Devoted To A Going Through Of The Motions
Is it in the routine shown,
That I believe I am and get favor...
From a 'deity' I wish to impress.
Because of the ritual of the act,
I address as told is expected...
To achieve the best affect.
Or is it my expectation that I receive it,
As I acknowledge my ability to forgive...
To others with proclamations stated,
That I am chosen and highly favored...
Since I am devoted,
To a going through of the motions.
And to do this I am,
With all of the artifacts adorned and attached...
With a flaunting of it to ensure they are seen,
By others familiar with going through the same routine.
And I can redeem myself while passing judgement,
On others anytime I choose and wish.
No matter how artificial the entire process.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
No Mystery Is There
No mystery is there,
When God pays a visit.
Prayers are answered...
For those devoted,
And with faith believe.
The ones who go through the motions...
Are not completely freed.
Doubts scatter about in their minds.
With images perceived.
Messages they get...
Are often discredited and thrown away.
And still they pray to be relieved...
Of miseries carried and/or adorned,
On their sleeves.
And a presence God selects,
To ensure to those faithful...
He is, indeed, near.
Those of conflicting hypocrisies,
Choose not to silence their lips.
Yet quick to close their ears.
No mystery is there,
When God pays a visit.
Prayers are answered...
For those devoted,
And with faith believe.
'Those can not be,
The messages for 'me' to receive.
They come across too intellectual.
And a feeling of suspicion...
Wishes inside of me for them to leave.'
~And you are more familiar with nonsense?
With an acceptance of that and deceit? ~
'No,
I'm not saying that at all.
If God were to contact me...
I would know it in His manner of 'speech'.
Which I 'perceive' is more down to Earth,
Than what I've heard falsely spoken to me.'
~So,
In other words...
You are a selective listener? ~
'I'm just saying...
I know the voice of God when I hear it.
And so far,
The only voices that I've heard,
Are from those folks who think they know me.
They don't know me to tell me what I should do! '
~So why do you pray? ~
'To get answers from God,
Of course.
What a stupid question! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Familiar Routine
Why have I stopped a familiar routine?
I began to notice,
How others became annoyed with it.
Believing I had nothing else to do,
But to offer them my assistance...
As if I had something to prove.
And after eliminating a familiar routine,
As a practice to be involved...
With a contribution of a doing of things,
I decided my own happiness would benefit...
From the more time I now give to it.
With a doing of that I have yet to regret.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Delivered To A Place That Dispenses Wings
Let's not carry on our backs,
Accepted agonies anticipated.
Let's take steps to rid ourselves,
Of those deficiencies...
We were led to believe,
Were birth marks to confirm...
As inspected.
And told they'd be there with us,
For the rest of our lives.
With a tolerance of them...
While others kept us suppressed.
As we continue to solicit,
A disrespecting done of our identities.
There is a need to awaken,
From this mental disease.
Let's not carry on our backs,
Accepted agonies anticipated.
Let's take steps to rid ourselves,
Of those deficiencies...
We were led to believe,
Were birth marks to confirm...
As inspected.
Well...
They are not,
Brandings of birth marks.
They are implications we kept...
With an expectation,
That one day if we stayed praying...
We would be delivered to a place,
That dispenses wings!
Dieing is a process!
Living the gift of life is a determination...
Some have refused to do,
Without the approval of acceptance.
From those sought to impress.
And if anyone has a need to ask,
To live a life that has been divinely given...
A praying done,
Is an unconscious routine.
Much like feeding an expectation,
That does not with 'intention' connect to the 'source'...
Through the doing of the process of living one's life!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What Is It Now Are You Left To Believe?
What sense is it to hold grudges against,
The one who comes to warn?
To then have them depicted as negative,
With a dismissing of the warning?
Only to wonder when alone and reminiscing,
Why were you picked to be chosen to warn?
By and 'angel' who came but was not adorned,
To address you enough to impress with a message.
What is it now are you left to believe?
A listening to comprehend?
When you could have prevented,
An agony suffered with much regret?
And the one who warned you bitterly scorned.
Believing them evil and full of devil-ment?
What is it now are you left to believe?
Only those dressed to impress,
Have your best interests?
With deceptions you'd rather receive?
Or do you find more time to reflect,
Who comes delivering messages...
You should consider and accept.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Men of routine or men who can do what they are told are not hard to find; but men who can think and plan and tell the routine men what to do are very rare.
quote by William Graham Sumner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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FORWARD With Today's Activities
Those that can not adapt to change,
Should not be convinced...
Change for them awaits,
For them to embrace its arrival.
Nor should they be ignored...
In the belief for them there is no option.
When there is.
Everyone should be respected,
For their perceptions.
Deluded or not!
It is democracy in action,
That affects one's comfortability!
And a right to choose from choices.
The ones in stubborn defiance,
Of certain and unquestioned change.
Should not be confronted with argument.
They should be offered a choice to take,
A one way ticket...
Back to a treasured paradise.
Complete with collected artifacts,
Rusted.
Or sit to rock,
Behind windows cleared.
As their lives fade away...
Listening to their own pre-recorded voices.
Looped in repeated opposition to hear.
In rooms closed and sealed.
With meals slid under locked and blocked doors.
Conveniently outfitted to dropp suggestions,
For their preferences...
From a limited list of options given.
And then read and forgotten...
By those assigned to make sure they are observed,
Going through a routine of scheduled motions!
And directed to ensure...
All elements of expectation,
Have been appeased to meet satisfactions.
'Is everyone happy?
Are all the cells scented with favorite mists?
And those who have required licorice,
Placed on folded napkins...
Next to required peppermints,
With their appropriate assortment of condiments...
Are fine?
Great.
There is not one hint of a whine!
Fabulous.
That task gets easier upon daily implementation.
FORWARD with today's activities! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The widows tale
The widows tale
~
He sits down at the local bar
Same old table by the window
Overlooking the river passing by
A pint of the usual half drunk
Sat squarely on the beer mat
He looks around observing the room
Nodding towards familiar faces
Never sure of their names
The little routine he’s known
Reminiscent of so many nights past
There’s a look in his eye telling
Something’s not quite right
A missing companion, loyal friend
Is gone now lost, taken away
The one who shared the laughter
When the conversation filled itself
Who danced to the music with a smile
Now the music just plays out
Memories tainted with each new night
The routine of an old habit
Keeping hold so as not to let go
And slowly growing old
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Inside 'The House
If you are one,
To profess a faith...
Said is deep in God.
But a fear kept and limited,
Daily sits with you...
And warmly visits.
Put yourself on the hypocrite list!
And keep this in mind...
When you discover a scripture,
Delivered quickly from your lips.
Especially one easily remembered.
To find and repeat all the time!
One short and sweet.
And often rhymes.
Anyone with claims,
To have a faith in a 'Spirit'
With awesome power,
To lift their lives from burdens.
And able to gift them with blessings!
Who and what does one like this,
Try to convince?
When 'that' which is The Almighty...
Is constantly aware and listening,
For evidence of it.
Perhaps they view God,
Like many are prone to do.
From a pew on Sunday.
With a routine to follow through!
And name dropping to impress.
Yet being totally disconnected.
But hoping what is expressed...
Gains them an expectation of acceptance.
With quotes, notes and a nod from other folks.
Who like them...
Believe God is listening more intently!
Since they are inside 'the house',
Historically rumored and reported...
God lives in!
And He does not come out!
Or know a thing about them.
Or their pretensions to be...
More than the hypocrites they've been.
And He has known this from the beginning.
Since this they have insisted,
To choose and show to Him.
And even in their confessions,
This Deity remains unimpressed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Convoluted
My thoughts are not convoluted,
To coil in twisted intricate meanings.
With a diluting of the effectiveness,
I expect to achieve by being direct.
If I choose to have an affect.
I have an identity and integrity to protect.
Some prefer to bring their own bushes,
To scatter around themselves in safety nets...
For a thorough beating of them they do.
To become mentally exhausted in the process.
And no challenge for someone,
Who has an expertise in being freed of nonsense.
With a cutting through of hedges to prune.
Overblown and needless,
To perfect the absurdity of their obscure dancing.
I do not convolute my thoughts,
To coil in twisted intricate meanings.
With a diluting of the effectiveness,
I expect to achieve by being direct.
I want to see what is there,
When my patience is not prepared...
For a singing and dance routine.
Especially if it lacks entertaining qualities.
My points I make.
And unafraid to face the consequences.
If someone does not care for the way I sing and dance,
Then they should not be on the dance floor...
Attempting to make allegations with false moves.
My thoughts are not convoluted.
But I can do it if that is what I choose to do,
To clarify one's comprehension...
That may include bits and pieces of a familiarity.
Boosting a mutual understanding to keep pace,
With an established rhythm.
'I'm sorry!
You've lost me.
What are you talking about? '
My thoughts.
Which are 'not' convoluted.
'Oh.
Then maybe I should let go of the music? '
If you wish.
I've come to dance like this all night.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In Separate And Foolish Divisions
Too controlling.
Many set out to prove from birth,
They could and would with a showing of self worth...
Fake to erase the slightest mistakes they've made,
And unmistakably done as they continue to do.
Yet unable to face they are,
Their own flaws well covered and left unpursued.
They were raised,
With an 'look-at-me-see-what-I've-got'...
Mentality.They were raised to think of unity as a curse.
But used as a reaaon to come together,
To rehearse the berating done to others.
With a doing to anyone,
Regardless of how sacred relationships were.
They were raised,
Not to praise one another with encouragement.
Or support or re-enforce their successes.
But instead they had a purpose,
To ensure no one would achieve...
Unless they were the ones perceived,
As deserving of getting attention.
And without mentioning they did everything possible,
To do what they could to get it.
Raised to behave to pass judgement.
Based upon appearances and 'things' claimed owned.
Raised to behave to pass judgement.
As if those that did not condone their point of view,
Were not as blessed to profess they had been 'favored'.
With their 'holier-than-thou' self righteous attitudes,
Obsessed to self absorb and accepted as a right of passage.
And with a flaunting of pretentions they kept to do religiously,
In separate and foolish divisions!
Believing restrictions like this,
Would keep hidden their blemishes...
Out of sight, out of mind and away from a living of life.
And no one can deny the obviousness of their boundaries,
When witnessing the limits their minds have set.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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One travels to run away from routine, that dreadful routine that kills all imagination and all our capacity for enthusiasm.
quote by Ella Maillart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Choose To Heal
I've decided not to be reminded of my griefs.
I've learned that carrying a baggage of sorrows,
Only weighs on my back...
Unhappiness to be left to be repeatedly monitored.
Tears cried as others measured my pain,
On a scale from one to ten...
Are days I've chosen not to live.
Again!
And again.
AND...again without end.
Why should I celebrate my agony,
On a regular basis?
What does doing this for me achieve?
A hatred and bitterness I pray from me will leave?
Or a constant search to seek validation,
How miserable my life lived can be?
NO!
For others that may be so,
To acknowledge without a letting go.
But for me...
My happiness comes with the knowing,
I can forgive.
Not forgot!
My mind wont let me do it.
But make attempts to forgive I can do.
I've decided not to be reminded of my griefs.
I've learned that carrying a baggage of sorrows,
Only weighs on my back...
Unhappiness to be left to be repeatedly monitored.
I choose not to keep my healing wounds,
Left to pick to bleed repeatedly in anger.
I choose with faith,
That God will handle my business.
I choose with faith,
God has my back.
And will correct all that has gone wrong,
To make right for my life.
I choose with faith,
That God will handle my business.
I choose to heal,
Not to relive moments of my agonies.
I already know what it takes to moan.
I already know that process.
I've renewed my commitment to living.
And give my deepest respect,
To those who had experienced...
Untimely deaths.
I've decided not to be reminded of my griefs.
I've learned that carrying a baggage of sorrows,
Only weighs on my back...
Unhappiness to be left to be repeatedly monitored.
I choose not to keep my healing wounds,
Left to pick to bleed repeatedly in anger.
I choose to heal.
Not to be left,
For the rest of my life dropping tears wept.
To spend in the process of mourning.
Riding high on the shoulders of grief.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Regional Conditioning
Scanning one from head to toe,
To deliver an incompleted assessment...
Of another,
Upon an initial meeting...
Is a regional conditioning process.
Instead of greeting someone appropriately...
Some have a need to address one's physicality,
With interest first!
As if preparing for an adoption to take place.
And this head to toe scan is noticed,
To be done by those...
Who should be the last,
To think of passing judgement or eyeballing anyone.
However,
When an indoctrination...
Of a conditioning process has been done,
Its aim is to be thorough and childishly delivered.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Learning to Live My Life
Does that apparatus,
Provide you with a sense of status?
Does the way someone dress,
Immediately impresses you...
To provide that 'image'
You may choose or refuse to select?
With a hope for a beginning,
Of a thirst that does not finish...
From its first taste.
Wishing it not to ever be quenched!
To discover this for you becomes a preferred routine...
Only to get bored with the same familiar scene?
Me too!
However...
I did awaken one day refusing to do,
The expected.
And rejecting to become accepted,
On someone else's terms!
Learning to live my life,
Free to be me.
And finding it cost effective...
With no approval to be earned!
Or emotions left to pamper,
When they've been scorched...
And wounded from a burn!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Screened For Updates
When a lie initially told,
Is supported
With followup addendums...
For clarification purposes.
Does the affect of it,
Become more credible overtime...
Eleminating the cause to pause,
For plausabilities?
Or subjective doubts!
Once it is understood,
As a lie.
In its entirety.
And totally removed,
From the suspicions of reality!
To impact those accustomed to thinking!
Those familiar with the process of thought,
And deductive reasoning!
Now that it is packaged...
And complete in its deceptive content.
Prepared to withstand scrutiny.
And then...
On the other hand,
Should the teller be forgiven,
For not offering an apology
Knowing
That all lies told in the past,
Were not screened for updates...
Prior to their public exposure?
It would seem a savings of time,
And a waste of this mindless logic...
If those responsible for reviewing lies,
Were held accountable for their effectiveness
As they were being check for flaws!
From the very beginning of their creations.
And evaluated based on the believability
Held in sincere eye contact made by the speaker!
The one 'elected' to deliver them...
Without muscle twitches!
Only then can an abundance of lies meet with approval!
And told over and over again...
Generating the expected applause they are given,
By those devoted to every delusion conceivably embraced!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fatcats Are Back
You've been booted so scoot.
Scat.
The fatcats are back.
Adorned with updated,
Sheepskins attached.
And with delivered 'empathy'.
How do you like that?
You've been booted so scoot.
Scat.
The fatcats are back.
We've implemented a blockade,
To ensure your needs...
Will never see the light of day.
And from you they will fade.
Remember getting rid of us,
As we lined our pockets full?
Remember we reeked havoc...
To fool with deceit,
You ate with a lot of 'bull'?
And we watched you laughing,
At attempts to correct.
But you refused to research our activities...
To ensure your backs will never again be attacked.
You've been booted so scoot.
Scat.
The fatcats are back.
Adorned with updated,
Sheepskins attached.
And with delivered 'empathy'.
How do you like that?
Fools.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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For The Rest Of My Life
for the rest of my life
i will take the same routine
home, office, school,
home office, school,
a straight life confined
in a certain space
too confined and too
tight for my soul
and too boring
for my body
home, office, school,
school, home, office,
you ask me if there is
something wrong with
my life? there is nothing
right in it, everything has
always been wrong
and everyday has always
been an attempt to correct
it, but nothing
nothing has fit into it
to cut the routine to
break me from the
chains of everyday
nothing comes and nothing
goes, i think, that is how
it is meant to be,
i think, i simply have
to imagine, make some
figments of stars, and moon
and sun and mountains
and seas and valleys
and castles and princesses
and kings and queens
and too they become routine
too, some poems and stories
some people that do not
actually exist, some imaginary
earth, imaginary creatures
they are all here, in this routine
of imaginations, of poetics
of illusions and allusions,
these lines, my life, these routine
and all my excuses, you and I.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Most of life is routine - dull and grubby, but routine is the momentum that keeps a man going. If you wait for inspiration you'll be standing on the corner after the parade is a mile down the street.
quote by Ben Nicholas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Could Not Love You
There're a billion people in the world
All of them equal but of different worth
I find you to have a value equaled by no other
You are a rare and beautiful flower
But I'm sorry that I could not favor you
And make you the queen of my heart as I should
That instead I chose a different group
And I chose to favor them more than you
To favor a person means that you are two
And I'm sorry that I could not be with you
And a favored another one more fair
Although you are a true queens heir
And amongst a million kings and princesses
You always claimed that you were the fairest
And though your heart is the kindest I knew
I apologies that I could not favor you
And instead I chose to favor another
Not your equal, but not your better
I see a million faces each day but only acquaint with a few
You and I went different ways so I could not favor you
You and I once had our chance but I chose to let it go
You had no fault at all as I made the choice alone
And instead I chose to look for another
And I did favor them more than you
Although in my eyes you are a flower
I'm sorry that I could not be with you
And value you as a queen like I should
But just as I favored another more than you
Another favors you more than any other
And chose to be with you and no-other
poem by Hafeni Nghidinua
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I don't think the process was successful and should be inspected closer. I am not afraid to say I am not familiar with the entire process, so before commenting further I would have to study the process more in depth.
quote by Vincent Frank
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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