Diced, Minced and Splintered
Diced, minced and splintered!
Lives sliced and divided into morsels.
Some endure a splicing...
To increase an appetitizing for survival.
On bitter crumbs sweetened.
And teased to reach for more...
Are those reminded,
They must escape those visions...
Of being amongst the poor!
'Nickeled-and-dimed'
And entwined with needs...
To embellish relished fantasies!
Images received,
From their recently purchased...
And/or leased widescreen TVs.
Feeding how they would greatly advantage,
By having more 'things' in their diminished lives.
To delude a lack of insight,
With an acquired taste for accelerated rampage!
Devoured in greed...
Throughout the day.
And craved in sleepless nights...
With minds engraved.
Mingling with those mentally damaged.
Duped and taxed in seduced acceptance.
Raving about struggles and bargain sales obtained.
So engrossed are they in portrayals of servitude!
They can not perceive themselves betrayed,
In a morality mugged...
And subconsiously maimed,
To stay that way.
An Insanity preferred,
Has been fed and served!
Diced, minced and splintered.
In an upgraded auction.
On carpeted slave blocks...
A 'steal' all must have.
In a form of modern degraded trade!
Assembled to produce a happiness.
With an infectious sickness,
That brings a grieving that leaves them...
Addicted and quite sad!
But these are lives lived.
They believe others wished they had!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
The 'Potato' Poem
I love potatoes chopped up into chunky chips.
I love spicy potato wedges, served up with dips.
I love potato slices which have been fried in a pan:
Of sautéed potatoes, I am the world's biggest fan.
I love potatoes which have been pummelled and bashed
With butter and milk to make a real light, fluffy mash.
Jacket potatoes, I find a bit dry, but with a nice filling
Such as chilli, to give them a try, I am more willing.
With breakfast, I love hash browns or potato cakes,
And I love potatoes mixed up with leeks in a bake.
Crispy, golden potatoes, served up with Sunday roast
Are among the kinds of potato which I love the most.
Mixed in soups and casseroles, I love potatoes diced.
On top on minced beef hotpot, I love potatoes sliced.
Fluffy potato stuffed inside a crispy potato croquette
Is also rather nice, and, for me, it is another safe bet.
I love potatoes cut into crisps: the slices, wafer thin,
And, as a starter, I simply love loaded potato skins:
I do adore a delicious dish of Bombay potato curry:
For me, it is a taste which I won't forget in a hurry.
I like potatoes diced up with creamy mayonnaise,
Served up with salad on really hot summer days.
But I don't like potatoes which have been boiled:
From potatoes, cooked this way, in horror, I recoil.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Images Embedded In Heads Once Fed
The introduction of a feasting on greed,
Will never see a reduction of it mentally.
The feeding of the taste buds HAS been teased.
A scrambling for nuggets of what 'was'
Has too many on their knees,
Pleading for a return to satisfy their yearnings.
And regardless if the cupboards are bare,
Fantasies to replenish them
Even from the pounding on rocks,
From foundations crumbling,
Disturbed by the constant knocking of shocks
Will not stop a determined stubbornness,
That impairs a widening of fixed and restricted visions.
The seeking done of another way,
To restore what no longer exists
Has from minds been dismissed.
Since there are those who can not let go,
Of images embedded in heads once fed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Center of Golden Trinkets
The greatness of this land...
Goes uncelebrated on foreign soil,
Where oil is abundant and sold to enrich...
The lives of those upon land God has chosen,
For 'them' to nourish and enrich themselves!
'May the eyes of the wise open! '
No one can fake an ownership that does not exist.
The consciousness of the Earth will not permit it!
A divineness given has made some minds sick...
With a wicked self centeredness that is going to be punished.
'May the eyes of the wise open! '
Integrity kept was not swept away by the feeding of greed.
It stay and wanted to share resources.
Forces proceeded to addict a mindset to things.
Increasing the need to fill empty spaces with waste.
And the luxury of bad taste.
With the acceptance of disrespect.
As well as a lack of discipline...
And that which is connected.
'May the eyes of the wise open! '
Dishonesty became the treason of pride.
Not too many hid that they lied to get what they wished...
And did.
What.
They.
Wanted to do!
Dishonesty became the treason of pride.
Not too many hid that they lied to get what they wished...
And did.
What.
They.
Wanted to do!
Integrity kept was not swept away by the feeding of greed.
In fact...
Any who had any of that left,
Wept!
And helplessly stood by to watch their country bleed.
Dishonesty became the treason of pride.
Not too many hid that they lied to get what they wished...
And did.
What.
They.
Wanted to do!
'May the eyes of the wise open! '
The greatness of this land...
Goes uncelebrated on foreign soil,
Where oil is abundant and sold to enrich...
The lives of those upon land God has chosen,
For 'them' to nourish and enrich themselves!
But others too impatient to wait for God's command...
Believed they only had to steal to find themselves the chosen.
To find themselves the center of golden trinkets to adorn,
And distract!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Centerstage
Embellishments were the rage and was craved,
By them.
Their lives depended on their use.
Especially in recreating moments of reality.
And where they were when events took place.
And who did what as they relished being there!
While entertaining the lack of facts,
Dances upon their exaggerating faces.
They would never call what they do lieing!
Or misrepresenting the truth.
No! Not these troupers.
Remnants of reality,
Mixed with sweetened tweaks to flourish...
Is the best way to describe their 'romanticized' lives.
With their actual participation left undebated!
Since anyone listening would not know what to believe!
And those getting the attention,
Loved being centerstage!
This was a behavior encouraged...
By those seeking to be amused!
Why pay for the 'bow' when it can be had for free?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Observing Their Choices Made
With eyes opened wide they've made choices,
Throughout their lives.
Believing they obtained stability...
In a world in which their values were compromised.
Now with a realization they've been undermined...
They find they have left their true identities,
Materialized and dignitized to secure in time...
A retirement to enjoy as is meant.
But...
Diminished these visions.
And very much quantitively minimized.
And those criticized for walking on paths,
That made others laughed perceiving them mavericks.
Find they have attitudes of joyous moods.
With a kept faith connected to their fates.
With eyes opened wide they've made choices,
Throughout their lives.
Believing they obtained stability...
In a world in which their values were compromised.
Speeding and slipping quickly in a downslide,
No longer do those who had pass judgement...
Feel secure about their lives.
Today there is an emptiness felt within them.
And...
With an addicted attraction to those things symbolized,
All their lives...
But witnessed today repossessed.
They stare in disbelief,
At the erasing done to their progress.
Along with remnants of any happiness,
That was saved with intentions to spend if left.
With eyes opened wide they've made choices,
Throughout their lives.
Believing they obtained stability...
In a world in which their values were compromised.
And they had been the ones to joke and laugh.
Awakening to discover they've been reduced,
To picking through someone's garbage and trash!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fake and Hollow Platitudes
All of their lives,
They have been addicted to lies.
The truth is despised.
Along with those who tell it.
But even their fantasies...
Once leased,
With credit extended.
Have many attending church these days,
Praying to God...
To keep their sweetened delusions alive.
But still they try to persuade God...
They are of true faith.
As if God is flattered,
By fake and hollow platitudes.
As if God is there to be abused...
By a show of their empty praises.
As if God is a creation...
Of their Wall Street wishes,
And its fluctuations.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Those 'New To Discover Life' People
Often I am amused by those...
'New To Discover Life' people.
Either they have been rehabiliated in prision.
Or a brick wall they have run into most of their lives,
Suddenly provided them with insight.
Reconditioned to mingle about,
In today's dysfunctional society...
Has instilled within their minds certain beliefs,
That everyone they pass along city streets...
Needs someone who has been recently 'released',
To provide them with guidance and moral comfort.
Often I am amused by those...
'New To Discover Life' people.
Either they have been rehabiliated in prison.
Or a brick wall they have run into most of their lives,
Suddenly provided them with insight.
And those who face and battle their struggles,
On a daily basis...
Without sitting in a cell or running into bricks,
Have been deluded by their lives lived in reality.
And they sit with wishes wanting to hear...
Fables from an ex-con,
Who made choices to live life quick.
And still seeks to live as easy as possible.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This Addicted Feeding of Spoiled Greed
Change for many is unbearable.
It is feared.
A life known lived,
In accepted stagnation...
With those corrupted leading the degradation,
Is familiar and preferred.
A slower decline into devastation...
For those who distrust truth,
Is heard and followed until this is allowed,
And occurs within the minds of those 'conservative'.
With delusions again winning like a surging herd,
Over common sense entrapped without defense.
People miss and hunger for...
Their sweetened fantasies.
Although it has been stated more and more,
The economy can no longer support,
This addicted feeding of spoiled greed...
That has depleted all vision of demanding sensibilities.
Who are the 'centrists' against 'liberalists'?
With their wishes...
For a return to cobbled streets!
And a dimming of consciousness.
Wanting more to be free to live selfishly!
Even if it means to do it in total darkness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Butcher
There has been a butcher at my heart
I have been cut, severed and served
Diced up to a presentation
The mince of my forlorn desire
Left sitting in a bowl to waste
A consumption to indigestion
A poison to the pallet of love
The colour or romance blood red
Cut out drained away
There has been a butcher at my heart
Splicing, stabbing, hacking away
No delicate cuts to present
The back table offerings
Usually kept for the dogs
Is this all my heart has to offer
A bargain counter deal
On left over’s
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Tease My Appetite
If I lied about knowing love.
In your mind would I increase,
In value?
Would I be someone you might chase,
To teach.
Tease my appetite,
With a taste of your peach?
Or would you offer me tomatoes...
From your garden.
With each piece sliced, diced and spiced
To please.
Or would you have me on my knees...
To taste cream you wish me to whip,
Into cheese you would prefer I lick!
I so want to know about love!
And how...
After testing,
I could rest upon your nest!
Your melons are wonderful.
And that onion of yours...
Smells nice and fresh!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Addicted To Struggling
Who knows what's being said to folks,
When opportunities are taken...
To exaggerate realities.
Who's mind has been manipulated to believe,
What 'is' isn't?
And that which isn't has been exploited to perceive.
And the rise of confusion.
Began with an absence of facts.
What one assumes,
Lives.
And realities are attcked!
Morning, noon and night.
Minds are addicted,
To struggling.
As the rise of confusion,
Begins with an absence of facts.
What one has assumed,
Lives.
And realities are attcked!
Morning, noon and night.
Minds addicted,
Sit in struggles.
Who knows what's being said to folks,
When opportunities are taken...
To exaggerate realities.
Who's mind has been manipulated to believe,
What 'is' isn't?
And that which isn't has been exploited to perceive.
And the rise of confusion.
Began with an absence of facts.
What one assumes,
Lives.
And realities are attcked!
Morning, noon and night.
Minds are addicted,
To struggling.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Drugged on Status and the Superficialness of Looks
They've accepted themselves as worthless.
Giving in to subservience,
To flourish a form of obedience...
Only a blinded leech would love!
Drugged on status and the superficialness of looks.
Giving themselves over to bad diets without insight...
With a lack of discipline,
That now has caught up to each one of them!
Addicted to worshipping false gods and 'things'.
Believing confessing 'sins' will produce for them wings.
Distorted by their own reflections,
They believe their neighbors envy!
And sickened by myths...
To limit the lives God has blessed them with,
They sit reduced to produce their own sorrows in ignorance!
They've accepted themselves as worthless.
Giving in to subservience,
To flourish a form of obedience...
Only a blinded leech would love!
And none could care less,
How to spell 'shallow' or address it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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They Can Not Live Without That Fix
MONEY
MONEY
MONEY
Less is the significance.
And the importance,
Of one's quality of life.
Once the having of money,
And the affect of it...
Became the impression,
One wanted to make.
To flaunt and have it,
And from their pockets drip!
MONEY
MONEY
MONEY
And the satisfaction teased,
Would increase with a taste...
For more of it.
Until those not having it,
Were quickly despised.
And with character assassinations...
There became a rise of ruined lives,
With deciet, lies and alibis!
MONEY
MONEY
MONEY
Drifting in mental fits,
Are those today being weened away from it.
Crazed in protests...
With voices raised demanding,
And with their minds splitting into pieces!
A feeding of greed has done this.
At the expense of their consciousness!
MONEY
MONEY
MONEY
And just like addicts!
They can not live without that fix!
MONEY
MONEY
MONEY
They want yours and mine!
And anything that looks like it!
MONEY
MONEY
MONEY
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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None of Them Have Men In Their Lives
None of them have men in their lives.
The boys that were raised...
Stayed boys.
Encouraged to do what boys do.
To go outside and play.
Games they would do all day.
None of them have men in their lives.
They were taught to criticize the ones that tried.
They would mock their attempts.
To convince the efforts made...
Were not up to par.
And less than grade A.
Leaving children to be raised by women...
To degrade any man that came their way!
None of them have men in their lives.
Because they do not recognize what one is.
They seek an image...
Portrayed by society.
And they wait for society to create for them...
Men that society has diminished,
With false images.
And none of them will ever find,
A man who can duck bullets and flies!
Or escape criticism...
For the things he does and tries.
There will never be a man,
To be who he is in their eyes.
They have all been lied to!
And that's why...
None of them have men in their lives!
Not even the boys who too seek men...
To show the women they have found at least one.
One that had a mind...
And did no prison time!
Or played games,
Like boys who grow up to look like men do!
None of them have men in their lives.
Since the ones who know they are,
Men.
Have chosen not to have anything to do with them.
Believing they are just as rare as true women.
So...
They fly alone solo!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fussy About Food
I’ve always been really fussy about what I eat,
But I’ll tolerate most foods, if the cook cheats!
It really depends on how a food has been cooked,
Whether or not, it has a place in my good books.
Examples of my some of my most hated foods,
Are sliced roast beef and apples that are stewed.
I’ll eat beef that’s been minced up into a pie,
And apples diced into a crumble are also fine.
Fresh coriander leaves, I definitely will not touch,
But cooked in a curry, I don’t mind them so much.
On potatoes that have been boiled, I’m not that keen,
But eating mashed potato or chips, I can be often seen.
Egg and cress sandwiches, by me, are never approached,
But I love eggs that are hard boiled, fried or even poached.
I dislike the taste of carrots that have been picked fresh,
But with the taste of tinned carrots, I’m really impressed.
I’m not so keen on either petit pois or garden peas,
But with the taste of mushy peas, I’m very pleased.
In pies and pasties, I hate to have a filling of cheese,
But I’ll devour a slice of cheese on toast with ease.
I’ve been a fussy eater pretty much all of my life,
And, caused my mother much trouble and strife.
When I was small, I often left much of my dinner.
My mum often worried that I would get thinner.
Like many other children, my main course
Often ended up, smeared with tomato sauce.
The enjoyment of a meal, this often improved,
And frayed tempers were also often soothed.
If there was a certain food, which I did really hate,
My mum would still insist putting it upon my plate.
Even with it on my plate, I still didn’t like the taste,
So that particular food would inevitably go to waste.
As I’ve got older, I’ve acquired an improved appetite,
Much to my mother’s extreme relief, and total delight.
Now, as an adult, my dinner plate is often cleaned,
And, hardly ever is a single morsel left, to be seen.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Neutered Boots
Neutered Boots,
Looked at me as if I knew...
The agony of losing,
Jewels once cherished.
Like a bonding of a maleness,
Had been sliced and diced.
And I was petting him gently...
Just trying to be nice.
But Boots had never been kneed,
In the groin.
Or have an affection wished dismissed,
By someone close Boots had lived with.
Boots is a kitten!
He'll get over it.
However...
Not too many other cats,
Will come to appreciate...
Where Boots is at.
And Boots will have to learn that...
On his own!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Collection Sessions
Bring back my fantasies.
You can't take those from me!
I was born to believe in them.
Don't confuse the issue...
By introducing,
A reality that I refuse.
Bring back my fantasies.
Don't remove those concepts...
Or those needs.
I was raised to accept philosophies.
Based on beliefs,
My worth was purchased...
Financed, mortgaged and taxed
With a long term lease.
I was raised to have 'things' and things I wish.
Now I'm told none of this may soon exist?
Is this a joke?
Is there a punchline with it?
If there is I just don't get it!
But I have a degree to do what I please?
All my life,
I've been teased to acquire these!
As a remedy to obtain a life of ease.
And now your saying,
My piece of pie is denied?
And it has 'moments' left before it leaves?
Who put you up to this?
To lie to me?
Bring back my fantasies.
You can't take those from me!
I was born to believe in them.
Don't confuse the issue...
By introducing,
A reality that I refuse.
What will my neighbors think?
If I show nothing that I've gained?
With repossessions I face.
And everything to lose...
Except for my shame!
In collection sessions?
My life wasn't lived for that goal to aim!
Bring back my fantasies.
Why are you torturing only me?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Aging Of Entitlements
The aging of entitlements,
Has created a deep hole...
For those who perceive,
Their lives are compared...
To those of royal thieves.
They want to continue to believe,
They are deserving to stand tall...
On the backs of the poor.
As a cementing of doors...
Prevents them to advance.
The aging of entitlements,
Has created a deep hole...
For those who perceive,
Their lives are compared...
To those of royal thieves.
As the throwing of trinkets to appease the needy,
Is treated as if good deeds are done...
By the ones who welcome their blood ties.
To a history of gluttonous feeding of selfish greed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Much More Than Fluff
Because it is made to look easy...
People think it is!
Whatever it is one does,
And enjoys getting done.
Not a dropp of blood, sweat or a tear,
Is connected to what one does...
That seems to instantly appear.
And others perceive...
If it is done like that,
There can not be sweat...
Dripping off one's back!
So they stand on the sidelines...
To either admire or attack.
And the more productive one is,
At what one does...
Of course,
They must live lives carefree and breezy,
Correct?
One would suspect.
Not a life in the 'fields'...
Working harder than a horse!
However...
No one knows how long,
One toilfully struggles on.
Perhaps days and nights...
Without one wink of sleep in 'sight'!
This would ruin images!
But this is not the view that is chosen,
When someone selects...
Another to dissect!
Nor would they accept,
One working hard to produce their best.
This would ruin images!
They would rather pass judgements.
And compare what it is 'they' do!
To make that appear more tough and rough!
But what appears to be simple....
May take much more than fluff,
To produce the stuff!
Then make public appearances,
To further mystify...
Those who qualify images!
Producing a 'pleasantness'.
With a social accepted grace!
And 'that' may be the most difficult thing,
One works harder to create.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Destiny Of Our Lives
When the life blossoms
Destiny engraved in our lives
When virtue and vice sway to and fro
Energized and driven by supernatural forces
When we are grown up
Our lives started to face challenges
When we encounter distress
Our lives impregnated with tears and worries
That is the destiny of our lives.......
Sometimes our lives tinged and
Embroilled with joys and sorrows
Destiny inflicting poison and evil into our lives
Destiny can make or mar our lives
Destiny inspires our lives to prosperity
It can perish our prospects
Fortune and fate tossing each other
End of lives salunated with blessings
Dulakshi Wakista Copyright 2009
poem by Dulakshi Wakista
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