Cakewalk
I admit my life has been a cakewalk.
And every beating I've endured,
That has scraped my knees...
As I fell to awaiting pavement,
And knocking my head against obstacles...
I can say today,
After experiencing the heat of it...
And tasting every bit of the mixture made,
I have grown to enjoy in my progressing years...
The addition of the delicious frosting I did not expect.
After developing my patience and eliminating regrets.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Just As Delicious Tomorrow
This is going to be just as delicious tomorrow,
As it is right now,
Today.
Taste buds remain favored to basic flavors.
Like a kiss from a good kisser is always missed.
It can be substituted in a solution that delutes.
But the real thing is reminisced.
This is going to be just as delicious tomorrow,
As it is right now,
Today.
When I whip up something to treat,
Your satisfaction I wish to guarantee.
And if it does not deliver what I expect you should accept...
I am the one who weeps the tears.
That's how much I want you,
To enjoy what I do!
This is going to be just as delicious tomorrow,
As it is right now,
Today.
That's how much I want you,
To enjoy what I do!
Now.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To Trip and Stumble
It matters not to me,
Where you believe I come from.
Or where my next steps are placed,
On a path I take...
Through a host of judgements passed,
To trip and stumble to the ground...
With only my pride and integrity to grasp.
I am the first one to admit,
I have no wish to be perfect.
Or rush to conceal mistakes I have made.
My faith is much too strong,
Than anyone's critique focused on my wrongs.
As I am observed standing tall once again,
After experiencing scraped knees to expose I can grin.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Temporary Guests
Many believe and perceive,
Their beliefs are to keep...
Durable as if in concrete.
To stay frozen...
And remain intact.
No matter where the times are.
With a progressing to leave,
Nonbelievers in their tracks kept back.
And with unsatisfying results,
Their limited visions are insults...
To those who have run out of patience,
And empathy for those stuck...
In ruts others have given up.
To moved on with an accepting of facts.
Or wish to do so.
Without a feeling of remorse,
To sever the ties from the ones...
Who can not seem to live their lives in stages,
On this Earth.
Or can not divorce themselves from craving,
A taste for an exclusive foreverness...
Selected for a few to feed and greed.
This,
Reality...
That has a beginning which advances to an end,
Many can not accept,
Themselves as temporary guests.
But dictators to infest a manifesting of regression.
So hopeless are those with this mindset.
Seeking with a beating of their own regrets.
So hopeless are those with this mindset.
Seeking with a beating of their own regrets.
And, so hopeless are those with this mindset.
Not understanding they are here as temporary guests.
Seeking with a beating of their own regrets.
So hopeless are those with this mindset.
Seeking with a beating of their own regrets.
And, so hopeless are those with this mindset.
Not understanding they are here as temporary guests.
So hopeless are those with this mindset.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Accustomed To Opposition
I've grown accustomed to opposition.
As well as foolish maneuvers.
And those who object to those positions I have taken.
Nor will I apologize with regrets for those forward steps,
I chose to make that tested my faith.
And admit I do,
To the making of mistakes!
But obstacles and the fear of them,
I could not allow to slow my pace.
And those who choose to procrastinate,
With a hesitating done?
Well...
I perceive as being committed to wasting time.
And time as we live it as lived is not guaranteed to anyone,
To just sit back to see it come to leave.
I've grown accustomed to opposition.
But you know what?
I am here to participate and experience my life.
What others choose with a priority to do with their own,
I refuse to let their choices made get in my way.
I am not prone to the seeking of acceptance.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Am The Only One With THESE Keys
The first question I would ask,
Of anyone expressing a wish to drive...
Through life without dues to pay.
With only desire in their eyes.
And a request from me to give them my keys,
Is this...
What makes anyone think I will turn over keys,
To something I have earned...
Because the doing of it I have made to look easy?
I've got to witness some sweat with labor done first.
With initiative that has been prioritized.
Life is not a cakewalk...
To choose what frosting to taste to then decide.
'You are not the only one with keys.'
That's true.
But guess what?
I am the only one with THESE keys.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Kicked A Dog To Death
When that hound
Came around
The first time
It was wagging its tail
We were all smiles
We were all smitten
No one could know
I'd kick the dog to death
Oh when we lay out on the beach
Burning in the sun
The wind playing tricks
On the heat we thought we felt
Another of nature's illusions
There was no way of knowing
There was no way to guess
I'd kick that dog to death
I made a joke
You made a mess
And we both lay in bed
Eyes wide and hearts beating
Trying to focus my thoughts
You were trying to focus your thoughts
But we would have never thought
I'd kick a dog to death
I was living
You were living
We were breathing
Like it was all we knew to do
You were staring
My mind was snapping
Like it was all I knew to do
The dog was barking
The day descending
Like it was all it knew to do
I heard it growling
I heard you screaming
And my body answered the moment
And I kicked a dog to death
In those slow beating moments
Right there on the pavement
All the sounds of the world faded out
The contrast of the colours increased
You were on mute in my head
But you were saying something
Over and over
On mute in my head
As the dog lay there dead
I was living
You were living
We were breathing
Like it was all we knew to do
The dog was bleeding
The pavement darkening
Like it was all it knew to do
The sound slowly came back
The colours returned
Like it was all they knew to do
Waking that morning
We could never have known
We would never have guessed
I'd kick a dog to death
The moments before it
All erased
The years before it
All erased
When I kicked a dog to death
Like it was all I knew to do...
(2008)
poem by B. Alexander
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Wondring Aloud
Wondring aloud --
How we feel today.
Last night sipped the sunset --
My hands in her hair.
We are our own saviours
As we start both our hearts beating life
Into each other.
Wondring aloud --
Will the years treat us well.
As she floats in the kitchen,
Im tasting the smell
Of toast as the butter runs.
Then she comes, spilling crumbs on the bed
And I shake my head.
And its only the giving
That makes you what you are.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All it is I’d give for her Summer to be mine
Black and white stripes rule the torso of her design,
As skin tight denim rides the contours of her thighs,
All it is I’d give for her summer to be mine
For her winter to be concealed within the sky,
Awaiting the child high from herbs to get up off the curb melting, Awaiting emotion to be felt in the movement.
Awaiting descent into Madness’ palms, knowing she’ll keep
Her calm in the heat of passion, riding as though it were the fashion to
Dash the dreams of lovers young as they lie upon the pavement.
poem by David Lacey
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Fix Your Own Wreckage
You fix your own wreckage.
I have lost all patience to assist.
When I determined I would face obstacles,
Alone on my path is how I did it.
Even those who knew my struggles,
Did not trouble themselves to be curious.
Nor when they witnessed my crawling on knees,
To me not one expressed concern or interest.
You fix your own wreckage.
I have lost all patience to assist.
When I determined I would face obstacles,
Alone on my path is how I did it.
Call me selfish!
Call me whatever you please.
But nowhere around were you...
When a healing began with a kept faith within me.
You fix your own wreckage.
And make 'that' your opportunity,
To appreciate your life...
With a making of less excuses done so easily.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sixty - Two
At Sixty – Two I look towards my Future,
At Sixty – Two I look back on my Past,
Good advice was given, but I did not take it,
And now with regrets, downwards I am cast.
Why do we not listen to our Elders?
Why do we think that we know better still?
If we did just acknowledge their wisdom,
We’d live our Life according to HIS Will.
With hindsight I’d be a better person,
A comfortable Life I would now enjoy,
Retirement would be on the Horizon,
With trips to places as far as Hanoi.
But at Sixty – Two my World just fell apart,
One disaster followed the one that came before,
I now must pick up the pieces,
To stop the bailiffs knocking at my door.
I wish I had listened to my Elders,
I wish the right decisions I had made,
But now I know the road ahead isn’t easy,
If in the future I am to make the grade.
© Jonathan Goldman [JGthepoet] - 9 May 2006
poem by Jonathan Goldman a.k.a JGthepoet
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Black Bruises IV
I can gorge the vile blackness,
the eviscerated acquiescence
like a dog-eats-dog carnival
I can endure the struggle
tasting blotted inks,
tasting cheap champagnes,
tasting one's molting skin,
tasting a chance to begin,
tasting cold greasy dishes,
tasting stark carnal sin,
tasting tar and nicotine,
tasting saline misery,
but am I the only one tasting
these black bruised savors?
poem by Norman Santos
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I Wished Upon My Life Today
I wished upon my life today
I wean upon my life today
I bet upon my life today
I borrowed upon my life today
I feasted upon my life today
I fell upon my life today
I paid upon my life today
I plead upon my life today
I frowned upon my life today
I flew upon my life today
I smoked upon my life today
I shitted upon my life today
I pissed upon my life today
I pass upon my life today
I sneezed upon my life today
I sneaked upon my life today
I asked upon my life today
I ate upon my life today
I wept upon my life today
I won upon my life today.
I prayed upon my life today.
poem by David E. Patton
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A Suffering Endured Has Ended
After many years,
A suffering endured has ended.
And you expect my empathetic participation,
With yours?
I don't think so!
I managed to jump through hoops,
To become cured.
And you complain when it rains.
Or from the sight of it,
Inside the comfort of your shelter.
My healing had occurred when fully exposed.
With challenges and obstacles still to overcome.
Only God once allowed can undo what has been done!
And that I discovered after having my own one on one.
In a reality I will describe,
As not being scipted...
For my enjoyment nor for my fun.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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With Their Doings Done
Some feel free to be sadistic,
With doings done.
And the having of fun.
Idealistic realists,
With doings done.
And a wanting of truth to appear and come.
And they who are minimalists,
Try to reduce materialistic wishes...
With doings undone seeking to do.
Some feel free to be sadistic,
With doings done.
And the having of fun.
Idealistic realists,
With doings done.
And a wanting of truth to appear and come
And they who are minimalists,
Try to reduce materialistic wishes...
With doings undone seeking to do.
Many have slowed their paces...
With their doings done.
Doings done.
Eliminating their rat races...
With their doings done.
Doings done.
And celebrating tasting life...
As if a piece of cake,
To savor.
Many have slowed their paces...
With their doings done.
Doings done.
Eliminating their rat races...
With their doings done.
Doings done.
And celebrating tasting life...
As if a piece of cake,
To savor.
Many have slowed their paces,
With a tasting of life to savor.
Many have slowed their paces,
With a tasting of life to savor.
Many have slowed their paces,
With a tasting of life to savor.
Many have slowed their paces,
With their doings done.
Doings done.
Many have slowed their paces,
With their doings done.
Many have slowed their paces,
With a tasting of life to savor...
And with their doings done.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Was Made To Feel Different In My Younger Years
I remember sitting in the corners of shadows.
Wishing to be invisible,
After making attempts to disappear.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
My voice was deep at the age of twelve.
And my knees knocked.
I was aware I walked pigeon toed.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
People were quick to critique me then.
When they would laugh at me.
I laughed right back at them to hide and cry alone.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
I grew wiser before I aged.
And years it would take for me to learn to forgive.
But I did with a doing successfully.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Perceptive, empathetic and sometimes distant.
Removed from anguish I knew others felt.
Yet today I might sit with periodic embitterness.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
I've learned to use my talents and gifts,
To lift me beyond any loneliness that visited.
And with slow and painful steps I grew to improve.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
And when I self examine to reflect...
So happy I am to have held on to my patience,
With a giving to others a respect regardless...
If little of it was shown to me,
When I was growing to bloom.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Hungering then to be accepted.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Hungering then not to be neglected.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Suggested
Today...
It is not appropriate to be honest.
Or imply it in retrospect.
We live in times
In which truth is deluded,
With a mixture of suggestions...
Followed by denials confessed!
Suggested is our need for patience...
To allow inconsistency to cease.
Suggested is a resistance...
To want a stop to fighting,
That only increases the movement of the weak.
Suggested is a greatness kept,
By the spilling of blood and sorrows wept.
Suggested is we maintain,
A mental stressing drain!
To keep thieves looting resources...
And driving those of consciousness,
Further into an abyss!
Today...
It is not appropriate to be honest.
Or imply it in retrospect.
We live in times
In which truth is deluded,
With a mixture of suggestions...
Followed by denials confessed!
And deeper with resolutions,
Providing an absence of thoughtful solutions...
Are those who lead pleading,
We can succeed by sheer request!
And that's all they are suggesting we do...
As those who view ahead of us coming,
A deadend awaiting with an awarded mess!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Miss Otis Regrets
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today, madam,
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
She is sorry to be delayed,
But last evening down in lover's lane she strayed, madam,
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
When she woke up and found that her dream of love was gone, madam,
She ran to the man who had led her so far astray,
And from under her velvet gown,
She drew a gun and shot her love down, madam,
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
When the mob came and got her and dragged her from the jail, madam,
They strung her upon the old willow across the way,
And the moment before she died,
She lifted up her lovely head and cried, madam......
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bouts With Hard Knocks
I wish I did awaken to become intelligent and wise.
As if a crawling on my knees and facing emotional turmoil,
Would have been prevented.
And those experiences did not attached themselves,
To a mind in a head addicted to hitting against walls.
Or fists hitting up against bricks,
And having bouts with hard knocks.
If 'only' I knew I was intelligent and wise,
My life would have been a lot easier.
And I would not have been left so scarred...
Damaged and a bit bruised,
But on the road to recovery with patience and years...
Under my belt.
Or in my head!
Wherever that patience I keep treasured is.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Miss Piggy regrets..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
That tastelessly named flu’s got her
(She forgot to wash her front trotter…) so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
It’s a swine of a stroke of bad luck:
Her eyelashes, she sneezed them unstuck… so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today…
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today, madam..
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today:
She’s all pink from her snout to her face;
Her mascara’s all over the place… so
Miss Piggy regrets she’s unable to lunch today..
Why not try the lamb today, madam…?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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You look at the fact that for millions of years species on earth have been developing and we've been knocking them off at like a hundred a day.
quote by Jon Fishman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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