En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Based Upon A Maturity Earned

Telling people where to get off and go,
Isn't easy in places where mediocrity is praised.
The slightest thing offends those spineless,
And quick to follow!

You know...
Those afraid to make waves,
But in the privacy of stirring gossip made...
They take delight in basking in the shade.
Daring to individualize their comments...
In daylight.

Fearing to appear to have an identity...
Based upon a maturity earned.
And certainly one that is out of place,
Disputing those with mouths constantly open!

'Say what you will about me.
However...
I've known who I am,
Much longer than you have 'never' been on your own,
Alone,
To define what it is you are!
Or...
Why you are the way you are!
Or who it is you think! '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Easy Has This Been Made To Do?

How easy has it been made,
For anyone to lift...
An accusatory finger to point to someone else,
As a reason for their problems?
How easy has it been made,
To destroy other lives including their own...
By the creating of lies and hiding behind them.

How easy has it been made,
To ruin the quality and standard of life...
Of those who want to live their lives right,
In environments where people have been taught...
Mediocrity is acceptable.
And a public performance of ignorance,
Is just the thing to do since it's attractive too.

How easy has it been made,
To degrade a neighborhood to do it with a doing done?
As others from the outside watch this,
With an open invitation for more to come.
As if everyone has free admission to see fools in a zoo.
How easy has this been made to do?

And who benefits from this?
Not even the ones who make a dollar in profit.
Or the ones who created it,
With beliefs they can drive away...
To an exit that no longer exist.
Or a door to lock to keep them safe.
Those who have that kind of mind will never from it escape.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Identity of a person

Identity of a person
Identity signifies complexity
Identity identifies with reality
Identity is the bearer of all vanity
How does a person identify with identity?

You define yourself based on what?
They say, they say
You’re kind or moral based on what?
Or
You’re a genius and shrewd based on what?
Or
You make the perfect lover, look for no other

They say, they say
You’re strong without a thought it may not last long
Or
You’ve skills since with a record you run up high bills
Or
You are shy but no one ever talks to you or says hi
Or
You never give up because right now you are on top

They say, they say
You are generous or gregarious when all you are is conscious
Or
You’re innovative yet not the originator of the idea conceived

What are the facts?
That makes your identity intact
When change on identity has the last impact?

Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Popularized To Address And Adorn

They've been conditioned to believe,
What happens to them in their environment...
Is a reflection of society and the general public.
And what has been done to them has been effective.

And...
Indirectly,
They are correct.

Although,
What they expose and show as a collective mindset...
With a lack of comprehension as to who they are,
Consciously speaking...
Skips and misses the point of having an identity.

And this they should know.
But many of them have been taught...
Mediocrity is acceptable.
And to be literate offends their ethnicity.

And only in the 'inner cities'...
Is this believed,
To be a fashion statement!

Where everything else,
Seems to begin to generate taste and flavor...
Before being popularized to address and adorn.
And marketed to benefit the easy life of thieves.

And this they should know.
But many of them have been taught...
Mediocrity is acceptable.
And to be literate offends their ethnicity.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Just Havent Earned It Yet, Baby

If youre wondering why
All the love that you long for eludes you
And people are rude and cruel to you
Ill tell you why
Ill tell you why
Ill tell you why
Ill tell you why
You just havent earned it yet, baby
You just havent earned it, son
You just havent earned it yet, baby
You must suffer and cry for a longer time
You just havent earned it yet, baby
And Im telling you now ...
If youre wondering why
When all I wanted from life was to be famous
I have tried for so long, its all gone wrong
Ill tell you why
Ill tell you why
Ill tell you why
Ill tell you why
But you wouldnt believe me
You just havent earned it yet, baby
You just havent earned it, son
You just havent earned it yet, baby
You must suffer and cry for a longer time
You just havent earned it yet, baby
And Im telling you now ...
Ill tell you why
Ill tell you why
Today I am remembering the time
When they pulled me back
And held me down
And looked me in the eyes and said
You just havent earned it yet, baby
You just havent earned it, my son
You just havent earned it yet, baby
You must stay on your own for slightly longer
You just havent earned it yet baby
And Im telling you now ...
You just havent earned it yet, baby
Oh ...
You just havent earned it yet, baby
Oh ...
Oh

song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The 'Good' Life

Wake up in the morning to screaming,
Reporters getting into your personal life,
No privacy,
As you walk down the street,
You are followed constantly by people you do not know
No privacy
You break up with your girlfriend, for the fifth time
It’s on the cover of a magazine
No privacy
Every fucking shit we take,
It’s recorded somewhere
No privacy
You die a tragic death at a young age,
People who you have never met attend your funeral
No privacy
This is what we call the “good” life…

poem by Wandering Scarlet
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Innuendo, Gossip 'And' LIES!

Isn't it easy for you to sit and criticize?
With nothing you do to be held accountable to.
With no responsibility...
But to approve or disapprove as you choose.
And say what you like and dislike about others.
And who you have chosen to agonize and despise.
With innuendo, gossip and lies!

'Oh my...
Innuendo, gossip 'and' lies? '

That's right...
Innuendo, gossip 'and' LIES!

'Ewww...
That's awful! '

Isn't it easy for you to sit and criticize?
Without one effort made to create and strategize.
And those all day and night sleepless work binges...
Could not approach or touch,
Your lazy appetite for life!

Since what you do best,
Is make attempts to initiate unrest!
With innuendo, gossip and lies!

'Oh my...
Innuendo, gossip 'and' lies? '

That's right...
Innuendo, gossip 'and' LIES!

'Oh my...'

Isn't it easy for you to sit and criticize?
With nothing you do to be held accountable to.
With no responsibility...
But to approve or disapprove as you choose.
And say what you like and dislike about others.
And who you have chosen to agonize and despise.

'Don't say it!
Not with...'

Yep,
That's right...
Innuendo, gossip 'and' LIES!

'Oh my...
Innuendo, gossip 'and' lies? '

That's right...
Innuendo, gossip 'and' LIES!

People like you who do nothing but criticize,
Are pitiful!
Despicable.
Obnoxious and unwise.
Doing what you do to antagonize people's lives.

'Oh,
Please allow me to say it...
Innuendo, gossip 'and' lies? '

That's right...
Innuendo, gossip 'and' LIES!

'Oh my! '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rapture

I drank your flesh, and when the soul brimmed up
In that sufficing cup,
Then, slowly, steadfastly, I drank your soul;
Thus I possessed you whole;
And then I saw you, white, and vague, and warm,
And happy, as that storm
Enveloped you in its delirious peace,
And fearing but release,
Perfectly glad to be so lost and found,
And without wonder drowned
In little shuddering quick waves of bliss;
Then I, beholding this
More wonderingly than a little lake
That the white moon should make
Her nest among its waters, being free
Of the whole land and sea,
Remembered, in that utmost pause, that heaven
Is to each angel given
As wholly as to Michael or the Lord,
And of the saints' reward
There is no first or last, supreme delight
Being one and infinite.
Then I was quieted, and had no fear
That such a thing, so dear
And so incredible, being thus divine,
Should be, and should be mine,
And should not suddenly vanish away.
Now, as the lonely day
Forgets the night, and calls the world from dreams,
This, too, with daylight, seems
A thing that might be dreaming; for my soul
Seems to possess you whole,
And every nerve remembers: can it be
This young delight is old as memory?

poem by Arthur Symons
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When The Daylight Comes

(ian hunter)
Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, ooooo
Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, ooooo
Sweet woman whats your name?
You smell as fresh as the rain
Instead of leaving you came
Let me feel your hair
A light shines in your eyes
The hungry years are so nice
Shadows shake in the lamplight
No writer could explain
But when the daylight comes
But when the daylight comes
But when the daylight comes
Ill be on my way
Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, ooooo
Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, ooooo
Oo-oo-oo, oo-oo-oo, ooooo, yeah!
Please share my bed and I swear
That I wont touch you nowhere
Just need your warmth and your care
Dont wanna mess around
And when the daylight comes
Yeah when the daylight comes
Oh when the daylight comes
Ill be on my way
Yeah when the daylight comes
Yeah when the daylight comes
Yeah when the daylight comes
Ill be on my way
But theres a song in the air
And it knows that youre there
cause its making me share
You with my life
I know I know I know that
I want to weave you in words
Want to paint you in verse
Want to leave you in someone elses dreams
It seems the only way, hey!
I can thank you, thank you baby
Some people say that were sinners
Some people say that were winners
We make good gossip at dinners
They try to pin us down
But when the daylight comes
Yeah when the daylight comes
Oh when the daylight comes
Ill be on my way
Yeah when the daylight comes
Yeah when the daylight comes
Oh when the daylight comes
Well be on my way
(repeat and fade)

song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daylight Katy

She walks be the sea where the seaworld is
And she waits for the man to come
She lives in town with her high-heeled friends
And she knows its a long way down
But she doesnt have to get up in the morning
With her hair so soft and long
Daylight katy come on
Daylight katy come on
If you cant follow me down
Daylight katy go home
Daylight katy come on
Daylight katy come on
If you cant follow me down
Daylight katy go home
She walks to the sea where the seaweed is
Where the rust and the dirt runs deep
She lives nine lives in her midnight world
While her old mans fast asleep
And she doesnt have to get up in the mornin
With her hair so soft and long
Daylight katy come on
Daylight katy come on
If you cant follow me down
Daylight katy go home
Daylight katy come on
Daylight katy come on
If you cant follow me down
Daylight katy go home
She lives by the sea when the summer wind comes
And the sea dont mind at all
She talks to the sea when the sea runs wild
And the waves run steep and tall
And she doesnt have to get up in the mornin
With her hair so soft and long
Daylight katy come on
Daylight katy come on
If you cant follow me down
Daylight katy go home
Daylight katy come on
Daylight katy come on
If you cant follow me down
Daylight katy go home

song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Is Meant To Be Told

With a silenced mind,
Listen to them find...
Excuses to make for themselves.
And those who make excuses,
To abuse the truth.
Are liars.
With a quiet mind anyone can find,
Those who pretend.

There are ways to deal with people who pretend.
And there are many of them attempting to defend themselves,
With lies they tell on someone else.
Hoping the doing keeps them popular amongst those unknowing,
Them to be chronic liars prepared to always put on a show...
To protect their insecurities and victimizing those that don't know.

The affects of this are all around.
If one's eyes and ears are kept open.
And one's mouth is kept shut.
While listening to things being instantly made up.

Watch them mentally self destruct.

'Who? '

Those who lie and want you to believe them true.
While they continue to make things up,
As often as they do.
And those they've deceived will eventually awaken,
To disbelieve the doers of these misdeeds.
When the pieces are put together to reveal those faking.

There are ways to deal with people who pretend.
Hoping the doing keeps them popular amongst those unknowing,
Them to be chronic liars.
With a watching them mentally self destruct,
And those they've deceived will eventually awaken,
To disbelieve the doers of these misdeeds...
While listening to them talk about themselves too much,
With a passing of judgement and telling of lies on others.

'But...
How do we know them to do these things? '

Those who make excuses,
To abuse the truth...
Are liars.
And...
With a quiet mind anyone can find,
Those who pretend with a defending of themselves against...
Someone who is not around,
More familiar with the telling of truth as is meant to be told.

'Who do you think are those least likely to tell the truth? '

It is in the observation.
Who has difficulty accepting who they are?
Who uses their ethnicity as a fashion statement,
And not a possessed identity?
And who is quick to assess others like themselves,
With comments made that have no dignity?
And those who lie are always the ones self righteous,
Quick to use God as if God is not aware of false tongues.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Writing Days Of Oblivion

is a way to make the bird define the length of its flight
fearing there will be too much to cast back in what's meant to be
just poems of the past looking for the words of the future
both spelled in moments caught like treasure pearls
sealed deep withing the shells of silence
singing with the waves 'we've got nothing to conceal
but what you hear is not what we really reveal'
just as I make 700th circle on the tree trace
to define the age of its growth towards the sky
I stay deaf towards a benevolent warning to forget
because if we forget it will be forgotten
even if what one gives is so rarely the thing taken

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Mind Opening and Not An Eye Closed

Isn't it ironic,
That those comments made yesterday...
About the economy nose diving because of greed,
Were comments mentioned then to have a negativity.
But today...
Those same comments heard,
Are from the mouths and lips...
Of those walking up and down legislative hallways,
In Washington, D.C.

AND ironically...
Those then depicted as mavericks,
Were shunned and isolated.
Today?
People of 'prestige'...
Are announcing their 'maverickness'.
Their intolerance for waste.
And a marketed decadence,
They helped keep in place.

It is all ironic.
But does not astonish...
Those who have a consciousness,
That has been mind opening...
And leaves not an eye to closed.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Betrayal of Humanity

One must be cautiously aware,
Of comments made...
In places infested with those who manifest,
A betrayal of humanity.

The people there are not easily identified.
Some use religious beliefs...
To deceive others to confide.
As pools of sincerity drenches their eyes.

One must be cautiously aware,
Of comments made...
In places infested with those who manifest,
A betrayal of humanity.

It is as if they plot against,
Those who express empathy.
And come to another's defense.
This they suspect as a leakage of weakness.
And they perceive a caring done,
From someone willing to expose...
Their heartfelt feelings.
And a campaign begins to ensure they are demeaned.

One must be cautiously aware,
Of comments made...
In places infested with those who manifest,
A betrayal of humanity.

The people there are not easily identified.
Some use religious beliefs...
To deceive others to confide.
As pools of sincerity drenches their eyes.
And a campaign begins to ensure they are demeaned.

Wizards of deception are trained.
And will do their best to protect delusions.
While attacks upon them,
Will be viciously claimed.
And a campaign begins to ensure they defame.

One must be cautiously aware,
Of comments made...
In places infested with those who manifest,
A betrayal of humanity.
These pests are all over the place.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With A Wishing Of Their Ickiness To Stick

Someone else's troubles aren't that easy to leave.
Especially the ones who come sharing them with ease.
And that one analytical chosing to keep politically correct,
By avoiding those who quickly leap...
On a peace they keep to be kept,
Seem to be directly chosen to be next...
For an elimination of patience.
And an effective tearing down of a peace wished to protect.

There seems always an excuse made,
To dump disrespect...
On those who have earned their peace to keep.
And a happiness one has been blessed to have met.

Even friends, foes and those people that don't know,
Seem to do this in a heartbeat.
With no regard as they break down the walls,
Of that which one guards...
When knowing not to answer certain telephone calls.

People know just who to pest...
With a pestering done to another's quietness.

There seems always an excuse made,
To dump disrespect...
On those who have earned their peace to keep.
And with a wishing of their ickiness to stick has been done,
Those folks don't seem to stay too long after!
They seem to do their icky sticking doing quick,
To then get up and run!

This they do with a dumping done.
People seem to do their icky sticking doing quick.
Then after their performance made...
Without apology,
They get up and run...
As if to gloat with pride by the act of doing it.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A nice person

´He was nice person and down to earth”
‘Good people depart early and still there is no dearth”?
“He was choosey in life and did no harm”
“He lived full life with enthusiasm and charm”

Some of the comments were heard when my close friend died
He lived exactly the opposite and on almost all the occasions lied
I failed to understand the value of comments passed on individual
Is it customary to pass words which in all the sense are dual?

I have almost witnessed the same scene
There may be unpleasant things to be seen
People will be offering their condolences
I may still be customary to site many instances

No one takes this occasion very lightly
We may notice some differences slightly
It is not appropriate gesture or tribute
It helps a lot to express the gratitude

Person is remembered at his departure
He might have not earned for his future
The last rites might improve his public standing
His contribution might be remembered as outstanding

We find some of the people still fearing the death
They are afraid of wrong comments or wrath
It puts them under constant fear and pressure
They do nice work at the end to make it sure

Some of the good work is definitely appreciated
It is openly advocated and stated
This brings some of the his fine work to the knowledge
It might have been his ultimate goal before his demise to manage

People may call him as true son of the land
His contribution is clearly seen on hand
He might have proved to some people as good friend
This is how he earns respect at the end

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Sinful identity

It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so handsomely procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
infantile cry; overflowed with unfathomable oceans of
glittering gold,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
baselessly rejoiced and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; miserably dithered in my
impoverished life to carve a philanthropically
blissful identity of my very own….

It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so majestically procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my
first baby cry; had an endless inundation of sparkling
currency coin,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
parasitically feasted and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; pathetically staggered in my
diminutive life to carve a synergistically blazing
identity of my very own….

It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so wonderfully procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
incoherent cry; remained perpetually embellished with
resplendently enamoring diamonds,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
derogatorily marauded and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; dismally stuttered in my truncated
life to carve a celestially vibrant identity of my
very own…
It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so marvelously procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
nimble cry; contained every speck of prosperity on
this timeless planet,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
indiscriminately terrorized and took all their
hard-earned wealth for granted; meaninglessly quavered
in my destined life to carve a beautifully magnanimous
identity of my very own…..

It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so amazingly procreated me; nor was it
my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
inaudible cry; had its foundations resting on an
insurmountable mountain of pearls,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
savagely massacred and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; horrendously trembled in my
penurious life to carve an iridescently kingly
identity of my very own….

It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so gorgeously procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
incongruous cry; solely diffused the fragrance of
everlastingly priceless richness,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
satanically splurged and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; gruesomely faltered in my
pecuniary life to carve a spell bindingly righteous
identity of my very own….

It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so divinely procreated me; nor was it
my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
evanescent cry; harbored countless trees from which
gloriously fructified currency coin instead of leaves,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
ruthlessly blew and took all their hard-earned wealth
for granted; disdainfully lost in my flickering life
to carve an enchantingly vivacious identity of my very
own….

It wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so Omnipotently procreated me; nor was
it my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
meek cry; was the hub of all state-of-the art
businesses that unfurled on the trajectory of this
fathomless planet,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
insanely trampled and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; flagrantly wavered in my limited
life to carve an ingratiatingly altruistic identity of
my very own…..

And it wasn’t the slightest in my hands to choose the
parents who had so blessedly procreated me; nor was it
my fault that the house in which I emitted my first
nervous cry; was the most indefatigably serenaded
castle in the entire world since times immemorial,
But it would irrefutably be the greatest sin if I
cold-bloodedly spat and took all their hard-earned
wealth for granted; unscrupulously dithered in my
indigent life to carve a harmoniously distinct
identity of my very own….

(c) (r) copyright-2004, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.

poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Visuals Betray

Sometimes it becomes a task...
To determine and separate those,
Who are innocently ignorant...
From those who are professional.
This is almost as difficult,
As determining one's maturity...
Based upon age and presence.
Today...
Visuals betray.
If one's intelligence is in question.

There are more children in grown up skins,
Then at any other time.
Even those one would think to ne mature,
Disappoints with a childish reaction.
And some of the most profound comments...
Can be heard coming out of the mouths,
Of pre-school children.
With a matter-of-factness AND eye contact.
Something adults either lost through the process...
Or thought it useless to develop.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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With An Easy Weeping Done

She runs and hides.
And prefers to be subjected,
To one's search who is seeking.

Clever in procrastinating,
And that is it!
Quick to play follow the dancing ball.
With whomever she finds easy to lick.
Convincing onlookers she is legit.

With flaws not quite hidden,
Although accustomed to deny.
As she embellishes the truth...
She will defy the telling of lies.

Wanting to be praised...
Not hazed for being lazy.
She will go out of her way,
To depict someone else as crazy!
And to any extent in her own defense...
A keeping of pretensions,
Is her intention.

She runs and hides.
And prefers to be subjected,
To one's search who is seeking.
With an easy weeping done...
She fears a truth that chases.
But celebrations that are faked,
Do come to an end.

'She's just being who she is.'

~And I'm making it clear I'm no longer her victim.
I do not solicit with a choice to choose,
Whether I prefer deception or betrayal.
Or both as a joke to provoke my integrity.
And that's just...
Being me.
I'm too familiar with the environment.~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Know This and Take Notice

Whatever it is you believe I am.
And from 'whatever' point of view,
This is observed.
Know this...
I have earned to do as I please.

You can edit, splice and dice my life...
With gossip you lip.
But know this...
My gratefulness and blessings I get,
Are not exchanged with you in mind.

Know this...
I suggest you not waste your time,
On someone who has both identity and peace of mind.

And know this about that...
To someone who has earned to be who and what they are,
You are far from being a priority.
And distant from being placed on their agenda.
In other words...
You do not exist!
Not for someone like this!
Or me.
Know this and take notice.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Open And On Exhibit

The obtaining of success,
Has always been made to look too easy.
Especially by those,
Assessing others right under their noses.
And having no clue what they do to get done.
Or what it has taken for them to get the attention.
And without soliciting to get any from them at all.

'I didn't know that about you? '

~You didn't?
I thought everything I did was open and on exhibit? ~

'Me too.
That goes to show,
We don't know people like we think we do.'

~No.
That goes to show...
Gossip you listen to has nothing to do with truth.~

To hear them say with expressions made,
How lucky someone is...
To get something finally achieved.
When that achievement accomplished,
Had always been there without their awareness.
And in a place they least likely to suspect,
With a doing right in front of their faces.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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