From An Egg One Hatches
From an egg one hatches.
And what appears is born.
Growth is expected.
And life goes on.
Experiences come.
Knowledge is obtained.
A sharing is learned...
With comprehension maintained.
Although...
Some gifted with birth,
Choose a worthlessness to serve.
And they believe what is given,
To them is deserved.
So they wait...
To see what is being delivered on a plate.
And complain if what is presented,
Does not meet 'their' expectations.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Da Troof and Only 'Da Troof
When it's spoken and should be understood,
For what it is...
It ain't!
When I'm expected to listen,
With eye contact and sincerety...
I bet not blink!
Enough though what is being said,
Has been pounded in my head.
Even that beaten horse...
Whispers to me to play dead!
'Da troof and only 'da troof,
I swear! '
And I listen to these kids today...
Trying to convince,
With words they say!
Without comprehension...
At all conveyed!
Because what is delivered,
Is from a TV show re-anactment made!
And every syllable from these lips...
Comes a form of some desception.
Scripted from urban streets and learned!
And rehearsed by gifted actors displayed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Even If It Is Not Cost Effective
I never once called you worthless.
What I said was...
Add a zero to all that you have brought to the table.
And I will serve that back to you.
You are the one who seems to have nothing to eat.
I'm not opposed to sharing.
Even if it is not cost effective.
You supplied the worthlessness.
Not I.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Many Ignore This Process To Forget
Not only are there differences in ages.
There are differences in experiences.
And those differences experienced...
Should be accepted to digest,
To progress one's comprehension.
But the similarities in not paying attention...
To comprehend with intention,
Between ages mentioned...
To insist one has a more indepth awareness,
Is often a sharing done that should be dismissed.
A learning done is a process one wins,
With a knowing of it won.
And many ignore this process to forget,
How and where an experience wishing to share...
Had been obtained to get.
And...
Remembering from 'whom' and when,
They received a message that began to deliver them...
To a wisdom.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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As If It Was Theirs On Demand
There is one thing I've learned,
About the use of my time.
I've learned through the years,
Not to let anyone abuse it...
As if it was theirs on demand.
And common sense?
Well...
I have discovered,
That it is not so common.
In fact the absence of it,
Can be expected.
And rare it is...
If it appears at all.
And the doing of something for others?
One should stop and think about that quick.
Since many people don't appreciate,
What it is for them that is done to assist.
Many will complain as if the time taken,
By someone who has gone out of their way...
Is not what they prefer.
They will have the nerve to say,
Something else desired...
Is what they deserve.
There is one thing I've learned,
About the use of my time.
I've learned through the years,
Not to let anyone abuse it...
As if it was theirs on demand.
And what I have chosen to do today...
Is to satisified and please my own thirst first!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Earned From Lessons Learned
I was not born to be dependent.
And used because of it.
I spent most of my life,
Being of assistance.
Since waiting for an exchange to be done...
Others resisted.
Or so it seemed.
I've laid on my back,
With several illnesses to recover.
And I can not recall,
Being pampered with love.
Or smothered by another.
So if it seems I am more direct than most.
It is not that I am unconcerned.
I've learned from my own experiences...
That my happiness depends on me.
And any success achieved by my efforts...
I know every bit of it has been deserved.
Every aspect has been blessed.
And all of it has been earned from lessons learned.
If there is any arrogance you may now detect...
You had not witnessed those obstacles I removed.
Nor those I regard now as fools.
As they chose to sling mud on my footsteps.
Am I still embittered by this?
Of course.
I am not that self involved to realize challenges remain.
And continue to exist.
Each one I meet and struggle to defeat...
Leaves me more humbled to reveal,
That side of me that can be tender and sweet.
After I've removed the sweat,
Underneath the armor!
That has protected me in battle.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Check, Please!
Those who believe,
A quality obtained...
Can be kept and yet replace,
Those who initiated that quality to please...
In the first place.
With a keeping of the same taste expected,
Fool only themselves.
It takes much more than a replacement to restore,
That which has been established...
Patrons served came to adore.
And the ones who ignore this,
Know very little about 'their' business!
But a lesson learned that is earned...
Eventually teaches.
'Excuse me...
But,
Is your chef on vacation? '
The one we admired for his presentation? '
~No we've replaced that chef.
We could not meet his demands or expectations!
And frankly...
His arrogance we could no longer accept.
We paid him his worth.~
'I see.
May we have our checks, please? '
~Would you like to select something else from the menu? ~
'Why?
Would that change the ambiance?
You've already destroyed that,
By taking our preferences for granted.
Check, please! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Day When The Sitting To Listen Comes
The day when the sitting to listen comes,
Those who hadn't done it before...
Will discover a wealth of knowledge can be obtained.
Impatience with a running mouth...
And ears blocked,
Makes for poor comprehension.
And those who lack experience,
Are generally the ones...
Who believe they can not be taught anything.
Incompetence loves the company,
Of others equally ignorant.
Especially those who have gained their influence,
Through social networking and kissing tail.
The day when the sitting to listen comes,
Those who hadn't done it before...
Will discover a wealth of knowledge can be obtained.
And what has been done by misdeed and in discreet...
Will be seen for what it is to undo.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When Life was Simple
When life was simple
Was when I was in mother's womb?
but wait we were poor so my mom got no prenatal care.
When life was simple
Was when my mother gave birth to me...?
but wait I was born premature with a collapsed lung unable to breathe.
When life was simple
Was when I was 6 month old?
but wait that was when my mom found out I have Cerebral Palsy.
When life was simple
Was when I was about ten?
but wait that when I was called the little cripple boy who has no friends.
When life was simple
I was about 26
but wait that when my mother scoffed at my poetic gift.
Well I'm 41 now
and throughout the years there's one thing I have learned
Life is never simple.
They also Serve after John Milton On His Blindness
'They also serve, who only stand and wait'
survivor said, regretting others' fate.
'They also serve who wait without the gate'
time-server said, observing patron's gait.
'What service, light denied, anticipate? '
'Light - despite paradoxical life's plate! '
They're served, who only put on weight, expand,
whose judgement lies, so heavy on the land.
They swerve from justice, who, with heavy hand,
pervert the law, - for which they should be damned.
They wait, who only seem to serve and stand,
beware! a revolution is at hand.
To stand and wait in life to some seems nice
to taste of time, like salad, lacking spice!
(28 March 1981 revised 7 August 2007)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Protection
I have no fear at the present in view of my past experiences,
And i am now delivered from the paw of the lion;
But, do wear a bronze helmet on your head to protect yourself.
Of the valley which lies below her,
There you must go to meet her love;
But, i am now delivered from the paw of the bear.
Of the five smooth stones from the brook,
You need a sound protection in this life;
And Yahweh does not save with sword and spear,
For the battle is Yahweh's.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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You Chose…
Before you were born into this body,
You had many life decisions to make.
Where on Earth do I want to live?
Who will I choose for parents?
Of what race and ethnicity will they be?
What religion?
What soul issues will I work with?
What experiences will I choose?
That done, you stored choices into soul memory.
After a body was conceived by your parents;
You entered;
Felt the warmth of their blood.
Felt the density of becoming matter.
Felt the downward pull of gravity.
Your mind was empty, indeed a clean slate…
Yet guided by a knowing soul.
You made a choice to be here, so why do you complain?
Rejoice Beloved,
Live life for life itself!
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Acceptance of Limitation
An intelligence defined by its commonness.
With conditioning affects,
Repeatedly unchanged...
Remains the same in its acceptance,
Of limitations confirmed and expected.
It is not reaching for heights unknown.
Or maverick voyages inspected to address.
Since little of that is nurtured or shown.
Within itself...
There is a discouragement left.
Although a willingness is welcomed,
A birth that clings onto a faith untested...
Allows a growth of hypocrisy condoned.
On foundations grown...
Initializing at its base.
This is not to be question or challenge.
Definitions have been set in place!
The realism of symbolism flourishes.
Never to be erased or end confrontations,
Taking place within.
A intelligence seeking comprehension...
Struggles with knowledge.
And attempts to avoid division.
But eventually chooses to separate in isolation.
To protect from the effective feeding of delusion.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Gifted with Choices to Choose
Were you not...
Gifted with choices to choose.
And were you not...
Given what it is to refuse.
Were you not...
Happy.
Were you not...
Pleased,
To receive.
Were you not...
Doubting what it is you should do.
Were you not...
Undecided too.
And were you not...
A bit conflicted.
As you sat to give more time to reminisce.
You have a voice.
Did you use it or abuse it.
Did you voice,
Your objectives.
Or did you just complain and whine...
As you left those reasons you found behind.
Were you not...
Gifted with choices to choose.
And were you not...
Given what it is to refuse.
Were you not...
Happy.
Were you not...
Pleased,
To receive.
Like many who take for granted,
The air they breathe.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Nothing to Gain
I can not override your guilt maintained
By sweetening my experiences,
I alone have obtained.
Nor can I overlook my scars,
My smile might hide to camouflage.
I am not here to convince,
My emotions are contained by not wincing.
Nor make attempts to refrain from my own pain.
And I surely have nothing to gain,
By revealing my healing to you.
I am not one to wallow away in shade digressing...
Who's point of view I should have,
Or had not comprehended or accepted to pursue.
I have other things on my mind to do!
When I forgive and forget...
I move on from it,
And I am through!
If and when I do give blood...
Whether for charity,
Or from a wound that has been inflicted.
It will still drip from my own veins.
Standing, sitting or unconscious as it drips,
The 'me' I am still remains!
And I will not be seeking anyone's assessment...
Or interpretation as to how that feels.
As a sensation instigated by one fascinated.
There are too many like that...
Anticipating to be baited!
No one will know that but me.
And I am not into dramatic exaggerations.
Nor repeated self beatings,
To relive to incite my peace.
And 'that' has been well deserved!
Like a dessert I love that has been served.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Born Knowing
a rare few
are born
knowing
knowing
pre-birth
meeting
memories
of before
birth born
life spent
remembering
knowledge
reality
purpose
pre-birth
life line live
remembering
purpose timing
poem by Terence George Craddock
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I think actors are at the mercy of the opportunities presented to them. So you kind of have to wait for them to choose you. My music is insular - I can choose that.
quote by Dwight Yoakam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It Is Best To Be Prepared
Just because a mouth is constantly open...
Doesn't mean expectations should be raised,
That anything worthwhile comes out of it.
Would you trust one known to gossip...
With a secret,
You wished not have publicly exist?
Think about it!
Would you rely on someone,
Who has never committed to anything done?
But sit,
To give unsolicited opinions...
As if,
They have knowledge or wisdom you had not witnessed.
When someone like this gives you advice...
Don't be disrespectful by not listening.
Since you never know what is being said...
Will make you think about it more than twice.
Remember...
If you can tolerate BS?
Anything is possible.
Even a confession of ignorance.
I've done it!
And it is refreshing to become 'humblized'!
A process called 'growth' begins.
Just because a mouth is constantly open...
Doesn't mean expectations should be raised,
That anything worthwhile comes out of it.
But then again...
Never lower 'your' expectations,
That something coming out of a mouth like this...
Has not been visited by a thought process.
Connecting one day to make sense!
And you were blessed to have been made a gift of it!
The eyes and ears take over,
When the mouth is closed.
With observation and listening enhanced.
It is best to be prepared...
Anytime, any place, from anyone and anywhere!
Even birds don't fly seeking just a tree to land on.
Nor does wisdom exclusively come from those considered wise!
And 'that' took me a long time to realize,
My depth of comprehension...
Kept adding unto my understanding.
And at times my patience and tolerance I question.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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First Born
I am the first born.
My journey into the real world,
Had an entirely different perspective.
The value of experimentation,
Is only respected IF the experiment is successful.
Prior to that,
There's just a series of tests to affect,
The emotions and mental stamina.
AND...
A respect that is obtained that is deserved.
As well as earned.
Since there is nothing and no one,
To protect the first born.
But a developed common sense...
That comes from the experience of being pioneered!
Or whatever that's called,
When no one knows what the hell they are doing!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Those Lessons Learned
Thank You for opening my eyes,
Early in life.
And developing an appreciation,
For those lessons learned...
As I sacrificed.
Reminiscing the wealth of my experiences,
Grew I did.
Although I admit,
I was a spoiled kid.
Going beyond what was expected of me,
I began to notice quickly...
The little things I'd asked for,
I made sure those chores done...
Were performed without throwing tantrums.
And my resentment then...
Was kept at a minimum with it concealed within.
Thank You for opening my eyes,
Early in life.
And developing an appreciation,
For those lessons learned...
As I sacrificed.
Reminiscing the wealth of my experiences,
Grew I did.
Although I admit,
I was a spoiled kid.
And I felt deserving to be awarded,
The attention...
From those tasks assigned I passed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Death and Birth
Death leads to birth rather than birth, to death.
Birth is close to death and not vice versa.
Every birth is at the result of a death.
Death to birth, not birth to death, is the path.
The death of clay is the birth of a pot;
The death of the pot is the birth of clay.
Ice melts to water and water forms ice.
In each conversion, occur death and birth.
The death of a night is the birth of a day;
The death of a day is the birth of a night.
New Year means the death of the old year too.
In each transition, takes place death and birth.
The death of a seed is the birth of a plant;
The death of gametes is the birth of an embryo.
Salts die to form cells; cells die to form salts.
In each growth, form death and birth of matter.
The so called death and birth is nothing but
Deaths and births of forms made of matter.
The matter itself does not die to be born
But is converted to different forms.
Elements disappear to form plants.
Plants as food add to the animals’ flesh.
Plants and animals on death liberate
As elements, serving through worms and germs.
When a child is born, there’s no birth of life.
The embryo transforms into a child.
When a man dies, there is no death of life.
The body disintegrates to salts.
Matter, energy and life have no death
They have got one birth since when they’ve been.
They interact and come different stages
In which the pattern is death and birth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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