Do We Listen? Do We Learn? Do We Grow? No!
A grief recycled to produce an effectiveness...
Is the same grief experienced,
By a connection that affects us all.
No one is insensitive to devastation and sorrow.
And those who pretend they are,
Only fool themselves.
No one is 'that' distant from feeling 'some' empathy.
Mother Nature is not going to prepare us,
With a scheduling of events.
God has already warned us to obey,
When leaving us to follow the Ten Commandments.
But...
Do we listen?
Do we learn?
Do we grow?
No!
Do we demand and insist,
Others know our discomforts?
The second 'that' lollipop is removed,
From our mouths.
We are prepared to vocalize,
With our petty complaints immediately.
No matter who is inconvenienced,
By our spoiled tantrum fits we are quick to throw!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Breaking Of The Dam
silence is the dam,
grief rains nights
lament screams
the dam breaks out
unable to hold
further the weight
of grief
those that listen
and do not do anything
down the plains
must now know what is
extreme pain
what is sorrow
what is unbearable
your flood shall take
some of those who had always
been insensitive.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Soothing Effectiveness
First to drug and addict.
Making them, their thoughts
And their minds worthless.
Obsessed are the wicked,
With control and dominance.
Everything done to produce seduction,
Is purposely decadent...
To rule a planet,
That has chosen them to shun!
With mysterious suspense.
In disbelief this Earth is not alive.
With the Sun and Moon as its balanced 'guides'.
Manipulating humans try to survive and thrive,
With conflicts and deceit...
Perpetuated by religious defeats.
As warned by a God perceived to be...
Their 'genie' in a bottle...a 'He' and not 'She'.
Ready to pop a cork on demand!
How self righteous is this arrogant stance?
And yet,
Everything Mother Nature does...
Those of barbaric minds,
Do not get!
Or after suddenly upsetting...
Scientific forces set!
Quickly removing the affects.
With a soothing effectiveness...
That schmoozes with a coolness all accepts.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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House Hunting for M lady Ann Beard
Some houses seem to welcome you.
You feel at ease immediately.
It is if the walls recall
What happened here and store it all.
The triumphs and the tragedies
Firm memories of past events
Have been recorded faithfully
Each and every incident.
If you are at all sensitive
You tune into the ambience,
the positive and negative.
Impinge somehow so you can sense.
That something dreadful happened here
It may be faint it may be strong
but it affects the atmosphere.
You know at once this house is wrong
You’re certain that it will not do.
You have no doubt, no doubt at all
You know the house is telling you
it has no choice it must recall
All the unpleasant memories
which it has stored so faithfully.
For decades perhaps centuries.
You choose to leave immediately.
The next house which you choose to view
affects you in a different way.
It seems prepared to welcome you.
You can decide without delay
It is not hard to make the choice
This is the house that you will buy
You listen to that house’s voice
because you know it cannot lie.
You go ahead complete the deal
prepare to move in right away
You are content because you feel
that everything has gone your way.
You know that it was meant to be
It’s all that you were looking for.
This house responds positively
You need not look at any more.
21/07/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Hope in Heaven's Day
Grief be mine, I ask you so,
If not for you, I wouldn't know,
How life once was and then be still,
How so precious, that death do steal.
Because that grief, won't go away,
Learn to let it have its way.
The link to love, a precious one,
Is met with grief and still not done.
The days do come, and nights do go,
Grief will stay as time is so.
And so a loved one passes on,
And grief comes in and carries on.
Does grief get better, I will ask,
It's hard to say, while at its task.
There is grief to help us cope,
There is God to give us hope.
Grief will surely go away,
On that glorious heaven's day.
But while its here, there's just one thing,
Pray our Lord, for peace he'll bring.
poem by Arlene Dery
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Where Nature She Loses Her Temper
The dead are past all cares and sorrows the survivors their life's dreams destroyed
'Tis said that in Nature's moment of anger in Kashmir that thousands of people have died
She leaves behind grief and desolation great buildings toppled to the ground
Where Nature she loses her temper death and destruction to be found.
For our disrespect to Mother Nature there has to be some price to pay
When she flies into fits of anger she flattens everything in her way
Her latest earthquake in Asia proves how destructive she can be
Yet us humans are her benefactors since she feeds all of humanity.
We abuse our marvellous Mother Nature when we pollute her land, rivers and sea
Yet without her we would quickly die of thirst and hunger and none quite so generous as she
And despite her odd fits of bad temper to Humankind she is a friend
And her moods are so very natural since she is not one to pretend.
The dead they are now past all feelings from all cares and sorrows they are gone
And the survivors head for refugee camps and life on the Planet goes on
Where Nature she loses her temper destruction and sorrow are rife
And buildings like pancakes are flattened and there is a huge loss of life.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Quick
Quick to dismiss,
That which is misunderstood.
And quick to do this often.
Because one can and could.
Quick to define something wrong.
Quick to complain about it,
All day long.
Quick to sit to nitpick and pull apart.
As if this quickness was intended from the start.
Quick to resist a comprehension that exist.
Quick to allow a temper tantrum fit.
Quick to whip up excuses...
And split to disappear.
Quick to discover the nearest exit!
That's what troublemakers do...
When they stir up others in raging fits!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Small Mourning Pieces
No time to prepare
Shoved over cliff by sorrows
Float down now, gently
Grief comes as strong waves
Tide that never seems to ebb
Let it wash your soul
Nasty Opponent
Grief punches all breath away
Never a fair fight
No time for Heroes
Pain strips away a brave face
Wear no mask for now
Heavy stones of grief
Lighten them with memories
Friendships ease the load
Recipe for grief
Fold laughter into sorrow
Make a grief soufflé
Someone, unseen, cares
Patting shoulder from afar
Dwell in gentle thoughts
Some point you forward
Others put words in your mouth
Follow your own voice
Walking in grief's field
Plant dark flowers in the ground
Teardrops are the rains
Morning light is harsh
Wander away from sadness
Dreams infuse the night
poem by Mary Havran
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Of delicate poems
These poems speak their minds
Be it grief
Be it bliss
But what matters most is that these poems
Have minds of their own
And they do not just listen, and absorb
Or absurd, but what matters most of all
I repeat
For emphasis
For you who like to see
The stone saints along the pedestal
Remembered as you say
By the ravages of the times,
Is that
These poems have minds of their own
And they have mouths that speak,
So delicately, that they have threads
Like tendrils that entwine
A fence
Like it is making love and you watch
It with contempt
But as I see your face
You watch it with envy,
Really, these delicate poems, now speaking
More of grief
Of lamentations
Like a woman veiled and wailing then singing
The most beautiful song of the lost,
Her husband dead
One of the time’s war’s casualties
A grief in a song
And you shall hear it, a grief in a song,
Reverberating through the winds of change
Inside your ear
There are no ballads, or odes to your
West wind
There are none, for in truth, in this world
The ballads are outdated
Run over by the grief of the many
Some even still untold
Waiting to unfold
And you are there, how insensitive!
Telling them to have a grip of something else
Why not walk your dachshund?
And watch it pee beside a tree and
There you watch with so much glee!
poem by Antonio Liao
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Nature
Weather constantly changes.
No character, only dynamic.
Dull and dreary,
Or bitter and cold,
Or bright and shiny.
This is mother nature.
She is of this world.
She dictates the mood.
She affects mine.
Emotions, constantly changing.
Personality has dynamic,
But lacks character.
It is constantly changing.
Bitter and resentful,
Frustrated and annoyed
Happy & joyous.
This is human nature.
It is of this world.
It dictates our mood.
It affects another.
Mother nature cannot be controlled.
For she is not ours.
Yet mother nature controls me,
Though I am not hers.
Together, we must exist.
We must accept each as we both are.
Though one affects the other.
Based on emotion, not character.
During the storm,
The sky is still the sky,
The ground, is still the ground
The sun is still the sun.
This is the character of mother nature.
The snow may cover the ground,
But the ground remains.
The clouds may cover the sun,
But the sun remains.
Character is always constant.
Nature affects character.
Character is patience, kindness,
Compassion, empathy, forgiving.
Plain and simple,
Our character is love.
Human nature covers human character,
Although it might not be seen,
It still remains.
It is simply covered.
For the mother is of this earth,
The father is of the next.
Emotion defies logic, as logic can defy emotion.
Follow logic?
Or follow emotion?
One cannot follow both.
This is Father God.
Character is not of this world.
It asks us to do right.
Affecting all around us.
It is the silver lining that reminds us.
The sun never disappeared.
It was just covered by nature's emotion.
Even behind the clouds,
It still shines bright.
As does my love.
For which I will live,
Will determine my legacy.
I am the sun.
I am warm.
I am a son.
I am love.
I have a Father and a Mother.
I love them both,
But which defines my creation?
Which one is my first?
Which is my last?
Which is my everything?
First was,
Last is,
And everything always will be.
Like a scale,
One pan determines the position of the other.
The centre, will never change.
It determines the balance.
Human nature on the pans.
Character in the center.
In which do I put my faith?
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Broken Heart Lollipop
Broken heart Lollipop
Got it at the candy shop
Broken heart Lollipop
How did we end up like this
Play that song that no one hears
Hoping that you will listen
Been away for all these years
You kept, me searching
Need a little bit more of your
Kandy kisses, so delicious
Need a little bit more
I need you right now!
Broken heart Lollipop
My broken heart Lollipop
You came into my world
You turned it right side up
Then you turned, you were gone
Leaving me this way
Broken heart Lollipop
My broken heart Lollipop
What went wrong?
I'm here staring at your picture
Thinking you'll come back to me
Looking for a solution
How can I make it real?
Broken heart Lollipop
Got it at the candy shop
Broken heart
poem by Dave Correia
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Basically Into Themselves
People feel and see,
What directly affects.
If it is not prioritized...
They do not get upset.
When winds change,
And blame is claimed...
Those once unconcerned,
Seek attention on them aimed.
An effectiveness is expected then.
When folks feel inconvenienced,
And their whims become threatened.
But prior to that no complaints are heard.
People are basically into themselves...
Until their own footsteps,
Have been blocked or blurred.
In a collective unity,
People find no comfort in that reality.
That sensibility,
Disturbs their 'selfish' and isolated normalcy!
People feel and see,
What directly affects.
If it is not prioritized...
They do not get upset.
However...
When winds change,
And blame is claimed...
Those once unconcerned,
Seek attention upon them aimed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Menaphon: Sephesta's Song to her Child
-
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
-
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
-
Mother's wag, pretty boy,
-
Father's sorrow, father's joy;
-
When thy father first did see
-
Such a boy by him and me,
-
He was glad, I was woe,
-
Fortune changed made him so,
-
When he left his pretty boy
-
Last his sorrow, first his joy.
-
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
-
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
-
Streaming tears that never stint,
-
Like pearl-drops from a flint,
-
Fell by course from his eyes,
-
That one another's place supplies;
-
Thus he griev'd in every part,
-
Tears of blood fell from his heart,
-
When he left his pretty boy,
-
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
-
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
-
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
-
The wanton smil'd, father wept,
-
Mother cried, baby leapt;
-
More he crow'd, more he cried,
-
Nature could not sorrow hide:
-
He must go, he must kiss
-
Child and mother, baby bless,
-
For he left his pretty boy,
-
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
-
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
-
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
poem by Robert Greene
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Weep Not, My Wanton
WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Mother's wag, pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
When thy father first did see
Such a boy by him and me,
He was glad, I was woe:
Fortune changèd made him so,
When he left his pretty boy,
Last his sorrow, first his joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Streaming tears that never stint,
Like pearl drops from a flint,
Fell by course from his eyes,
That one another's place supplies:
Thus he grieved in every part,Tears of blood fell from his heart,
When he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
The wanton smiled, father wept;
Mother cried, baby lept;
More he crowed, more we cried;
Nature could not sorrow hide.
He must go, he must kiss
Child and mother, baby bliss;
For he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee:
When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
poem by Robert Greene
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No Adam For Your Eve
You can play your tricks,
In any kind of mix.
But let me make this clear...
There is no satisfaction!
You can nit and pick,
Do all of this in fits.
So let me tell you quick...
You get no reaction from me...
I can see you are evil!
You can moan and whine,
Like you do half the time.
Throw a tantrum on a dime...
But I am no Adam for your Eve.
You can fall to pieces!
You can play your tricks,
In any kind of mix.
But let me make this clear...
There is no satisfaction!
You can nit and pick,
Do all of this in fits.
So let me tell you quick...
You get no reaction from me...
I can see you are evil!
You can moan and whine,
Like you do half the time.
Throw a tantrum on a dime...
But I am no Adam for your Eve.
You can fall to pieces!
I will not play Adam for your Eve.
You are too damn evil!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Such a Massive Waste of Competence
If respect for intelligence,
Was in retrospect respected...
With an acceptance,
Would thoughtlessness...
Beset us with woes?
There is no further need,
To mention the affects of greed.
It is apparent in one's vision...
The precision done by ignorance.
Those who believed they had the answers,
And would not listen...
Have gained positions,
To affliliate themselves with quick fixes.
And decided a leadership,
Would be those hand picked and liked...
For their willingness to follow.
Allowing much grief and sorrow.
With a quickness done of their silent lips.
If respect for intelligence,
Was in retrospect respected...
With an acceptance,
Would thoughtlessness...
Beset us with woes?
Not if those stood strong and opposed...
Such a massive waste of competence.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Crying Monk
Once there was a monk
with peaceful mind without junk.
At funeral, he usually preached,
pacifying the people with grief,
saying one would leave,
when one's life ceased,
crying and weeping was no need,
Buddha's teaching one must heed,
One's karma would lead
to either heaven or hell indeed.
One day, the monk's mother died sudden death.
He cried violently without catching the breath.
The funeral attendents consoled him,
to stop wailing and tear flowing.
He said it couldn't help,
he now experienced sorrow and grief by himself.
Abruptness
With all that people profess themselves to be,
On various levels of acceptance...
That we all at times attach ourselves,
To feel and produce...
A greater sense of self importance over others,
We can always count on Mother Nature...
To bring us back down to Earth,
With stunning abruptness,
That keeps our feet firmly planted...
On solid ground.
And our heads and minds...
Not too high up and beyond the clouds.
Since there will be,
Periodically...
Something done 'naturally',
That affects our awareness...
With a striking effectiveness,
Conducted by truth!
And the vivid workings done,
By undeniable reality.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The More I Learn Of Nature
The more I learn of Nature the less of her I know I know
The little bird that all day search for insects in the hedgerow
Lives quite a complex lifestyle though we may not think so
The more I learn of Nature the more my wonder of her grow.
The more I learn of Nature the more I realize
That there is more to Nature than we see with our own eyes
The lives of flora and fauna are complex one might say
And from our ageless Earth Mother we learn every day.
The workings of Mother Nature is an amazing thing
There is more to the songbird than the song the songbird sing
Out in the wilds of Nature the strongest do survive
And always some have got to die for more to stay alive.
And every day in Nature there's something new to learn
The tiny ants amongst them an outsider can discern
That ant must flee their territory or they will kill it if it stay
And from the creatures of Nature we learn every day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sephestia's Lullaby
WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;
When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee.
Mother's wag, pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy;
When thy father first did see
Such a boy by him and me,
He was glad, I was woe;
Fortune changed made him so,
When he left his pretty boy,
Last his sorrow, first his joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;
When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee.
Streaming tears that never stint,
Like pearl-drops from a flint,
Fell by course from his eyes,
That one another's place supplies;
Thus he grieved in every part,
Tears of blood fell from his heart,
When he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;
When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee.
The wanton smiled, father wept,
Mother cried, baby leapt;
More he crow'd, more we cried,
Nature could not sorrow hide:
He must go, he must kiss
Child and mother, baby bliss,
For he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee.
poem by Robert Greene
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Stand Alone Complex
I stand alone,
I fall apart.
In my deepest sorrow i grief.
I grief for a touch, for a smile...
I grief for love;
I grief for live...
I grief and i beg,
For the heat of an angel to save me...
For the simplest touch of a lover...
For the complex soul of a writer...
And i fall apart
I stand alone...
I stand alone complex.
28th January 1010
poem by DarkShaya Naiyamoto
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