From Unclean and Putrid Ends
In deep shit!
And denying the depth
Or which asses created it,
Does not alter the smell!
Or how long this stench will stink!
When begun...
It was neither the time
Or place
To take a dump!
But those who have been spoonfed crap
All their lives,
Surround themselves with those who too are familiar
With squatting down and thrusting disgust,
Whenever and wherever they please!
That is the disease they find excuses to spread!
Nothing has really changed!
The unbelievable odor,
Once accepted as a passing fume...
Is now being detected as an addicting gas,
From unclean and putrid ends.
Excrementing in mutual agreement!
And creating an atmosphere of sheer pain.
For those who remain quietly unbelieving...
This is what they chose!
Hoping
With crossed fingers,
They were going to receive a lifetime of roses!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Observations Today Confirm
It's going to take a lot of patience and hard work,
To get this crap corrected.
It is unbelievable how conscious people sat,
Knowing that their lives...
Were being set up to become traps.
And they would become the tested mice.
With afflicting addictions intentionally inflicted.
And programmed to accept,
Any condition...
Greed and politicians that would hypnotize,
Suggest!
Just to make things for them right to bite!
Like vampires sucking blood from necks.
'Is there any money left to see 'Twilight? '
Those stripped of credibility had no influence,
To introduce anything good.
And those suppressed into nothingness,
Were pushed to live in depressed neighborhoods.
And statistically used...
As those amongst the disadvantaged!
Those who were treated less than cesspools.
Oh,
This plot thickens!
Those who believed they would succeed with deceit...
Found ways to line their pockets,
By creating conditions to have those without a conscious
Move to suburban streets.
And there they would find their lives complete.
Until their dreams were depleted...
With virtues gone.
And honesty and truth...
Those deceivers had defeated.
Yes folks...
These days are not for wine and roses.
It's going to take a lot of patience and hard work,
To get this crap corrected.
It is unbelievable how conscious people sat,
Knowing that their lives...
Were being set up to become traps.
However...
You did not hear that from me!
That should be a declaration your observations today,
Confirm!
And...
Susie ain't got time now to spread her juicy gossip.
Susie's trying to connect in her mind,
This hustle before her eyes is the real deal!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Hoping He Does Not Win
I am hoping he does not win.
He is much too good for them.
Let them continue to protest.
Stirring up division and racial unrest.
They've created their own unhappiness.
Why should he stick his neck out...
To help them rebuild their nests,
They have set,
Themselves...
To flames!
Alone.
And if he should win...
They would dump their crap on him.
Because that is what they do!
In everything done,
That they have ever pursued.
People who know this...
Know that is true.
Exchanging blame...
With accusations and false claims.
That is what they do best!
Let them clean up their own mess.
He has proven himself to be qualified.
But they should not be the ones,
On his back to ride!
They have created their own downslide...
Alone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pile of Spit
These words plopping down onto the paper
Resemble a big, steaming pile of spit.
The pungent smells of the putrid vapors
Choke my nostrils in a great, gasping fit.
My eyes go blood-shot while seeing the stink.
My throat clenches, closing from the foul air.
My disgust rots at the way that I think.
My mind suffocates in a teary glare.
Then I flush the crap down the clogging drain
That contains my spiritual plumbing.
I try to remove the residual stains,
Plunging at the rank source of my dumbing,
But there's a blockage deep, seeping and thick.
This diarrhea makes my stomach sick.
Ok, it's not spit. And I know... this poem was made in poor taste.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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To Spread a Disgust
A filth disguised,
Does not hide its stench.
It will still smell!
It will still leave a trail,
That stinks.
And does that quite well.
That is its purpose.
To spread a disgust.
And discussing that with others,
Of like minds!
They are of the demonic kind!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Some Are So Creative
When some folks begin...
To make excuses.
It is a process for them,
That never ends.
They keep making excuses,
To use and abuse their family and friends.
In an addicting process...
Predictable!
Eventually identified as lies.
And applied over and over again.
Some are so creative,
As to make people believe...
Those who can see through this,
Are wrong not to comprehend...
An obvious illness,
Hidden within!
And why excuses for them exist.
Going on in their minds,
Without the slightest resistance...
Time after time.
And then comes the campaign...
To discredit and bad mouth others.
Either stating someone believes,
They have opinions that are not concrete.
When anyone who has ever made contact with them...
Notices too late,
They too have been wrapped up in a waste of time...
Helping the excuse maker to defend!
Only to find themselves in public disagreements.
And having the innocent eyes of a pathological liar...
Gaining sympathy from those,
Who had not been over time exposed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Find No Answer
I could find no answer
May be answer with fewer
I believe in rain’s shower
It gives little hope of survivor
I turn around and see beautiful things
I hoped to find new or something
It may satisfy my long urge
Some one may come forward for bonds to forge
I really long for some kind of attachment
Where I can confine or make some movement
A movement of long lasting relation
That has remained distant possibility for the want of revelation
To remain aloof from mainstream is no answer
We have live among all vultures for future
Nothing may prove it relevant or look real
Some closeness is to be created for special deal
Don’t go for meaningless words
It is out of dated concept to look forward
You may expect back lash or some kind of fear
But it is part and parcel of life hence to bear
What can you see in drunken stage?
Flying high in sky with unmindful of an age
What happens when intoxication is over?
You have no time left for make over
The real place is among human beings
We got to be a part of circus ring
Not all animals may try to befriend
Yet we can not take it as complete end
It may impossible to take fresh air
If all the time we fear about polluted air
There may bad smell along with good odor
We must try to adjust and seek for
I need make it in form of appeal
Only outdated ideas must be repelled
We can certainly live with changed situation
The balance can be maintained with good equation
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Disturbed We Are Not Called By Appropriate Names
If we do eventually call one another comrades...
Would we then become communistic socialists?
Or would we remain the social fools,
We prefer.
And disturbed we are not called by appropriate names.
With a more political correctness accepted.
Even though the environment has long been changed.
And the name calling we choose to keep the same,
To defame in disgust.
In a more truer definition of us.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Smile
I smile to cover the pain
I smile to hide my misery
But I'm tired of life and I wanna die
I want to escape from this hell Im living in
Will someone please take all the pain away
Take me to a place where I can be set free
Never again to know this agony
Never again to know the shit he puts me through
Take me to a place where I can be myself
Take me to a place of love & peace
Take me to a place where I can fly
There is only one problem
He lives off my pain, agony, and misery
He smiles at the site of my pain
But I just smile so no one can see the shit he puts me through
When I smile I turn into a different person
When I smile I lose another piece of my being
Every time I smile I hope someone sees through me
Sees through this fake skin and saves me before I die
poem by Brandi Young
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Frenzied Fingers Run Amuck
When I get you into my arms
I can't control the things that I do.
Fingers grab the hair on your head.
Fingers caress the small of your back.
Fingers travel down your spine
and back up again.
Fingers reach to all corners of your being,
quietly unnoticed at first,
but more frenzied with passing time.
Wild fingers travel your soul
with frenzied action that is hard to stop.
Uncontrollable fingers run wild
until you beg them to stop.
But even then, there's no counting on it.
These fingers like to run wild.
Whenever I place my fingers on you,
frenzied fingers run amuck.
Aching Hearts
Half a lifetime has now passed
since romance touched our hearts...
We were young lovers filled
with wonder and endless possibilities
The sun had never set on our love
until one fateful summer day
How could we know fate would fling our souls
so cruelly to opposite ends of the universe?
How could we understand
that destiny knew full well what
our minds did not want to know?
How deeply we plunged into
the depths of our souls, knowing
that young love would be sacrificed,
As fate commanded, we cleanse
polluted family bloodlines
Why did we live in diverse
and often unfriendly places?
Creating relationships
not chosen by loving hearts
rather from a place
of knowing, deep within
purposeful souls
We now look back at
the wisdom of our choices
yet are powerless to soothe
“Aching Hearts”
Although we’ve accepted
a path chosen by destiny
it's not without sorrow and pain
Alas, Hearts still yearn
for love from yesteryear,
In this lifetime we must trust
that God Knows that
we have chosen service to Him
and our blossoming souls,
above carnal love
When we unite again it shall be
in a place of truth and beauty
Indeed...
A new Eden where we shall love eternal
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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On The Passing Of Lizzie Hickey
I've heard of the passing of Lizzie Hickey a long life on this Earth she did enjoy
And she now lives on in another atmosphere for good people such as she will never die
Yes she lives on somewhere in the hereafter for the reaper never lays claim to the soul
And she is one I always will remember when back the lanes of memory I will stroll.
A Faithful wife to the late Johnny Hickey she raised four children Donal, Joan, John Francis and Jane
And she was a role model and a mentor and marvellous memories of her I retain
I felt saddened at the news of her passing but time 'twould seem for anyone doesn't wait
And we ought not to mourn Lizzie Hickey but her marvellous life we ought to celebrate.
There was so much to like about that woman a great role model to us school going boys
We admired her for her great depth of knowledge so down to earth and yet so very wise,
She was one of the most likeable people and in her kind heart there was so much good
And in her life she never made an enemy and she would only help you if she could.
I heard of the passing of Lizzie Hickey she now is living in a better place
At Inchaleigh close to the Town of Millstreet in our young years her's was a familiar face
She only left her soul elsewhere is living that part of her is never going to die
And in that Land that we know as the hereafter her new life she's beginning to enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Home
How do I find my way back?
I've strayed too far from home.
I've gone so many places
for so many days.
I've even been to Rome.
I have seen so many sights now.
It seems to me that somehow
that every place I've ever seen
were places in-between
from the place that is my home.
My search for brand new places
and all those other places
never filled the gap
as I crossed the map,
so far from my sweet home.
For I missed the landscape,
the place that I grew up in.
The old familiar faces
were not in the places I've been.
And now I must retrace my steps.
I've searched this world all over.
Too long I've been a rover.
I'll take a trip on back
for I'm on the wrong track.
I wonder what I'll find at my home?
Nothing seems the same now.
Familiarity has changed somehow,
except for the peace I feel around me.
'Cause in my memory I still can see
the place that is my home.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Once In A Lifetime
If only it was raining out tonight
Reflections on the sidewalks would take me back in time
You told me when I left you standing there
Someday I'd be sorry
Well that day is here
I was wrong, oh so wrong
I should have known
That you were the one
Now I know a love like yours only comes along
Once in a lifetime
Once in your life you'll find
The kind of love that never ends
The kind I want back again
You were trying
I could see it in your eyes
As I held a one way fare
To some false paradise
I was dying to spread my restless wings
Now just to see your face again
I'd do anything
I was wrong, oh so wrong
A dreamer in a small town can survive
Now I know it's love like yours
That keep these dreams alive
Once in a lifetime
Once in your life you'll find
The kind of love that never ends
The kind I want back again
So let the rain fall down
Take me back oh take me back
Don't let me down
Let the rain fall down
It's such a lonely sound
Don't let me down
Once in a lifetime
Once in your life you'll find
The kind of love that never ends
The kind I want back again
song performed by by Kansas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When You Dump Dung
When you,
Dump dung.
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
I said,
...
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
When you dump dung,
With a stinging that stuns...
It only closes up eyes.
It doesn't open up a mind,
To empathize...
The reason or the why for the doing.
When you dump dung,
With a stinging that stuns...
It only closes up eyes.
It doesn't open up a mind,
To empathize...
The reason or the why for the doing.
When you,
Dump dung.
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
I said,
When you dump dung...
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
When a dummy does a dung dumped.
Nobody stays around but runs to hide.
To leave before the spreading of the stench comes.
When you,
Dump dung.
Do it in a place to be used.
With someone else who'll accept,
What you do.
As if...
You've got something that nourishes.
When a dummy does a dung dumped.
Nobody stays around but runs to hide.
To leave before the spreading of the stench comes.
With a finding they've been brushed aside.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Granting Of An Escape
When does it become one's duty,
To be held accountable for their own actions?
When does that border between,
Allowing one to locate excuses...
Separates that from one's denying,
Of making habitual mistakes...
To find fault to place blame on others,
With a granting of an escape.
When does it become one's duty,
To be held accountable for their own actions?
When does that border between,
Allowing one to locate excuses...
Separates that from one's denying,
Of making habitual mistakes.
And when will people awaken,
To discover their dishonesty...
Offers their children,
No respect or identity.
Or a dignity they pride for the rest of their lives.
What will it take...
For those with pretentions to have them erased?
More hiding places?
Or the appearance of guilty looks,
Adorning their pitiful faces?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Acceptibly Diminished
What better excuse can one make,
Than the one made that is better than the last?
Some folks are gifted in creating some,
So unbelievable...
To not to believe them,
Brings the maker grief.
They spend entire lives in their development.
Some have even stated,
The expectation of them being made...
Has elevated their activity in their production of them,
To heights of popularity.
Into an artform that has given them a name!
As if this is a career move intended!
And they are proud to have this illness,
To claim as something they can not help!
However,
According to them and to hear them tell it...
They have family and friends who tolerate this nonsense.
And accepting this mentality has to be wide spread.
Too many people have created tremendous delusions,
For themselves
To satisfy their own self inflicted agonies.
Some insecurity hidden,
Has them commited...
To making excuses.
And hiding what is obviously seen!
A mental imbalance.
Yes...
This behavior is sick and condoned.
And probably the reason,
Why there will never be a remedy for it.
It is part of a culture that does not see itself disturbed.
And when one has that as a supporting testimony...
The recovery is not going to happen.
It is woven into the fabric which makes the society what it is!
With its social standards and quality of life...
Acceptibly diminished.
And imposed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Practicing The Pointing Of Aging Fingers
All it had to take,
Was the admission of one's mistakes.
With the facing of one's wrongs.
To eliminate.
To have them then forgiven.
The dance with procrastination,
Became stronger when prolonged.
And for those who chose to remain hidden,
Behind created accusations unlimited...
A discovery found has occurred.
There were no escapes routes to warn,
Or printed on walls surrounding dead ends.
And...
Remembered loud voices exclaiming,
'I Told You So! '
Hand ended long ago.
Unfamiliar but too common,
Is 'that' reality one accepts...
That exhausts every delusion one has used,
To make more excuses.
To finally be left alone,
Practicing the pointing of aging fingers.
To leave those duped and once supportive,
Feeling ashamed...
They were picked and baited to believe false claims.
As the ones victimized by deceiving eyes,
Of expressed innocence used to lure others...
To navigate misdeeds done,
Have never shown themselves affected...
By the telling of lies directed to defame them.
In fact...
Such character assassinations,
Seem to have been to their benefit.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Accept Apologies
Have I done many things,
That were 'blindly' experimenttal?
Well...
I was not completely blind.
And yes,
I confess to being adventurous.
Do I have regrets,
For doing those things...
That were less socially accepted?
Gee...
You have no idea how I wish,
These questions you ask...
Were from a multiple choice test.
But...
I was born with a creative nature.
And I've done my best to express those interests.
So...
Even though some folks may have been upset,
I have no regrets.
Hopefully a time will come,
When more will welcome that choice to live.
And people will remove their noses,
From cracks and crevices on other folks exposed.
I keep my fingers crossed on that!
'You are direct and bold,
Aren't you? '
What did you expect?
Apologies made with excuses?
'Well...
Yes.
I guess.'
I accept apologies!
But...
Excuses I don't make.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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One's Beliefs
Beliefs aren't changed overnight,
Because of misdirection.
Beliefs are changed overnight,
When new ones are created.
Misdirection can be debated,
For reasons to entertain those who make changes.
But one's beliefs as they are...
Are only fed to keep them out of the way.
And kept faithfully attached,
For purposes to serve!
Not to discuss what are facts.
Beliefs aren't changed overnight,
Because of misdirection.
Beliefs are changed overnight,
When new ones are created.
Like one's knowledge of facts...
Depends on who is being pleased.
And for what reasons they've been directed,
To go first down on their knees,
Hoping to find their minds comforted.
And...
Beliefs,
As they are interpreted to be.
Aren't changed overnight,
Because of misdirection.
Beliefs are changed overnight,
When new ones are created.
To please and comfort the converted
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Its My Life
(micky dolenz)
Micky dolenz music (bmi)
Lead vocal: micky dolenz
Its my life and Im takin over now
Its my life and its time that I learned how
No excuses. for the truth is
Its my life now
I stumble and I fall
And I think about it all
Then I make amends
But it never ends
And Ive just begun to wonder why
And I listen to the songs,
And I read all the words,
And I seem to remember something that I heard
Of a fire and a cave and shadows on the wall
Its my life and Im takin over now
Its my life and its time that I learned how
No excuses. for the truth is
Its my life now
I wanna believe in the miracles
But they mix me up. then they pass the cup
And Ive just begun to look the other way
And I dont want to lean on the stars or on the dreams
On the fantasies or the deities
Dont I think its time to lean on me?
Its my life and Im takin over now
Its my life and its time that I learned how
No excuses. for the truth is
Its my life now
No excuses. for the truth is
Its my life now
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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