Bury The Subject
If this has been heard,
To serve a purpose...
Then
Repeating to beat a dead horse,
Just to witness your ego prance...
Will not regain the speed,
By which you would like to see it gallop.
To free it again with your indecision.
The breath of it has stopped!
The issue has been discussed.
Rigor mortis can not appear more final,
Than it does.
You may huff and puff,
As if yesterday will return to be corrected.
But it has been saddled.
Ridden and exhausted of purpose.
Now existing in oblivion.
Your need to play mortician...
Has been fulfilled and duly noted.
You have made a fantastic attempt!
Recollections have made it lifelike.
However, therefore and furthermore...
With an observation used as fact,
Decaying is no longer the issue.
Now bury the subject.
Or just disappear.
Those are the options.
Now make clear your choice!
A patience I remember,
Is slowly fading to reveal a craze invited!
You have voiced this over and over again.
It has been agreed.
Do you wish to hear 'DAMN-IT'
To solidify the moment?
It comes...
Faster than a speeding bullet.
More powerful than a locomotive!
'WILL YOU SHUT THE F-f-f-f...up! '
Children can spell 'recession' now.
We are living it.
There is no need to suggest its appearance.
This 'depression' you are leaving us with,
Could better be defined!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Our Secret Can Kill Us.
i know that you know
and i know that you know that i know
but we agreed on one thing after that night and following morning
no one's talking
we keep the dignity of silence,
the sorrow of more silence,
the sweetness of
nothing
at all
what's the use of telling you about what you know that i know?
will it serve the purpose of telling us
that there is something wrong
and that it should be stopped
or at least mentioned and
discussed and then corrected?
dare me.
you know what happens next.
i'll die.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ultimatums
Many of you have pushed me to the edge.
And I have no other recourse but to issue 'ultimatums'.
Here...
These are your ultimatums.
'This is not acceptable.
First of all...
This is printed in 10-point Ariel.
And any ultimatums you issue to us,
Has to be in the agreed upon 12-point Veranda.
The heading 'Ultimatums' is off center.
And the margins are not defined.
The highlights are missing.
Plus not one 'bullet' appears for emphasis.
How can we possibly take this seriously,
When your approach is not professional at all.
And upon review,
It is clear you did not use a 14-point italic type.
In the preferred Times New Roman.'
First of all...
Let me make this clear.
This is a draft!
The 'final' Ultimatums
Will include your recommendations!
And I expect them to be adherred!
Is that understood?
'Yeah! '
Don't you 'yeah' me boy!
'Yes, Coach Warren.'
Now you boys get back on that field!
And produce for this team,
A winner!
Play like you've got some guts!
You're getting paid enough money,
To do it!
This is 'football'.
Now...
Go out there and play.
These fans are paying too much money as it is!
And Jackson?
Don't park your Mercedes in my spot again!
I'll have to fine you.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Your Beliefs
Your beliefs are fading faster than a speeding bullet.
Quicker than belts can be located between a young man's waist...
And his knees.
Exposing his crack and undies.
Quicker than you can hear an elephant sneeze.
Or apologize for existing.
Your beliefs are fading faster...
Than the vivid colors of your super heros,
Amos and Andy, Step-n Fetchit and Clarabell the Clown.
Your beliefs are fading faster...
Than that identity you have never found!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Union
i wait around for the still small center
from saint to sinner
well which one is it
just who do you think you are
(who do you think you are)
well who did you come to meet here?
is it who i think it is?
i swear to god im gonna kill him
well is it who i think it is?
i always knew it was on purpose
well whats the point if it dont serve its purpose
split up to focus your eyes couldnt swell
your made from distractions so brilliantly dull
well i had a better friend in my worst aqquaintces
than i ever had in either one of you
i never made a scene
well they came to me
i never made a scene (didnt have to)
well they came to me
i didnt have to i didnt have to
well i never made a scene
i didnt have to i didnt have to
i never made a scene...
i always knew to avoid the issue
got me alone so i could adress you
home is where you make it, love
dont get yourself confused
besides whats it to you?
trade in my conscience for your
for your confidence
attack my lungs with laughs to pass the time
make space for a brand new routine
song performed by by Taking Back Sunday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today is one of my saddest days in my life
Today is one of my saddest days in my life.
Summoned for
divorce I rather let a
horse drag me,
feet tide
body dragged around like a ragged doll
hitting thorns with poison tips
feeling the burning posion swimming inside my viens,
to every jump of my
dragged around body, lifeless
Horse dont stop
let this pain
overlap that summon
from hell
Black horse
break this spell
gallop faster run
thru burning hell
run through sharp
rocks after rocks,
let that run be for
miles after miles
of hard terrain
dont stop, huff and puff
faster, and faster,
let your hooves
slip and slid
let every jump and glide
be my last breath of air (life)
for me without her life
is just a crazy sense
of wifeless moments
that will erase
to every bump
to the back of my head
as my head and body drags
black fierce horse from hell
wtih fire red bulging eyes
exploding out
from your sockets yearning, crying,
wanting to reach
that final leap
of that high mountain
cliff
into the umblical hole of hell
poem by Fabian Montes
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Yesterday When I 'Had' Patience
One moment, please.
I think we have a bad connection.
Let me repeat what you just said...
Since I 'know'
I did not hear you clearly.
You expect me,
To tolerate and put up with 'your' nonsense?
To quietly sit and listen to the issues you have,
With your family, their families...
Your neighbors' comments made to you.
And...
My recommendations you dislike.
Because I am not 'sounding' as if I am on your side?
AND when I seek 'your' candid advice...
You find it convenient not to be available,
Because I take up your time?
And you tell me...
I should find less of 'me' in my mind?
Hold up!
I think this connection has crossed the line.
And needs to cease.
If you hear dial tone...
Do not call me back.
From you I am seeking some deep quality peace.
Listen,
Yesterday when I 'had' patience...
And hear this very carefully.
I gave you time and I remember that.
Today I have none!
You have exhausted your free minutes.
And I suggest you kick the cat or 'something'.
But don't bother me.
Find less of 'you' in your mind!
(Click! Conversation over with)
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Stories serve the purpose of consolidating whatever gains people or their leaders have made or imagine they have made in their existing journey thorough the world.
quote by Chinua Achebe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life
Our life is but a mist-
A fast runner in a breath of time-
'Tis a wisp of smoke only temporary...
As transient as yesterdays rhyme;
Our life is just a mere shadow-
For we are here for but a moment more...
We are all strangers-just pilgrims- on a brief journey-
An Earth traveler whos entered through Gods Door;
Its in this brief existance that we find our purpose-
At last-before our moment 'tis but done...
Living and doing Gods purpose for Him-
Successfully completed when final breath-is at last with The Son;
poem by Theodora Onken
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A Jester’s Kingdom
Inflict a wound
Serve a purpose
Do as you’re told
Serve a purpose
Cut the throat
Save a soul
Let’s see who gives a damn
Worlds forgotten
Blinded pathways
Lost soul’s die
Corruption reigns supreme
Religious hypocrites
Ride the crusaders corpses
Inflict a wound
Serve a purpose
Do as you’re told
Make me proud
A jester’s kingdom
Bastards live above
The broken man
Twist his hand
Pay penance
Thy lord commands thee
Murder innocent children
Convert, destroy, convert, destroy
poem by Paul Fisher
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Tossing Out The Childs Toy
They speak of the heart as if it is a child play thing.
Something to throw away when your through.
Like that that secret document, put it in the shredder.
Just make it disappear.
The pain is all in your head.
The emotionless dead.
Those tears that fall are not Niagara, and mean nothing.
They serve a purpose just not what you think it is.
Does lying to yourself make it easier to forgive or be forgiven?
As realities do the beating just remember it's a child toy and you don't really need it anyways.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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A Purpose To Be Validated
I suppose...
As long as there are those
Who are seeking someone
Qualified
To lead them out of darkness...
They will always feel their lives,
Have a meaningful connection
To one another.
With a purpose to be validated!
And the willingness to follow,
Kept undenied.
Since an observation solicited,
Provides a confirmation
That a participation has occurred.
And should be duly noted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Love You
Our worlds are connected by the energy of lightening
The storm we create is powerful and often frightening
When our eyes lock surroundings disappear into vapor
The love I feel for you is real and never subject to taper
On my sad days you create rainbows that are glowing
Changing my aura I instantly feel better and easygoing
When I cry you wrap your arms around me and I'm intact
You are my sun that gives me life and reason matter of fact
With you I have days that are like sunshine and bliss
Everything appears to be perfect and nothing is amiss
I admire your strength and your reasoning every day
The cool you keep and that nothing you say is a one-way
I cherish your patience that I can bounce off playing
And your laugh when I don't understand what you're saying
You stand up solid with rationality purpose and fact
While I'm emotional daydreaming and at times overreact
I have never met anyone that can be so demanding but tender
Never leaving me guessing it's honesty that you render
You know I don't need you but it's myself around you I outdo
I hope that you truly understand that I only love you
poem by Kristina Louisa Carr
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Our Blueprint
Compulsory voting or fifty-dollar fine at tax time,
Shows that this important national issue is not five-and-dime,
And those who refuse to vote or pay, get ten days in jail,
No house arrest allowed, no legal aid, no caution and no bail.
Binding referendums for all Canadians on national options,
Before these options turn into major national problems,
How each politician votes on any issue should be published,
And not carefully moved around and hidden from the public.
Set-date elections every three years and constituents allowed recall,
Death with dignity allowed and no one or group, can forestall,
The Supreme Court, Governor Generals and parole boards elected,
So that defects in our systems can be finally corrected.
poem by James Bredin
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Chaos, Order, Chaos, Beauty And Ugliness...
beauty must a purpose
have, for instance beauty that
gives peace and
harmony to the world,
presumably this world is a world of chaos,
and chaos is wanton
and understood to be messy and
undesirable, makes the mind
to lack the necessary focus
but what is focus for? what is thinking for?
again, you return to purpose
focus must have a purpose
and thinking must have another purpose
but what is the purpose of purpose?
seems that purpose is beauty
and that purpose without beauty is not desirable,
and so on and so forth,
people get so confused, they want order as though order itself is
beauty
as though it is one purpose that we need,
the universe must have an order
a system, every planet orbiting around the sun must have
a purpose
as though they are human beings like us
as though they are us
look at this poem, read it so well,
it has no purpose but to make you think
make you doubt
that perhaps beauty to be beauty must be wanton
and chaotic, which by itself is a reality
and reality is always
beautiful,
it has always a purpose and this is what you think it to be
right now, but is this really so?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fate.
O Thou, who knowest whence we came, and can
Endow a moment with the mood of Man,
When my wan moment like a dream is gone,
Destroy or take me then where I began.
If it be in that moment I have err'd
A thousand times, remember I'm a word
Which Thou hast spoken, and its echoes have
All from Thine own intensity occurr'd.
I am no other than what Thou hast made,
Apprenticed to Thy purpose, like a trade,
I know not why; and if I care or no,
'Tis to Thy purpose, too, how I am paid.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Something Good To Do And Say
Where is the opportunity
To let what 'was' go?
To know that today...
Has more purpose than yesterday.
Right now,
In this moment.
Let us be in 'it' without delay!
Where is the opportunity
To say what was 'is' done?
Nothing gained is more rewarding...
Than to know something fresh has begun!
Beating dead horses and riding slow turtles,
To make a point that will never be won!
Doesn't do a thing when slinging aged mud...
To accomplish an understanding,
Misunderstood.
Let us leave it alone...
Like we should!
Where is the opportunity
To let what 'was' go?
To know that today...
Has more purpose than yesterday.
Right now,
In this moment.
Let us be in 'it' without delay!
Right now,
In this moment...
Help me help us,
Find something good to do and say!
You must be tired,
Like I know I am...
To discover in review,
Nothing 'fresh' or new to be pursued!
And reliving past emotions feed,
A time that is not returning...
We should leave as is and let it be!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Regression Is the Term
Recession?
How about complete retreat,
From telling lies and deception?
Truth?
There is nothing like it!
However...
How is that introduced?
When none of that has ever been exposed!
Who will believe it?
When minds have been overdosed,
And eyes once shown...
Prefer to stay shut and closed!
Recession?
When something has been squeezed,
With nothing else from it to be released?
Regression is the term,
With a valued lesson from it to be learned.
And a life once lived to feed one's greed...
Shall never back to that kind of life
Will one return!
And that has been the diagnosis!
Accept it or not!
Delusions will still remain the choice,
If one should decide on getting a second opinion!
Or a third.
Or perhaps a fourth!
The truth comes without options.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Cinderella Will Return To Her Place…
I was not prepared to admit to depression
and failure to control my reaction to food,
did my duties as noisily as I could, until
sinking down in a swoon all exhausted –
yesterday I thought I could deal with the
consequences of living and eating in style,
undertaking to do my best the very next
day, insisting that life was made for living –
but now I must admit to defeat, even lost
my escape through the mind as my brain
is caving in - therefore Cinderella will return
to her place, her diet that will bring her mind
back – forget about living, your valid criticism
about her poor performance, even missing
the absurdity of Gray’s Anatomy that had
you in stitches; a clear indication that it is
time to do it right, to cut out the hedonism
that enlarges the feet, so that she cannot
wear the glass slippers to go to the ball…
poem by Margaret Alice
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City Of Stone
This City is old,
wrapped in the skin of a
maiden whose time is past.
Abandoned by her ghosts
-fled to the countryside
where graves are tended
and people remember.
The buildings speak, no one
listens anymore. The mortar
has memory and stays true.
The stones have integrity and
stand up until young men come
to build new truths and grind the
stone to dust. They are young
men with purpose searching for
the promise of hope fulfilled and
the end of age.
The old men age with wine. No
longer hungry, they have learned
to be full on the only bread worth
eating. Work holds them firmly in
tow, at anchor in the harbor,
content to miss the Sea.
The women are full of grace
except the young and beautiful,
they are full of lust for the dance
and men to hold their hands,
hands that will cradle dreams
keeping them alive in times
of drought. The women of grace
stand in doorways, lean from windows,
hang washing, pasta and dreams.
The children are lost.
Lost to American dreams.
Lost to music, names and the
promise of hope fulfilled, the
end of age.
America where nothing is old, there is
no memory, everyone has purpose,
grace, bread, wine, and truth is green
water flowing from the rock of Moses.
Around the City water recedes
exposing barren mudflats
where even the clams refuse to dig.
And when the wind shifts
instead of salt air what it carries is sand.
The young men age while they sleep.
Women become keepers of dreams.
Old men disappear into the Sea.
Children fly west to purpose,
hope, truth, bearing the torch
they so eagerly lit.
The City will sleep.
Lie dormant with shallow breath
until Her ghosts return,
She sheds Her skin,
is once more the Maiden of old.
poem by Ronald Shields
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Fading Ou
packing my bags and heading out on my own
making choices that will shape the future days I have to come
and I could choose the easy road but I have to be strong cause
I don't want to spend a lifetime knowing that I've chosen wrong
And it's so bittersweet these decisions I must make
throwing one choice to the wolves for the other one I make
and that itself seems wrong to me cause I am still so young
how can I choose right when my life has just begun
is it so bad to be unsure now woah ooo ooo
age is supposed to clear things up
but my future is fading out
those who are older say my mind should be made up
headed on some path to greatness but I think that's messed up
cause there's so many options and I want to try them all
but now for some strange reason my back's against the wall
and it's so bittersweet these decisions I must make
throwing one choice to the wolves for the other one I make
and that itself seems wrong to me cause I am still so young
how can I choose right when my life has just begun
is it so bad to be unsure now woah ooo ooo
age is supposed to clear things up
but my future is fading out
is it so bad to be unsure now whoa ooo ooo
age is supposed to clear things up
but my future is fading out
is it so bad to be unsure now whoa ooo ooo
age is supposed to clear things up
but my future is fading out
song performed by by Unsung Zeros
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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