For Purposes To Digest This Quest
Presentation,
Not qualification...
Does more to impress,
Those of 'images' wished...
To address,
As heard professed.
And those confessing ideals,
Have more appeal.
Are the least to manifest,
The ones that are best...
To reveal as if on a mission.
For purposes to digest this quest.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
IF I Was On A Mission To Impress
If my mission was to impress,
To effectively address a perceived ego...
Gone unidentified as an awareness.
With a labelling of being arrogant.
I certainly would not begin,
With a depiction of a forest others do not see...
Although walking through it to go unseen.
Nor would I mention with acknowledgment,
My familiarity with each kind of tree within it...
To call each one by name to express my respect for them.
If...
I 'was' on a mission to impress.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Qualified To Do
The only thing that qualifies most who are not scutinized,
Are looks of images created to project and portray...
What is wished to be perceived and believed.
And unfortunately for others who are microscoped,
Competence, looks and intelligence together,
Are rarely in the mix when images are created...
To meet expectations that rely on accountability.
This just doesn't happen when folks seek mediocrity.
Since it isn't publicly revealed,
Only images are sought to appeal.
People of intelligence present threats to the status quo!
And although those who prefer to go unchallenged,
Are often the ones selecting image over substance...
To address their standards that are valued,
They are often given an attention to debate...
Without reason,
Why their insults placed upon responsible folks...
Should merit a listening to their fault finding.
The only real thing image seekers are qualified to do!
And insist with persistence their 'senses' are common.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Digestive Darkness And Light
life is a mixture of light, darkness and truth
but are you digested on them?
digest what you see
digest what you feel
digest what you smell
digest what you touch
digest what you eat
digest what you think
digest what you speak
and you will be a truth by yoursekf
but but but but but but but but but
NEVER DIGEST YOUR DREAM
Opened Eyes Reveal
Opened eyes see clearly to reveal,
All there is for one to know.
Words whispered in ears,
Are only spoken to cloud the vision
Of a truth that appears.
To convince what is seen
Is an illusion.
And fear,
Is often impeccably dressed.
Either to charade or masquerade.
Or
Perhaps both.
In a flawless presentation.
As if to address one's interpretation of perfection.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Like a Scent I Did Not Invent
Like a scent I did not invent...
I can not prevent or stop,
Images used with my words lifted.
By those who flatter,
And yet invade.
One day they may consider,
My thoughts about their approach.
One day they may even think of me,
While they encroach upon my activities.
To see me less as a novelty...
But someone with feelings,
They disregard but touch.
Like a scent I did not invent...
I can not prevent or stop,
Images used with my words lifted.
By those who flatter,
And yet invade.
For purposes 'they' have,
To persuade.
'But...
When one steps on stage,
Isn't it all about 'theater'?
And what we 'exchange' in presentation,
Isn't it there for interpretation?
In a mixed-use composition of vision? '
That's too deep for me.
I'd just like some 'thank yous' expressed.
At least be considerate about it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Power of God
They do not understand.
They actually believe,
They can continue to bleed...
From that which has created them.
To procure an enduring satisfaction!
That this Earth is not a living cell,
And 'spirits' who have not chosen to be born...
Are watching them in production,
Perfecting their own spice of life...
Diced with hell!
They do not understand...
How all here is connected.
And 'Mother Nature' has grown tired,
Of their thoughtless infestation.
Neglect and disrespect...
To manifest their own condemnation!
But somehow,
And very soon...
All of this mistreatment,
Is going to leave many traumatized...
With realities no one can research!
Or change in thought in the most prestigious
Of costly ivy league schools...
Sought to pool their 'knowledge'.
The training of conditioned fools...
Is not what is gradually taking place.
And 'that' will not be professed,
From any lectern!
Or pulpit...
For congregations to digest!
By anyone declaring,
Their doctorate degree!
And success achieved.
Obtain to fulfill requirements...
To be stamp and approved,
As highly conditioned...
For abundant limitation!
Sensations beyond description,
Have been prescribe to be delivered.
And no man...
Or woman,
Prepared for intellectualizing life...
Will find they have been qualified to do it!
What comes,
Has nothing to do with manipulation...
As taught!
Not for purposes to grandstand,
The power of God.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Manifest Your Best
Seek to manifest your best.
When you begin to notice...
You have begun to be bothered,
By critics and other pests...
You are blessed!
Just keep your steps moving,
Forward.
There is nothing said by naysayers...
Needing a thought to hesitate or digest.
Just seek to manifest your best,
And let 'that' be your testimony!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Weak and Much Flawed
Not only was the game played,
By your rules.
Those that played,
Stifled their own created visions...
To do what you wished,
Exactly your way.
And now you say,
What has been done...
Were mistakes you laid,
And should have been interpreted...
From thoughts you did not reveal.
Because what has been obtained,
Has for you no appeal.
However...
Not only was the game played,
By your rules.
Those that played,
Stifled their own created visions...
To do what you wished,
Exactly your way.
And now you say,
What has been done...
Were mistakes you laid,
And should have been interpreted...
From thoughts you did not reveal.
Is this because you are feeling used?
And you had desires to abuse?
Don't confuse the issue.
Sit back to use the tissues left.
Or take your tears...
To others more willing to open their ears.
And have no idea,
Your deceits are weak and much flawed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Mischievous Conceptions
The best thing you can do for yourself,
Is 'be' yourself.
Once you have accomplished that mission,
And the introduction is complete...
It will be much easier,
Discovering 'what' it is you want!
And 'who' shares your ideals.
You will then know who 'feels' what,
With a purpose that's done for 'real'.
And those medicated with delusions...
Will lose their attractiveness,
That held you magnetically with appeal...
To keep you and themselves concealed,
As worthless entities...
Sharing complaints and complexities!
Be yourself.
Be you like no one else can be...
Feeling free of mischievous conceptions!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Quickly Assessed To Suspect
If one's intelligence was a defense used against,
The strangle hold of an increasing ignorance...
And events associated to its prominence.
To end with a smothering of common sense.
Then why has it been an exorbitant expense,
To convince...
That the education one has is a vital benefit.
Especially today when many are offended,
By anyone with a thought process...
Confessing an expertise easily to connect dots.
Confusing many to address without that ability.
And once this is admitted with a proof that is served,
That person becomes quickly assessed to suspect...
As a threatening nonconformist to be watched and observed.
'Do you mind passing me more BS, please?
The taste of it is so fresh.
Is it 'never' out of season?
Or does that depend on its presentation...
And the supply and demand for its need? '
I have not a clue.
But it is delicious, isn't it?
'Yes.
Is there more? '
As much of it as you would like.
Light, mild or spicy!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wishy Washy Wusses
Those wishy washy wusses don't impress.
Limped wrists wimps...
With nothing more than their pretentions,
To address.
Double talkers who aren't direct.
And using gossip to connect,
As an attempt to express...
Opinions to abuse but amuse few,
Who refuse to show any interest!
The only thing they can leave,
When descending away from doorsteps...
To relieve,
After insulting guests.
Is a resignation,
From choosing to live lives like that...
Not too many can stomach, digest or respect.
And say so behind their shallowed backs!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fresh Blood
Now confessions have been professed.
After heartbreaks have occurred,
And many needless deaths...
Have been left to upset!
Now...
Confessions have been professed,
But why not before?
Before a book has been written?
And before the media is contacted?
To get one publicity and press...
Before a book release,
With a promise of lucrative sells to impress.
Fresh blood is on the table!
Fresh blood is there!
But not to clear a consciousness.
Of 'that' you can bet.
One of morals and consciousness,
Had never expressed that at all,
To be intially something they had...
To have others believe and made aware!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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On Flesh Branded
Prestigious,
Are those ties to bind kept.
Those sworn to be professed,
In a separateness.
To award with symbolic,
Images on flesh branded.
And meant to keep them above the rest.
As if they've been given,
Rights to digest a magnificentness.
And these folks like pests,
Have infested neighborhoods.
To implement a mental illness.
Leaving a shredded unity.
And yet they have beliefs.
Tied to a materialistic,
Bond that diseases.
But like an addict on drugs,
Minds like these are limited.
And do no good within restrictions,
That rot as they sit.
To eventually perish...
With meaningless lives lived,
They've chosen to inherit.
'Have no other gods before ME! '
Sayeth The Almighty.
Collector of ALL Souls.
'If you do...
Never will you enter MY Kingdom.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To Feed And Please Those Comforts
There are those who live lives,
Externally expressed.
Here on Earth...
To address and express,
Physical and material needs.
With an acquiring of abilities,
To feed and please those comforts.
With an aided dictation how to medicate complaints.
And there are those internally impressed.
Feeling from within they are on a mission.
A quest.
Although from the exterior they appear,
To be disconnected at best.
With an accomplished satisfaction...
Few would consider,
As a detachment from an 'accepted' normalcy.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Free To Be Filthy
No regard or sign of respect.
Raised on material values...
And ideals they neglect.
Just for a dollar,
They have turned the world into a mess.
Free to be filthy.
And a scum achieved...
Has been their best effort yet!
Mongers of hate...
With absence of thought!
Taught by a society,
Seeped in delusions brought!
And yet they believe their lifestyles appeal!
As they trash humanity,
With an allowed zest and zeal!
Creeps and leechers...
Seeking attention they get!
Representing sleaze,
As a determined conquest!
And those who wished...
At a time,
To correct all of this...
Watch as bystanders,
Stepping over to avoid
All the crap that exists.
Others seem consciously accepting,
And so quick to digest...
Disgusting appearances,
With a filth nourished without protest!
And this diseased way of life...
Spreads like an uncurable cancer.
No opponent in battle is winning this fight!
Mindsets have been condoned,
To avoid any insight!
Fed on destruction.
To eliminate the good,
From lives no one wants to live as it should.
And 'threatened' by all,
That living right might ignite...
In goodwill, peace and brotherhood,
Feeding on this appetite.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Epistle To An Old Friend
You are a doctor now - I've heard
A colourful glass jar
Your figure
With a dedicative label
Of service to the sick and the suffering.
I've heard
Your dreams have come true
The waning, waxing moons
Of quaint wishes
We saw together
Have blossomed to fullness.
Away and beyond
In lands overseas
All chapters of your book
Of youthful ambitions
Have come to be written.
I've heard
You have got all you ever
Wished for, desired.
All ideals realized.
A higher academic degree
Fame, renown and status
A pretty home
A loving husband - and children!
Salutations
Best wishes
For all th' laurels won
All that you've done.
But O my Messiah
Of long-forgotton woes!
Did you ever give
A backward glance?
The time-worn memory album
Was always there to see
Faces, friendly and faithful
Dust-laden though
In the pledges of everlasting rememberance.
What lenses
Of remorse
Will ever reveal visages of past?
How'll you ever
Bridge the empty spaces
Rolling from dreams
To eyes - and beyond?
How'll you ever
Put soothing balm
On your self-afflicted wounds?
poem by Naseer Ahmed Nasir
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Our Dreams Are Wished
There is something wanted.
But,
With a low expectation.
Our dreams are wished.
But,
Denying their existence...
Creates conflict.
We choose to believe what we say,
To share,
As it is perceived to be received that way.
And yet,
It is the doubt we keep kept...
To check,
For referral purposes!
Our dreams are wished.
But,
Denying their existence...
Creates conflict.
And yet,
It is the doubt we keep kept...
To check,
For referral purposes!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A bitter pill implies where I belong
I signed the back of a lottery ticket, filled the name and address clearly.
The night is sleeping but still I am awake in a Gas station to fulfill the boisterous vehicles.
I hear a whisper in my decaying wallet.
'Hey! Dear this is not the winning ticket exactly but a day would be appeared and bring you the lucky chance soon.' The lottery muttered.
After a lazy yawn I speak to myself;
'Nowadays the papers talk much while the poor people shut their mouths as nothing to put in for digest.'
* To Gheorghe Zamfir!
Your divine magical pan flute's notes impress me how to grab the fleeing life?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Are you like God, breathing life with your words?
welcome ladies and gentlemen
with poems written
in your palms
in our own humble beginnings
we take the mission
of creating and building words
putting up images
of full moons & stars
on dark nights like these,
the images move
like a circle in our lives
glistening
without ends
the words too become
alive
as we breathe them to ordinary
things
insignificantly tasteles
to the tongues of people
with mouths ungaping
that we resuscitate
so they may too live,
there is life in what we breathe
we touch and
motions begin
in a sense,
may God forgive
us
as we imitate Him,
and i know,
God loves poets like us,
we are not just few
we are many
we are holy
and we shall flock like angels
singing by His side
these poems, these songs
of love, of beauty,
of truth in the quest
of holiness.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Empty With Dynamics
Empty with dynamics.
And delivered to suggest,
There would be something to digest.
Something coming to equal the solicitation...
With the assistance of pictures,
And vacuous videos to plant excitement.
To increase one's taste for more.
At least something to chew on...
That would get to the core.
But when the lights were not subdued...
The presentation bored!
Filled to the brim,
And thin!
Too lean.
There was nothing between the anticipation...
And what was actually discovered to be suitable.
Not to address the appetites,
Of the surrounding on scene.
Althoug the build up was great!
But a meatless meal...
Does not leave an appreciation left to salivate.
Empty with dynamics!
And an exite done with a stomach ache.
'You referring to the meal?
The speaker?
The decorations?
Or what? '
I am talking about the whole process.
The 'or what' had more bite to it!
But I will say this...
The costuming of the event,
Was fantastic.
Regardless of the lack of substance,
To go with it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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