Fossilized Relics
That which had been great,
But unappreciated.
Can not be sustained,
On the strains of an aging memory...
Of that which was.
And...
On hype alone.
A significance unknown...
And over time,
Blown out of proportion.
Should be exalted and shown,
By a constant re-examination...
Of a proven existence.
But the flapping of lips,
Describing the influence...
Of this significance,
Is no different than a myth.
Covered by layers of dirt...
To one day be discovered,
By those interested...
In the collection of fossilized relics.
'You were right.
I have found skeletal remains,
With a skull attached to its back.
I've found the evidence.
I can now prove without question...
Their demise had been the creation,
Of a proficient and well executed backbiting'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Substance Fades
It is done quite simply!
To reduce an influence,
And significance...
Advocate the importance,
Of ignorance.
And market this as the latest fad.
With a witnessing of this,
As a rage no one can resist!
That's how influence,
And a significance that benefits...
Begins to slowly diminish in effectiveness.
With a substance that ends as an aging of it,
Fading away...
To become replaced by mediocrity.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Many people chase after success. Others pursue money. But I think the happiest people on earth Are the one's who have found significance. The real question of life must be What has significance for you
Seduced By Trivia
It is easier to take a taste that is sweetened.
Once seduced by trivia it becomes a wasted effort,
To reduce it to just a meaningless hype.
After it has blown to grow in significance,
To entice one's appetite.
Since a trivia introduced to praise delusion,
Feeds less on truth.
Until truth itself becomes viewed as ineffective.
And those most affected become conditioned to suspect,
Every aspect of truth with a wish to dissect it.
With a recruiting of those who have chosen to disrespect,
The presence of truth's existence...
To ensure none of it is left to have influence,
On anyone believing to be truthful is best.
It is easier to take a taste that is sweetened.
Until truth itself becomes viewed as ineffective.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Evidence Sought
How quick some people are,
To excuse those who abuse others...
By comments said to be made out of context.
And ready they are to protect and defend them.
But the very same people,
Will seek to look under every rock...
For evidence sought,
To reveal the exact time, date and place...
Someone else was born to prove they were not!
For purposes to stop and discredit their abilities,
And any intelligence naturally shown.
As well as an integrity with an influence gained.
That to many is obviously known and is sustained.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Turn Around
I was working all night in my office
When a man I had recently killed
Called me up from a phone near my building
So I looked out the window at him
He had the same obsequious manner
That was the reason I had him killed
So to calm my nerves I sang this song
To him, over the phone
Turn around, turn around
Theres a thing there that can be found
Turn around, turn around
Its a human skull on the ground
Human skull on the ground
Turn around
I was out by myself in the graveyard
I was doing an interpretive dance
When I felt something heavy and pointed
Strike me in the back of the neck
And then the ghost of my dance instructor
Pushed me down into an open grave
And as dirt rained down she played a xylophone
And sang me this song
Turn around, turn around
Theres a thing there that can be found
Turn around, turn around
Its a human skull on the ground
Human skull on the ground
Turn around
We were waving our arms out the window
Of a fast moving passenger train
Acting in an irresponsible fashion
Until the engineer whose back had been turned
And who we thought would find us highly amusing
Quickly swiveled his head around
And his face which was a paper-white mask of evil
Sang us this song
Turn around, (round) turn around (round)
Theres a thing there that can be found (theres a thing there that can be)
Turn around, (found) turn around (round)
Its a human skull on the ground (its a human skull on the)
Human skull (ground) on the ground (round)
Turn around (turn around, turn around)
Turn around, (round) turn around (round)
Theres a thing there that can be found (theres a thing there that can be)
Turn around, (found) turn around (round)
Its a human skull on the ground (its a human skull on the)
Human skull (ground) on the ground (round)
Turn around (turn around, turn around)
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seasonally Adorned and Erased As Etched
Substituted duties saluted,
With a booting done...
Of those original attributes,
To dilute them and a significance...
That had inspired with influence.
Diminishing a longevity.
And a weakening encouraged,
Of a strengthened history...
That could nourish and flourish,
With a sustained courage.
But if those affected accept this...
Identities are quicker to switch,
Like the fading of fashioned fads.
With a reduction meant to be,
Of any sign of integrity.
Seasonally adorned...
And erased as etched,
From a designer's pad...
For another to sketch.
With no intent to have it last.
While delighting to see,
A pack of dogs fetch a bone...
As time from them is taken,
To humor the doers practicing their traps...
To induce those who condone what's shown.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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World Demise
I have found
You have found
Before you living groan
You got to pay
Live for life
Follow My steps
Exsitence to die...
Following in My steps
Do live out all My life
Do remain in constant fear
Going to sigh
And hasten to burn
Rock the one who finds
Paid to live...
With the light
...
Fall to two
Lies great demise
In silence
Counting graves lives foul
Go to die
Come to burn
World Demise
Go wilt die
The shocked earth groans
World Demise
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Assumptions Kept
Are you the kind that gets upset...
When your assumptions kept,
Have been proven to be incorrect?
And when this is discovered,
Do you do your best to pretend to forget...
When in the presence of someone,
You hope has forgotten your disrespect?
Are you the kind that gets upset...
When your assumptions kept,
Have been proven to be incorrect?
And those assumptions had been shared,
By others also like you...
Assuming throughout their lives,
That what they hear about others is true.
Are you the kind that gets upset...
When your assumptions kept,
Have been proven to be incorrect?
And the only thing you can do is your best...
To prove to the ones you have done this to,
Is to prove to them you are not the fool...
You have shown yourself to be.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No escapism
Lack of evidence for God’s existence
Cannot itself be the evidence for His non existence.
That you are not guilty till you have been proven
Cannot alter your status of having been
Guilty till you were proven.
25.09.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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On Display
When I first met denial,
It was masked as if casted from my face.
I looked into the mirror to evaluate its presence.
And on that particular day...
I stayed until denial from my face went away.
Self examination is at first excruciating.
Truth on display,
Doesn't fake to a fade or play charade.
Or masquerade its significance.
It comes too real to be felt and adorned.
When I first met denial,
It was masked as if casted from my face.
I looked into the mirror to evaluate its presence.
And on that particular day...
I stayed until denial from my face went away.
Self examination is at first excruciating.
Truth on display,
Doesn't fake to a fade or play charade.
Or masquerade its significance.
It comes too real with a feeling that's adorned!
And as often as I repeat this...
Truth as it was introduced to me,
Has not changed since its delivery.
In fact within me it remains on!
And the more I demand it around me,
The clearer I see the stronger its appearance gets.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It may be easily shown, and is of no small significance, that the two great ideas of which the Anglo-Saxon is the exponent are having a fuller development in the United States than in Great Britain.
quote by Josiah Strong
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Protectors of 'Dim Wittery
Please...
Do not refer to them as fools.
That credits them with too much dignity.
Fools can be re-trained.
I've witnessed this.
Although slow the process.
Call them protectors of 'dim wittery'.
They will not understand,
And believe themselves complimented.
But at least they will feel a heightened significance.
Either way.
And of course...
We will still know them to be the idiots they are.
This has been their determination to prove it.
With an active recruitment campaign sustained.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Words
To speak, is to think - Exist.
We presume.
Throw around.
These exquisite realizations - Sounds.
Sounds, zounds! !
Composed all around.
To secure our thought.
A world made of noise.
Meaningless afterthought.
Justification of self.
To drown the other.
I wonder...
What other?
What self?
What cost?
Price, is it to be purchased?
Can one truly exist, if left alone?
Our meaning thus.
To build-up proof.
Memory - of us.
Present the evidence, on worth.
Where none otherwise.
Might be found.
Searching for Me.
Meaning and life.
Within the Valley.
Of the Shadow of Death.
Hoping to find.
Capture it.
Before It reaches out.
Buries me.
Into darkness.
Velvet mist.
So I wonder, my purpose.
Seek, if a soul could be found.
Its value discovered.
Bit-by-bit.
A letter, at a time - I plead.
Seek, for existence meek.
Some discovered, some lost.
Was to all, mischievously bound.
Thought to myself...
A purgatory, to endure.
Justify that heavenly joy.
Has it been earned or lost?
Without knowing - Without care.
Was my preaching.
Pathos, for naught?
Alas! ! !
What is life?
But bandying empty words.
In an hourglass...
poem by Ilari Rahja
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Stacked On Platters
The relevance of forgiveness,
Has distanced the significance of it...
From making an influential appearance.
Indignities are serve and presented,
As a choice on a menu selected to eat.
To feast upon by many shown licking their fingers.
The relevance of forgiveness,
Has distanced the significance of it...
From making an influential appearance.
And those preparing for the main course are teased,
With the passing aound of hors d'oeuvres...
Heated with biases to please and stacked on platters.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Urgent Revisiting Of It
If 'that' which should have been in place,
Is not and slips away.
Because of a hesitating procrastination,
With excuses prioriticized and made!
A rushing done today,
That should have taken time...
Those days before yesterday.
Can be thought of opportunities,
That came and faded to be erased.
There is nothing that will be done tomorrow,
With a necessity that comes...
That allows one to chase.
It just silences the support,
For the significance of importance!
And a significance that drifts,
Can be revived...
With an insistence that invites,
The urgent revisiting of it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Wings of Time
The wings of time
Never stop flapping!
I left no words
Of where I had gone
Or where I was going
Or what I was to become...
Watching the time of day
Carry me away Into infinity!
In constant motion,
I plead for patience
But time ceases
For no one...
At least of all
My subsequent will
Who kneels
In humble submission
To divine law...
The rhythms of nature
Are the instructors
And implements of genius
When no one before has told
or discovered that the World,
Not you, is really old
Because the wings of time
Keep flapping ending-less!
©All Rights Reserved-2012
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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Wasted Space
It was okay when you were being ignored,
Wasn't it?
And easy for them to say what they wished.
Wasn't it?
Because they didn't realize you knew about this.
And if you did,
They didn't care.
That's how much they weren't aware of you.
Or who 'you' knew.
Or who 'they' knew could turn their lives to dodo!
But you then and still...
Have a life you like.
Today,
They've discovered you have ignored them.
In total peace of mind you have found.
In fact...
Some have realized 'you' have ignored 'them' first!
How 'dare' you do that?
You know how that gossip gets around?
Rumor has it,
You now believe you are better than they are.
But that's not it at all.
You have always thought of them,
As small town busy bodies.
With nothing but time on their hands,
And nothing in their minds but wasted space.
Not only have you ignored them...
You've erased them from significance.
And you have no patience for them to discover that at all.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Aspiring to Horizons Unknown
Those perfected and protected realities...
One may shield,
To share with others of like mind...
Will soon awaken to find themselves,
And those times,
Lost.
Tossed away.
Like things unneeded during an exhaustive Spring cleaning.
As collected momentos come to mean not a thing.
Especially to those who look forward to the exposure,
Of fresh and new beginnings.
And something more purposeful,
Than the rearrangement of the old and tried.
And much overused complacencies.
Complimenting a compliance.
Perhaps to traditions known.
Like worned out furnishings...
That do nothing but trap dust.
But treasured to keep wiltering memories alive!
Just for someone to feel a sustained trust!
Thriving.
With a need to know what is in place,
Will be there!
In a comfort...
One continues to repeat.
To keep a significance.
When reminiscing!
But...
An effectiveness is lost in a time that has gone.
And yet...
One may sit in wishes nothing comes to change this.
Although change is what life is!
And has always been since its inception.
Like a birth that grows to shed life...
Aspiring to horizons unknown!
As this process comes to all,
To be shown.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Every Time You Throw Dirt On Her (You Lose A Little Ground)
I guess you think it's fun
To laugh at her expense
And point out each mistake she makes
In front of all your friends
You figure she'll let it go by
'Cause she loves you so
But, you know.
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground
She slips a little further away
Each time that you put her down
A lady like that can come here and get
Somebody who knows what he's found
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground.
--- Instrumental ---
It's hard to bite my lip
But, I ain't saying a word
I give you all the rope to hang yourself
That you deserve
You might be ahead of me in her heart, today
But, that's okay.
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground
She slips a little further away
Each time that you put her down
A lady like that can come here and get
Somebody who knows what he's found
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground.
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground
She slips a little further away
Each time that you put her down
A lady like that can come here and get
Somebody who knows what he's found
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground.
Every time you throw dirt on her
You lose a little ground
She slips a little further away
Each time that you put her down...
song performed by by George Strait
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(Memory Chest) Salvaging the Past
How surprised the sea-chest must have been
when it left the sea
began voyaging with me.
No more travelling in the creak of the hold,
bringing home trinkets
from Sorrento and Port Said
Instead
the trunk set out on my Rake's Progress through
West London's bedsits and flatshares,
painted white in my minimalist period,
covered with a kilim in my exotic Ealing phase,
acquired the status of the Holy Ark
when my childhood's relics, unearthed
from my parents' attic,
found no other home than this dark space,
doubly dark, it rested under my own roof
when for three decades my life I
threw down an anchor, moored
and grew stiff with barnacles
When the storm broke.
the trunk was salvaged, and
I added relics of another childhood to its store.
These little shoes that danced,
these pictures from distant Mothers' Days,
concrete evidence of time gone..
And now., what is its fate?
This little chest has held my past
for over forty years. Shall I now inter more relics there?
Or...................?
poem by Janice Windle
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