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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Comprehending Conversations
Distressing is the truth as it is addressed.
So much of it is exposed.
It no longer has to be debated.
Or baited for confessions to be professed.
It is being naturally expressed.
As if it now sits within everyone's consciousness.
Wielding a saber.
And slashing down to size...
Those with over bloated and boasting mindsets.
And there is no reason to put those in denial on trial.
Comprehending conversations with less pretense,
Will be in the atmosphere for quite awhile.
They are in debt,
Yes.
We are in debt,
Yes.
Everyone shares an indebted togetherness.
In a depthness obvious and clear it is regretted.
And...
Instead of the separate checks requested?
May we have that 'gluttony' on one check, please?
And...
Is it possible we can be forgiven if we don't leave a gratuity?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Implemented Craziness
It seems as though the more I age,
The less I care about those who address pettiness.
And their hollowed professed confessions...
Of having beliefs in God.
And afraid to step out on their faith.
What sense does that make?
People 'say' they pray for peace!
And as soon as they are 'released'
From their places of worship...
I overhear them passing judgements.
And condoning needless wars.
People 'say' they pray for unity,
And brotherhood.
And in most neighborhoods,
There is conflict of some kind.
People 'say' they pray for racial equality.
As long as they are made to feel superior,
Over others of color.
And they are restricted from a quality of life,
That is diminishing rapidly in quality...
And those 'values' they uphold,
Are materialistic and has devastated the economy!
It seems as though the more I age,
The less I care about those who address pettiness.
And their hollowed professed confessions...
Of having beliefs in God.
And afraid to step out on their faith.
What sense does that make?
It seems as though the more I age,
Those who take offense
To an obvious display of implemented craziness,
Are quicker to defend this mess...
As if it is tradition.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fresh Blood
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
He gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
And I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fresh blood (Lyrics)
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
he gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris,
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
and I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
poem by Satan's Sibling
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Confessions Of A Crook
'Yes,
I did it.
And as soon as my book,
'Confessions Of A Crook' is published...
And released,
I will be available for all media interviews.
After I've spent a few weeks,
Being rehabilitated...
Of course!
Anything to show the kids,
What not to do.
Especially what I did! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Not Obsessed With Making Impressions
Some folks are programmed to believe
They can not live without impressing others.
Until they have become deprogrammed!
And most times that is not a conscious effort.
It has a lot to do with one's circumstances.
Meaning...
A bout with reality!
And reality has a way of prioritizing one's life.
It puts the basicness in it!
Prior to this 'struggle' obsession rules!
One becomes obsessed with things!
And what one thinks 'things' to them bring!
Like an attractiveness.
Have you ever notice...
Someone who is able to afford 'things',
Is also indecisive?
Strip them of the opportunity to possess...
And they become depressed!
An unhappiness succeeds!
And their wholesome faith they once professed,
In God...
Diminishes!
However...
One not obsessed with making impressions.
Or connected by a 'programming'...
They are less attractive without needless possessions,
Can survive through a recession...
Or whatever a downsizing of a lifestyle is called,
Is better off!
They can deal with the adjustment of setting priorities.
Maybe lose a few friends in the process!
But you will not find these people upset,
They can not keep up with others...
Who are stressed within concepts,
That they need to feed an ego
No longer keeping up with the times!
And having a peace of mind...
Comes tax free with a lot of common sense,
Some folks discover too late...
How cost effective and healthy,
Nights with restful sleep...
Comes to the one who has put their life,
In perspective!
And becomes free of making useless confessions!
There is nothing like the smell of fresh morning dew.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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True Confessions
Before you tell me to go, Ive got to let you know
How youre makin my temperature rise
I let you use me, you tried to abuse me, you tell me youre not very nice
Im not your social security, Im not your star opportunity, yeah
Oh baby, you can have me absolutely, wont you give me
True confessions, true confessions, true confessions
Thats all Im askin for, yeah
I do things to make you crazy inside
And baby thats one thing you know you cant hide
You ask me why, whats your confession
Well baby, the truth is, youre in my possession tonight
True confessions, true confessions, true confessions
Thats all Im askin for, yeah
Im not your social security, Im not your star opportunity, yeah
Oh baby, you can have me absolutely, wont you give me
True confessions, true confessions, true confessions (repeats out)
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Kinds Of Branding To Label Traps
Do I have a 'Doctorate's Degree? '
No!
Nor is my approach and methods to learning,
Certifiably accepted by those approved...
Who do have such credentials.
But I am blessed to observe,
And connect with a consciousness...
I did not earn to be professed.
Or be one labelled as a scholar,
To prove a thought process within me that yearns.
And not a book do I read that has helped me achieve,
A common sense.
With experience and a willingness to learn,
Has assisted in the documenting...
What may be perceived as an approved 'Ivy Leaguer'.
I could not afford,
To waste my resources...
On those kinds of branding to label traps.
I've been saved from living my life,
Limited to impress others like that.
And nothing I believe in,
Has been certified to be classified...
With stamps of approval to identify as controlled.
To maintain standards beheld to uphold to teach...
A releasing of comprehension that limits one's attention span.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When a Consciousness Begins to Lift
When a consciousness begins to lift...
To leave behind foolishness that exists.
There seems to be an acceptance of it.
As if one realizes,
A birth has been committed.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
A release of limitations,
Easily takes a shift.
No longer is one concerned,
About winning conflicts with enemies burned.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
It becomes easier to observe,
Those disturbed and their afflictions addicted.
Enjoyed and unrestricted.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
It is best to rest.
And let it accept the truth,
That comes with it.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
Expect a shock and some loneliness.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
Those experiencing this,
Are left to feel estranged!
Alienated,
From that...
Which one had thought,
Was sane!
When a consciousness begins to lift...
Enjoy it as a gift.
Unveiling an abundance of understanding.
Connecting a peace that can be reached.
With a wish to share and treat.
When a consciousness begins to lift...
From those taught they should live,
With lives accepted in self defeat!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ogunade
Ogunade, gun, do doe, end!
But, i am her husband;
Go, Dan, Ade, and, on, no!
Fresh out of prison! !
Like the story of the black book of love,
Like the story of the white book of peace,
Like the story of the red book of care,
Sparks!
But, i am fresh out of prison.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Not All Poems Are Confessions
NOT ALL POEMS ARE CONFESSIONS
Not all poems are confessions,
But mine often are-
I write to understand and justify myself
And to help myself know
What to do next-
The writing itself is often the action that helps
Not all poems are confessions
And not all poems are therapy
And not all poems are prayer
But mine often are.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Nightmares
When the roots are covered in false color,
A naturalness of an essence goes forever.
And a youtfulness that's claimed,
Only changes in one's brain.
When a smothering weave is done,
Cells in one's skull can not breathe.
They become squeezed.
And common sense diminishes,
With split ends finding no relief.
When lips and fingertips and toes,
With eyelashes extended beyond one's nose...
Are falsely expressing a heart enclosed.
Is the opposite sex attracted to what is expressed?
Is it the unnaturalness one gets,
Professed in confessions held that one expects?
It's nice to know what is held close is for real.
And when lips meet there's no slipping away.
And when a swift breeze comes,
Does one want to chase a weave?
When someone says they have nightmares,
Are they really deep in sleep?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wherever You Are Sitting
Why have you come,
To sabotage my dreams...
With a fresh set of agitations?
I thought you took the advice,
Of your family and friends...
With a kicking me to the curb,
To allow our relationship to end.
Why have you come,
To sabotage my dreams...
With a fresh set of agitations?
It has been years since,
You were convinced by my independence...
Was a means to keep you limited and confined.
Find any evidence of that if you can in your mind.
You were the one who sat on a fence,
Unable to make a decision.
Until I brought it to your attention,
To climb and soar to heights to reach.
But you insisted on labelling me...
With titles to inspire with pretentions to keep.
Why have you come,
To sabotage my dreams...
With a fresh set of agitations?
Are you thinking of me as the one you 'now' see,
As someone who has succeeded...
With the holding on to my beliefs?
And you wish to admit in your loneliness,
You have grown sick...
Of trying to stick to making impressions?
Perceiving I could care less of your confessions.
And wherever you are sitting you've become aware of it?
Well...
Gone is every bit of my interest.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Am Consciousness
I am consciousness, existences and bliss.
Hold the light for everyone you do insist.
I am consciousness, existence, bliss,
bless the people you have on your list.
I am consciousness, existence bliss,
think a good thought to those that are missed.
I am consciousness, existence, bliss,
bless those you wouldn’t even kiss.
I am consciousness, existence, bliss,
heal relationships where anger exists.
I am consciousness, existence, bliss,
bless those you cherish.
Written By Christina Sunrise on February 4,2012
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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This Has Got To Be for The Love!
Do they wish to impress?
Or do they live just to do it,
As part of a 'self' consciousness.
Conscious their gifts exist.
And it is not with impressions,
Expressed with a witnessed unlimited giving.
It is who they are.
And that is done at their best.
To simply impress comes as no effort.
To those who are blessed...
To progress through stress.
And produce the unexpected.
Without getting needed rest.
And this...
Has got to be for the love!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fresh Voices Heard
Do the fresh voices heard,
Enhance to inspire...
The encouragement of higher consciousness?
Deceit can not seem to smother.
Or have they too been sold,
To silence the old insights.
The ones that frighten sweetened appetites.
With beliefs a release from the past,
Will undo delusions praised to last.
And a comforting with a replacement of truth,
Those with old insights,
Were too quick to strip away...
The selling of misconceptions fresh voices heard,
Will keep pursued.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A good writer cannot avoid having social consciousness. I don't mean this about small pieces of writing, but about a big book. If it's a big book, there has to be more than one undertow.
quote by Marguerite Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Moses Dedicated The Law Of Moses
Moses read to the people the law.
The people promised to obey the law.
Moses sprinkled blood on the people
blood on the book sealed the people
sealed in contact with dedicating blood
thus was born a new Mosaic Covenant
the first covenant was dedicated blood
Moses spoke every precept
to all the people according to the law
Moses took blood of calves
goats, with water, scarlet wool, hyssop
sprinkled both the book and all the people
saying 'This is the blood of the covenant
which God has commanded you.' Hebrews 9: 18-22.
Moses sprinkled with blood
both the tabernacle and all vessels
of ministry according to law
almost all things
holy are purified
in sacrificial blood
shedding of blood
there is remission
atonement in blood
poem by Terence George Craddock
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No Secrets Are Left Kept
No secrets are left kept,
When discreet confessions
Are swept away,
To reveal an openness.
Two people meet with needs.
And a specialness wished,
Is finally met as a dream received.
Without commanding an understanding,
To brand love like this with needless demands.
Burning it does with desire,
That frees reason for deceits.
And dispelling regrets,
For a delightful happiness...
Coming to cement.
And meant for them to be the best yet.
This love,
With a knowing only two can share!
This love,
Is theirs to be permanently aware.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lost In A Book
SHHH!
don't bother me
I'm lost in a book
mixed up with
the complicated plots
and outrageous characters
when i'm lost in a book
I don't have to think
about my life
I'll get stuck in
a fantasy world
and never
have to come back
home again
one book
after another
I read, read, read
different places
different people
a new world
I start fresh
each time
I open up a new book
when i'm lost in a book
I am safe
no one can hurt me
I'm happy
when I'm lost
in a book
poem by Annie Janine
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