar Plum Fairies
You can not be seriously surprised,
That they are seeking someone offering...
A more sweetened outlook of life to live,
Over one who that depicts a picture of it...
With a determination,
To remove them from a process...
That has left them mentally and physically sick.
As a direct result of their delusions?
And they have a preference for this?
I know it is difficult.
But let's get serious!
Who are the few continuing to benefit?
And what device is used to keep those following,
With such an addiction to keep feeding on this...
Revolving nonsense?
And to where have those with a consciousness,
Been chased away to get away from all of it?
If ever there was a need for those with minds of clarity,
That need for them to speak up...
Is NOW!
With a hopeful forgiveness given from them granted.
'But...
What about reprisals? '
REPRISALS?
From who?
What part of devastation have you yet to witness?
What beliefs do you keep have you not seen as false?
Wake up!
Those sugar plum fairies have been lowered as a preference,
On everyone's Christmas list with a 'tripping' to get a loan.
Very few are left to brag about their good credit ratings.
And the safest place to stay today,
Is in a foreclosed home!
You can not be seriously surprised,
That they are seeking someone offering...
A more sweetened outlook of life to live,
Over one who that depicts a picture of it...
With a determination,
To remove them from a process...
That has left them mentally and physically sick.
As a direct result of their delusions?
And they have a preference for this?
Comeon!
I know it is difficult.
But let's get serious!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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While You Were Gone
Hmm, whoa, yeah, oh baby, hmm, oh
I read you wrong
You said youd only be away a while
But the days turned into weeks
And all the weeks into miles
Baby why?
You couldve told me you were telling me goodbye
Couldve come clean and let me walk away in style, oh
Funny thing is
While I was missing you
While I was figuring what I was gonna do
1 - I got wise, I got hip
I caught on to your tricks
I got over it real quick, yeah baby
While you were gone
Now Im cool, cant you tell
Feel so good about myself
A funny thing happened to me baby
While you were gone
Oh, you looked surprised
Like no one ever left you and survived, no
Well leaving me alone has kind of opened my eyes
Baby you, you gave me the time to find somebody new
And I found strength inside me I never knew, oh
Funny thing is
While he was holding me
While he was showing me how its suppose to be
Repeat 1
Repeat 1 with ad-libs by kelly
Didnt freak, didnt cry
I just held my head up high
I learned how to say goodbye
While you were gone
Had time on my hands
Baby dont you understand
A funny thing happened to me baby
While you were gone
Had nothing but time on my hands
Learned how to understand boy
Got over you, got over you, oh
While he was holding me
While he was showing me how its suppose to be
Oh baby
Repeat 1
While you were gone, oh
Learned to lie, learned a lesson
Learned how to get along, learned how to be strong
Learned how to love myself, while you were gone, ooh, oh
song performed by by Kelly Price
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Easily Taken To Exchange
Anyone telling me,
I've got to fight for what I believe in?
Only fool themselves.
I don't have to fight for anything,
That is mine.
Nor do I have to take it away.
It took me a long time to understand,
What I am given...
Had already been delivered and recognized as mine.
And anyone wishing to take away what is mine?
Certainly have not comprehended,
Who delivered to me what I have.
And the intention meant when it was given.
Anyone telling me,
I've got to fight for what I believe in?
Only fool themselves.
I don't have to fight for anything,
That is mine.
Nor do I have to take it away.
It's not that kind of 'gift' easily taken,
To exchange!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Into Whining
Into whining, into guessing, a day was guessing,
More important than mahogany, but upstairs;
Forming study, the question forbade us
As the apartment of knowledge entered our minds.
We were guessing and leading to answers,
Questions survived the chances, the telegrams;
There was lying more than us and everyone,
Yet the guesses welcomed us, as they were true.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Light Beyond the Door
A place where I have found answers ahead
Turning back will only give me more questions and doubts
With my thoughts cleared from my mind once clouded I move on
Confident of answers leading me to a different path
Many stairs stretch toward the top with no sight of the end
Ignoring the frustration in my thoughts I will start toward the top
With each step I took towards the top I felt tiresome
Using the strength I had left I was able to move forward
Almost all the strength I have is depleted
I was forced on my hands and knees until I could move again
Just when I was about to lose consciousness
I see a blinding light beyond a door to begin my journey
poem by Sarah Bruun
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Physical Poetry
The physics of poetry
is best explained in a mind experiment
in the construction of this very poem.
As I write the question becomes
what is the word-next and its origins?
Now what word-next can be
is a question of probabilities;
since if I choose rhyme as my scheme
and since the words which will rhyme are finite
and not infinite
the only question then becomes
which one of these will I choose.
Now if I choose a word-next outside
rhyming
then I risk not making poetic sense
since writing a gibberish word,
or one not related to the whole,
would be judged word-next nonsense.
Now we ask who or what in the brain
is making these two decisions
is it me or is it something mysterious;
is it drawing upon the past and memory
or from an instantaneous present
or even perhaps from my future?
Or is it just random choices I make
without even understanding them?
But suppose it is something we call
consciousness which exists
in the brain-cloud of cells which
can with millions of possibilities
produce a entirely new idea
which by definition
can come to exist
like language itself
and produce something never before said;
and now is being compiled in the brain
in this very instant and brought into existence.
That is humans have with language
the ability to create sentences
which have never before existed,
spoken or written because some languages have
enough words in them to make these permutations
near infinite and hence new ideas possible therewith.
Suppose the same is true of the human mind
and human senses make possible from this
this exercise we call
the idea.
So beyond the physical aspects of the brain
there must be a non-physical aspect we call
consciousness, the spiritual, or whatever
word we choose as its name.
Now the other half of the transaction
is even more amazing:
I just made up a new idea
never been expressed before
and can talk to you about it
and given enough clues
it becomes something you understand
and you yourself can write
a poem about.
This must be trans-consciousness
which is now a double miracle
nobody understands.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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