Entitlement
They are praised and much rewarded...
For enhancing steps,
To fill and stock treasure chests.
And doing what it takes,
To obtain high grades...
To please those who have raised them!
With teased comforts valued,
And whatever gadgets added...
To assist their upward mobility with an ease,
They hope to have made.
These spoiled offspring discover soon...
The meaning of entitlement to ensure dreams,
As if they were kings and queens heaven sent!
Splurging lives lived only for money spent...
Securing lifestyles for themselves,
That has been ordained and meant for them...
And no one else!
Prepared they do to leave their homes for schools.
With a pressure to receive BA, MA and Doctorate degrees.
And draped at graduation with caps and gowns...
Proud they have escaped,
A mental poverty believed erased!
Dropping on the marketplace...
To chase delusions,
Craving wealthy solutions!
Concluding they are the brightest of stars!
They are then expected to feed,
A perception of ancestral need to thirst for greed.
To display a kind of self contained respect.
Accepted and expected from these knowledgeable minds...
As others left behind are snubbed,
In an ignorance protected not very hard to find!
And again and again...
This 'system' fed has no end!
They are expected to feed,
A desired taste that promotes a qualified greed.
Commonly endorsed to land them on plateaus.
As they watch from glass towers...
The snacking of those trapped!
Lured and attracted within competitions to match,
A sitting in the lap of luxury...
And entertained by conquests,
That sustains and distracts
From a lack of accountability...
No one is prepared to approach or address!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Figments Of Creative Imagination
One fed to greed should be,
The least of those selected...
To be qualified to referee.
Without a bias shown as expected...
Between those who have,
And those who have not...
Been historically known,
To keep what is theirs...
Which rightfully they own!
Since others clearly do not!
Declarations of entitlement...
In these cases,
Are mostly always left...
To figments of creative imagination.
And philosophies based...
With a marination done to bake,
In a treasured and safely protected delusion...
Has been what it takes,
To keep the 'gift' of greed...
Alive and well in the pockets of those who thrive.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Reality For What It Is
You want a job?
Wake up to face reality for what it is!
There are plenty positions still available.
And once you have accepted,
To become trained successfully...
Volunteer for the overtime.
There will be plenty of it.
Since many will find it too stressful,
To have their pre-occupied minds...
Already set on entitlements.
And two week vacations.
Without working to earn their first cent.
You want a job?
Wake up to face reality for what it is!
There are plenty positions still available.
And that's why those who have outsourced the truth,
Hope the ones who refuse to awaken...
Keep their delusions pursued.
You want a job?
How about ridding your mind of fantasies?
And forgetting about that feast that fed your greed.
That same greed those who once employed but now can not,
To find themselves overseas to receive expected profits to pocket.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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That One Who Condones Assumptions
One who leeches and perceives,
They can not mooch off another...
Because it is believed,
That person has nothing to offer...
Or bring to the table for that one to feed,
And eat to feast freely...
Assumptions are kept.
And that person is left alone.
However...
When it is discovered a person can impress,
But refuses to address it...
To leave that to go unexpressed or addressed,
That person...
Who may have been the same one,
Sitting alone to condone assumptions...
Often becomes pestered by the ones,
Who 'thought' there was nothing there to mooch.
But there is always one thing known,
By that one who condones assumptions...
A peace of mind that has been earned and not borrowed,
Will never be nibbled upon to feed anyone...
Who first knows nothing about respect.
And yet expects...
Not to be suspected to be a selfish and self centered leech.
A wisdom obtained,
Isn't always something exposed and known...
To be part of a public domain.
And often it is best,
To play and hold one's cards...
As close to the chest as they can get.
Especially in some environments,
Where expressing disrespect to others...
Is not only accepted but expected.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In His Eyes! And Ours
Times then were lived,
Within our means.
We valued being clean.
Respected as expected.
This is what everyone did without neglect.
And embraced hygiene!
This was a fact of life known and seen!
Sold on concepts of a desire to learn.
Wanting to comprehend lessons taught...
That broadened our lives with a competitiveness.
With a fear of limits ignorance welcomed.
And we then wished no part of this.
We sought to grow.
And this assisted with an identity dignity presented.
Times then were lived within our means.
To deceive...
Was then thought to be despicable.
To cheat and lie about it,
Did not excite or sit well...
With those who suffered through the consequences,
Of their ways that dismayed.
Today...
People talk the 'walk' but do not walk the talk.
People say they have good intentions.
But leave no evidence of it seen.
Today...
People talk about their standards and values.
As if this is held in an exclusiveness.
And a membership is required for this to be addressed.
Today...
People are obsessed with their possessions.
Their good credit scores and loans they can obtain.
Because they have maintained status given,
Although they keep blemishes hidden...
That may reveal their tainted names.
And they cheat.
Lie.
And deceive!
With lifestyles lived well above their means.
And yet,
When suspected...
Nothing about them is respected.
Nor do the judgements they pass on others...
Keep tax collectors from locking them out,
From foreclosed homes they bragged about.
OR...
Do they 'today' have the means to feed, protect
Or shelter themselves,
In peace.
Times we lived then,
Were lived within our means.
And we were taught to be grateful.
To feel we were blessed.
And we should express this to God.
On a daily basis kept routined!
Like promises we made to ensure we had good hygiene.
And then God...
And only God,
Will make sure our lives lived were lived right!
In His eyes!
And ours.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No One Has To Accept New And Fresh Debts
No one has to accept new and fresh debts,
With a sitting on their front steps...
Regetting in a public display of it.
As if the giving of pity to pocket,
Is what passersby would select to pick.
Everything owed, borrowed or stolen,
Has a way of delivering a headache felt...
That is conscious with a degree of sorrow.
And...
Awaiting headaches to expect,
Is not high on the list of recommendations.
We all have at one time,
Signed away our lives on that 'bottom line'.
And that act alone,
Can not be erased by the taking of medication.
Many have overdosed on their delusions.
No one has to accept new and fresh debts,
To regret them.
However,
What is suggested...
'Before' experiencing Buyer's Remorse,
Is to plan in advance a mental evacuation route to take.
Yes!
Enjoy the temporary break away from that self hate.
With a rescheduled date...
To return to self loathing much later.
But in the meantime just celebrate the taste,
Of living beyond what can be afforded.
Everyone does it.
No one has to accept new and fresh debts,
To regret them.
Know that this predicament,
Is as common as being teased by the necessity...
Of wishing for needless greed to feed.
And repaying for the deed in increments,
When the funds presented become available.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Expected Acceptance
Refinancing dreams, illusions and schemes,
To keep delusions afloat...
Has cost them their visions of luxury,
To visit them with traumatic truths!
Existing to thrive on good credit and loans...
Is slowing ripping apart an economy that groans.
With no ending to the moans heard,
From those still faithful of a resurgence.
And a return of self-servance.
Lifelines are frayed!
Are wearing on the nerves of those afraid.
A monoply of fear is losing its fan base.
Its use to produce a threatened standard of life...
Begins to tatter the stars and stripes,
With the reality of corrupted treason...
Seasoned by deceit.
And exposed as common news,
On gossiped streets.
Refinancing dreams, illusions and schemes,
To keep delusions afloat...
Has cost them their visions of luxury,
To visit them with traumatic truths!
And pursued are the doers...
Found attempting to patch the cracks,
Upon their own established foundations.
With promises of changes to correct!
Effective changes,
For a system crumbling from selfishness...
And neglect!
Molded to bleed and fed on myths...
How can this be done?
Who will implement them?
Since such devastation,
Has already begun...
In the minds of everyone!
Who will implement them?
Or recognize them when they do come,
To be defined for those...
Born to feed a greed state of mind!
How can one be led away...
From what has been known all this time.
And lived to be worshipped,
In a conformed restricting consciousness.
Who will implement this...
Expected acceptance!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Too Much Is Expected
No one...
Given life to breathe,
Is born with a cold heart.
Beating with a rhythm,
That is ready to freeze.
No one...
Should be expected,
To show warmth and love.
If none has been surrounding one...
Being expressed.
Or shown to one how that's addressed.
No child learning to crawl, walk and talk.
Grows into an adult...
Prepared with maturity.
Or an accountability.
If no examples of that were ever there!
How is one expected to become aware?
Too much is expected.
From those who have been neglected.
And too much for too long goes undenied...
By one feeling insecure and desperate inside.
With no one to confide in...
From a shattering that goes on alone.
And kept condoned to grow unknown outside.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There Are Those Who Are the Exception
Do you honestly believe,
That saying things derogatory
About anyone...
Will suddenly be erased,
With a few apologies?
And a forgiveness done that is forgotten?
Let me introduce myself.
Since your approach to life,
Is a little different from mine.
How many things have you done,
That were 'unconsciously' intended?
None?
Me either.
In fact...
I doubt if that is possible.
So often,
Apologies are expected to be accepted!
That's why my approach to life,
Is to snap someone awake...
The moment my toes are stepped on.
And I do my best to inflict similar pain.
This 'turn-the-other-cheek-business'?
I'm just not into.
People know exactly what they do,
When they do it!
Under the influence of alcohol.
Or flying high on weed.
So often,
Apologies are expected to be accepted!
And there are those who are the exception.
They have feelings connected to emotions...
That are at stake.
And mistakes at their expense is not for-give-able!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Common Sense Is Missing
Common Sense?
If it is so common,
Why is it so rarely displayed?
People who succeed academically...
Sometimes find it hard to mix
With those who are suppose to lack
A worldly knowledge and quick wit!
Those who spend their lives in books...
May have minds of intelligence,
But few know how to cook!
Or know how to hold a conversation...
Without returning an 'all knowing' look!
With a raised eyebrow...
And a half smile crooked!
And common sense is missing.
That is realized before a word is said!
There is something about spontaneity...
Many find difficult to express from their heads!
Or able to exchange...
When brains are prepared to regurgitate,
Details obtained about 'historical' ancient remains!
And common sense...
If there's any left,
Is not expected to come from the lips
Of minds so far removed, dull and shamefully inept!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Expected To Deliver
The creating of feeding greed,
Has slowly become the focus...
Of everyone's priority.
And those who have been teased,
With the getting of entitlements...
Are addicted to the taste of it.
And those they select to then elect,
to represent their interests...
Are expected to deliver.
Regardless if the feasting,
Has little to nothing left.
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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With a Readiness to Assassinate Characters
There are many trapped Negroes,
Still left behind.
And sitting on verandas, waiting...
To define themselves with wishes.
With dismissals picked,
That are easy to find!
As they pray to reopen doors...
Long abandoned,
On closed plantations.
Desperate were their needs then,
To be freed and released...
From an increase of oppressive treatment.
But mental struggles kept,
And harvested by those purists of bigotted limits.
Believing they are God's gifts.
And annointed to suppress and punish others...
As perceived from their own restricted lives lived.
In a valued wicked sickness.
And has left their land and taken stances,
Accepted as racist.
Showing their grievances on their bitter faces.
There are many trapped Negroes,
Still left behind.
With mindsets confined and enslaved.
Praying that an obeying.
Will deliver them with souls saved.
In the heavens suspended,
With harps and wings.
And praises to sing!
There are many trapped Negroes,
On expanding lazy butts!
And loving unaccountable responsibility...
That leave generations,
Annoyingly spoiled and absent of guts!
But strutting their vacant beliefs...
On filthy streets that reflect their philosophies.
There are many trapped Negroes,
Crying on the outside.
Yet denying on the inside...
They have no identities at all!
And they are lost.
There are many trapped Negroes,
Hating the fact they call themselves 'black'.
With desires to be found as clowning 'nigguhs'.
And doing their best to 'Step 'n Fetchit'.
On a backward track.
And sustaining a hip-hop gladness about that!
'Whoa...Hey!
Don't you feel some will find what you reveal offensive? '
Of course!
Especially those who oppose being referred to as Negroes.
And those African-Americans who can't stand to be called 'black'.
But not those mulattos who are thrilled to represent...
Just what it means,
To be descendents of Queens and Kings.
And proud it's digested.
Confessed and expressed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Without The Money
It is always the economy,
Affecting needs.
Always it is!
And not one's education...
Flaunted as perceived.
It is always the economy,
That breathes and feeds on greed.
And no matter if one goes to college...
It is not the Masters or Doctorate degree,
That keeps one perched...
High on a pedestal for all to see.
Without the money,
All pretensions can be dropped.
Oh without that money,
All the bragging seems to stop.
And it is without money...
No one talks about what they've got.
Or fingerpops with a bee-bop hopped.
If money is not felt...
A sobbing begins with a flow,
That can not be mopped.
It is always the economy,
That breathes and feeds on greed.
And no matter if one goes to college...
It is not the Masters or Doctorate degree,
That keeps one perched...
High on a pedestal for all to see.
It is that MONEY!
That holds a head higher than clouds.
It is that money making days sunny.
That ties that magic knot!
And if the economy doesn't feed,
A feeding of greed one receives...
A boo-hooing of tears becomes the reality.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In Civil Disobedience!
The majority of them have lived their lives,
In an isolated racist bubble.
Now that their comfort has been marked by troubles...
They seek a bailout from their mindless gains.
With wishes their selfishness did not exist.
Or had not been obvious to others,
Who had witnessed this!
While a greed was fed to exploit those in need.
Those who now seem much better off.
Since they have less blood to bleed...
Than those who lived totally on their good credit.
And loans the economy...
Can no longer assist them in their leeching to feed.
And their misdeeds and deceit...
Now chases them in fear!
With no escape from this beast!
While they swarm the streets...
In civil disobedience!
Treating them with a taste of defeat!
Completely out of their minds...
Come the times for those of selfishness!
Protesting that their interests,
Has left them in duress!
With no fingers to point.
As they are kept close to their own chests!
In attempts to keep themselves...
From losing their precious breath!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Aftermath
After the Arab Spring, what?
The death count all but recorded
But none of the expected aftermath
Where is the freedom that was expected?
Nations that had them still in chaos
Just a political label?
Of vague directions, what a lost cause!
Options absent, all's not well.
So gone are the aged dictatorships
Multiplied are the conflicts and deaths
Governments changed but there's no leadership
Such a scenario add to global debts.
Eight hundred million dollars to feed Arab Spring?
Money cannot water a people's hunger
Love for country must always be birth within
And values must be changed for each other.
For Freedom is not just an empty word
It's respect for every child, woman, or man
Upholding the good, negotiation - not discord
And unity, not greed, will make them stand.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Stale and Cussed Filled Basements
There are those who had been nourished,
Based upon the looks of 'things'.
And not on quality or valued substance!
Familiar faces of those are compared to others.
Leaving deeds done ignored and undiscovered!
And as time goes by...
So comes with it the fading of 'things'!
An aging brings with it,
A change of outlook and accustomed habits!
And those who chose not to relate to 'this'...
Find the substance in their own lives,
Below an expected standard that exists.
Time does not address...
Who is or who is not,
Prepared for it to shift!
And those they thought they knew,
Go unknown to hide in shadows accepted.
And the saddest part of this revelation?
Most of them are related by blood.
In relationships gifted yet dismissed,
With an absence of kinship understood...
Or shared!
Or the caring of anyone aware of it!
No one seems to be at 'home'...
In their minds or anywhere!
And the few discovered that are?
Have never adventured into the attic.
To explore what maybe a treasure up 'there'!
Preferring to sit rusting with visions dusted...
In stale and cussed filled basements!
Expressing agitation.
And waiting to be rescued from darkened corners.
Insisting what they have chosen has not been welcomed!
With an ignorance applied that had once satisfied!
In denial!
Until sunlight comes with someone who knocks,
To crack open an unlocked door...
To expose them to one with wrinkled skin!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In God's Eyes
'That tattered coat you have worn?
Don't throw it away, ever! Don't think it!
It may become the most valued in all the land! '
Many years ago they had chosen sides.
Those that appeared to have nothing,
Were taunted!
Those who worshipped things...
Of course,
Were not!
They were social darlings.
And accepted brighter than stars!
But the land could not feed,
All of those who kept feeding their greed.
And for generations...
They let the needy bleed!
They laughed at the homeless.
Joked of those who found refuge on the streets.
But the land could not feed,
All of those who kept feeding their greed.
Warnings from those observing,
Were dismissed and at best, ignored!
If fact they were declared to be insane...
And defamed and slandered,
Became for some to do to them as a chore!
And the signs of the times began to creep,
Upon the shores.
And this had never been seen before.
Many became frightened.
Decisions were made to close their doors!
An epidemic soon spread.
And those of suburban dreams...
Found themselves foreclosure whores!
Those with their BA's, MA's and PHd's...
Wide screen TV's and DVD's
Were lining up at pawn shops!
Sneaking to protect pretentions they could not stop!
Those of jewels and gold gems...
Sought to find shelter,
With lost relatives and fake friends!
But wait...
'That tattered coat you have worn?
Don't throw it away, ever! Don't think it!
It may become the most valued in all the land! '
You, the abused...
The downtrodden and counted out!
You, the one ignored and talked about!
You, the slandered and defamed to shame.
You who kept your dignity and identity that remained...
Ultimately wins the prize!
In God's eyes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When The Money Is Right
Dollar profits gone.
And the purpose of one's life,
Goes misunderstood.
Or never comprehended,
As life should be...
A priority.
And on the top of one's agenda.
If lived and embraced.
When the money is right...
Everybody with it wants to play big shot,
All day!
All night!
When the money is right...
Everybody's ripe,
To splurge and feed their appetites.
When the money is right...
Nobody cares who's homeless or hungry,
With no where to sleep or eat at night.
When the money is right...
Those who have it,
Take delight to see others in blight.
When the money is right...
Greed is hard to fight.
And needs of the helpless,
Becomes an oversight.
Dollar profits gone.
And the purpose of one's life,
Goes misunderstood.
Or never comprehended,
As life should be...
A priority.
And on the top of one's agenda.
If lived and embraced.
But when it fades away,
People feel and looked disgraced.
As if embarrassed and filled with hate.
And with an emptiness inside that takes place...
They then create racist activities,
Seething to draw someone's blood to bleed.
With an irateness baited to please.
Shown with those of insecurities...
Without resources from others to squeeze!
When the money is right...
Everybody with it wants to play big shot,
All day!
All night!
When the money is right...
Everybody's ripe,
To splurge and feed their appetites.
When the money is right...
Nobody cares who's homeless or hungry,
With no where to sleep or eat at night.
When the money is right...
Those who have it,
Take delight to see others in blight.
When the money is right...
Greed is hard to fight.
And needs of the helpless,
Becomes an oversight.
A selfishness bites...
Whether money is right,
Or not!
Oh...oh!
Oh...oh!
When the money is right...
Everybody's ripe,
To splurge and feed their appetites.
When the money is right...
Nobody cares who's homeless or hungry,
With no where to sleep or eat at night.
When the money is right...
Those who have it,
Take delight to see others in blight.
When the money is right...
Greed is hard to fight.
Oh...oh...oh.
When the money is right...
Greed is hard to fight.
Oh...oh...oh.
When the money is right,
Few have sleepless nights!
With dreams of making,
And taking it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Appreciate Their Teachings
Many today are discovering,
The ease their introduction to poverty has become.
Some of us already experienced with its effects,
Thought of poverty as a prerequisite to upper mobility.
When people of a 'certain' class were living,
Right across the street.
Just before the terms minority and ghetto were popularized.
And poverty was 'NOT' a fast fall from greed.
We seemed to have never qualified for anything back then.
But sympathetic looks and eyes cast down...
From those with turned up noses.
That was a long yesterday ago though.
But today,
Greed has become the 'boss'.
People have falsified qualifiers,
Just based on them knowing how to use a pen.
To sign documents eventually forged to approve a loan.
I couldn't make this up if I wanted to.
Too much of this is factual.
And people are up in arms,
About a downward credit rating...
That puts a smudge on their pretentions.
And that hole they have dugged deep...
Will take a hundred years to plug.
Many today are discovering,
The ease their introduction to poverty has become.
Some of us already experienced with its effects,
Thought of poverty as a prerequisite to upper mobility.
And not a fast fall from greed.
We seemed to have never qualified for anything back then.
I remember those who now crawl on their knees,
Use to say to my family and me...
Back in the day of our struggles,
How unfortunate 'we' were with their sarcasms.
Today I look at 'these' people and purposely buy a can of beans,
With a slowing of an opening done...
To then eat the beans in their honor.
Expressing a blessed thankfulness for having people like 'them'...
To realize how much I appreciate their teachings.
Maybe they will...
'Get off their lazy ignorant butts and find a job.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Enough Money Spent On Wars
What agony; accumulative emotive costs;
feed needle; soul destroying drug addictions?
What monstrous greed
cloaked in racial hatred;
fed with religious hatred
feeds covert wars justified?
When will we; with humanity feed;
with compassion; brothers sisters imprisoned;
in race conflict; poverty dying discarded;
in ignored horrors; extant third world?
Ban every earth war feed our poor
not capitalist corporate baron robbers;
glutted on global sly sweat shop wages
slum lord rents death reaped war profits?
Misery is waste residue of souls
which seek self pleasure materialism;
instead of gift of giving to others
oiled crimes greases palms capitalism.
It is still universally eternally true
it is better to give than to receive;
to sow sacred love not bile hatred
sow prosperity not starvation greed.
Enough money to buy drugs
to support epidemic addictions;
who will feed our suffering world?
Enough money spent on wars
to house all our earth's homeless;
who will house humanities homeless?
Who will feed the poor?
Ban every war feed the poor.
No need to ask who will bank on feed;
crime world exploitation materialism?
Spend money spent on wars
to house all earth's homeless;
feed our poor do not feed wars.
Souls who feed world materialism
will not house human immortal souls;
while flesh rots in blown away dust
in greedy winds of war greed lust.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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