Giving The Attention
If someone finds they are reminding another,
Repeatedly...
Of a disrespect shown and done,
Maybe another approach would be...
Is to not be the one repeatedly,
Giving the attention to remind them.
Sometimes absence delivers a message.
But then again,
Some are so accustomed to being disrespectful...
It has to be part of their D.N.A.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
When It Benefits To Pay Attention
I can quickly forgive and understand a child,
Who takes an escapade with a making a mistake...
At my expense.
I expect this from a child adventuring,
Out into the world to establish for themselves...
A building of their own common sense.
This I accept and expect.
With a patience in the beginning given.
And hoping in their minds something eventually connects.
However...
With the giving of circumstances and considering one's age,
There are stages of life when it benefits to pay attention.
And if one continues to disrespect others to neglect,
Difficult it becomes for me to repeatedly forgive and forget.
Especially when a doing is done,
Over and over and over by someone...
Who cruises through life making the same mistakes,
With new excuses easy to use refusing to face truth.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Running Away From A Self Evaluation
Listen closely to those,
Who repeatedly accuse others...
For attacking them for no reason.
Or preventing their movement,
In any direction.
Or the showing of a concern,
To them not returned.
Listen and learn intently,
From those who feed doses of nonsense.
And eventually you will surmise,
Someone who has grown accustomed...
To a running away from a self evaluation.
And will use deceit and lies,
At the expense of anyone giving to them empathy!
When it is psychotherapy that is needed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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History has repeatedly shown that when a new method or material becomes available, new uses for it arise.
quote by Wilson Greatbatch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Slipping of Meet Notes
Accustomed to lies.
What does the truth really mean?
Accustomed to lies laying low on the scene!
Accustomed to tell them...
And protect when told.
Accustomed to lies,
Whether fresh released or old held on hold!
Accustomed to lies...
Without a bat of an eyelash moving!
Accustomed to lies.
Dishonesty is accepted and shown.
At the work place
Where the slipping of meet notes,
Does not provoke disdain.
Accustomed to lies...
And that's how our lives remain!
In heated sex away from home!
Regardless of who spies on another,
Both buffer their suffering by what's condoned.
Accustomed to lies...
And what is taught is always known!
Accustomed to lies.
Accustomed to holding on to them,
Until time flys!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I've Never Been Here Before Either
I have been where you are.
And to repeatedly return...
To support your steps,
With motivated encouragement...
I don't object to doing!
It's just that...
My own steps need protecting too.
With a giving to it my complete attention.
And...
No one appears there to clear my path.
Or has offered to watch my back.
In fact...
No one has expressed concern at all,
If I might have fears or not.
Or how I feel after stumbling to crawl.
To get back on my feet to walk.
I am not rehearsing my journey.
Or have been given time to practice.
And like you...
I've never been here before either.
And with each step I take I know I am tested.
And like you...
I too have sacrificed to reach.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Resting Unprotested and In Crevices Ready to Molest
No one pays attention,
With intent to comprehend.
Too few do!
Others are quickly bored.
And easy to offend.
The only ones who do listen...
Are those who are dismissed,
And disbelieved.
They are mostly slandered and repeatedly...
Asked to leave.
When too much truth is spoken by them...
This brings a disgust upon those in opposition.
Refusing they do to hear with ears accustomed,
To receiving messages sweetened with deceit.
Even though what is said...
Leaks with a seepage that creeps and slithers!
And threatening in appearance...
That blinds denials they keep.
Resting unprotested,
And in crevices ready to molest.
Upon their urban and suburban streets.
Preying like vultures they are focused and spy...
Deciding whom to consume.
And who's dignity is set to digest!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A gamer playing finds another way
A gamer playing doesn't change.
A gamer playing finds another way,
To ensure a familiar game played...
Is perfected to those unsuspecting it.
One trained to charm,
Only becomes accustomed...
To using the same devices.
Shown early that whatever works...
Delivers to satisfy with desired 'perks'.
To please with the releasing of sighs,
At the expense of one duped...
With tears to drip as the gamer delights.
A gamer playing doesn't change.
A gamer playing finds another way,
To ensure a familiar game played...
Is perfected to those unsuspecting it.
And,
If one is seen to be agonized...
THAT is the affect the game player expects!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Strungout
The same tactics used repeatedly,
And over and over again in changing times.
Lose their affectiveness,
And the attention they get.
Like an alcoholic who drinks.
Or one addicted to drugs.
A conditioning process has been instilled.
Those highs once enjoyed,
Produce a lesser thrill!
It's like going through the motions,
And devoted to an expectation!
When sensations aren't achieved...
Folks like these blame God.
Or claim they know Him.
But somehow their faith is not strong enough...
To give them what they need,
To identify results they anticipated.
However...
They remain in varying stages,
Reminiscing about those good times
When everything was fine.
And they got what they wanted...
Until that no longer satisfied.
So,
Of course...
Something or someone,
Had to be found guilty or at fault...
For not delivering what they wanted and when!
The same tactics used repeatedly,
And over and over again in changing times.
Lose their effectiveness,
And the attention they get.
Like a child with a toy,
Who begins to annoy...
When that toy has satisfied their whims!
Much like having a variety of religions...
All professing to know God.
But the people are at odds,
As to how this 'Oneness' should be depicted!
Leaving everyone 'strungout' and hyped up...
Physically debilitated!
Intoxicated and stupefied!
To reach for something,
That doesn't quite meet their needs.
Although willing to victimize anyone available...
In the search to find it!
To declare a justified self importance.
For a temporary gratification,
To induce a prolonged and effective delusion.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Telling again and again
Telling again and again and
Again the same thing repeatedly
Is not bad rather it is good
Telling again and again and
Again the same story remind you
The mistake that turned you bad
And telling again and again and
Again the same thing you became
The master orator and we hear
You all words being consumers.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Speaking One's Mind
Speaking one's mind,
Has a way of offending those who declare...
That the tone of one's voice,
And not the content...
Is disrespectful.
And if one expects to get a message across,
A sugar coating is suggested.
Since direct approaches negatively effect,
Minds deluded and are not acceptable mixes...
In fantasized environments.
'I am not accustomed to being spoken to like that.
If you jump through hoops and roll over to play dead,
Like the others...
I 'may' pay you some attention.
Until then...
I will ignore your warnings about my house burning down.
It is your attitude I object to.'
~No problem at all.
Forgive me for making an attempt,
To point out facts as they are.
And my voice...
Although to you unfamiliar,
Will be remembered.
I guarantee it.
I'll leave this bucket with you.
However...
I think the flames are out of control now,
So I'll be on my way.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When You Are Done Feeding Yourself On Lies
You have repeatedly shown,
You have no regard for me.
One day when your eyes have cleared,
You will acknowledge how much of your life
I have nourished.
And my contributions to your survival,
You have despised...
Will be freed from your deceptions.
And your ability to slander...
Is chased away by remorse and honesty.
When you are done feeding yourself on lies...
Only then will you begin to respect my worth!
With a polishing done to your own.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Am Not That Giving
If you do not know what respect is.
And you wish for me to point out to you,
Those things you do that are disrespectful?
And your attraction to immaturity too?
You need no longer excuse what you do that has been done,
On pride.
There is something disconnected in your head.
And I am not about to teach another adult,
What is appropriate social etiquette.
That would be likened to teaching a full grown cat,
The aspects of hygiene.
I am not that giving or blessed with those skills.
You want me to do what?
Tell you when you are being disrespectful?
How old are you?
55?
I am not that giving or blessed with those skills.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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“The Sea Had Shown Me Mercy”
“The sea had shown me mercy”-
I confessed to the prosy desert island beach.
Beneath my proud feet a sea star felt like a leech
My pyretic body and tanned skin felt more marooned!
And my pushy prosaic imagination had been swooned.
“The sea had shown me mercy”-
to the provocative palm trees I repeatedly said.
My prurient love fancied my lover with a mermaid.
The sea had shown me mercy.
My fake puritanical heart hid into the puny sand dune caves.
My putrid mind hated the laughing children of the waves.
The sea had shown me mercy.
The sea had shown me mercy
before the sun burnt my fatal desire to feel
that the precious glimmering ocean waters were real.
Written on the 13th August,2011
©Munia Khan 2011
poem by Munia Khan
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Certifiably Delusioned
I know,
You prefer the taste of your life sweet.
And I seem to be repeatedly embittered.
I admit it!
Now...
Which one of us is certifiably delusioned?
I can not escaped from the experience of my scars.
Have you ever made attempts to live your life,
Without tasting anything that had not been pre-sweetened?
I know,
You prefer the taste of your life sweet.
And I seem to be repeatedly embittered.
I admit it!
Now...
Which one of us is certifiably delusioned?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Together Apart, One Night and Every
We wrap ourselves in neverspeak
our silence heightened by the night
to taste affections of the flesh
we meet again, we part,
them meet.
repeatedly till dawn reveals
the wrinkles of identity
then we resume our secret lives
we'll meet again, we'll part,
then meet.
Designs Of Mother Nature
The designs of Mother Nature,
Are often explained.
But an escaping from the pattern,
Mother Nature makes...
Offers few and limited places,
To run to feel safe 'anywhere' to escape.
And as history has shown,
Advanced civilizations escavations revealing...
To be unearthed and known,
Mother Nature has yet to show favor...
To those sophisticated with updated weapons,
With priorities to destroy what Mother Nature deploys.
'God and Mother Nature has nothing to do with it! '
Maybe that's why your beliefs are repeatedly defeated.
With an insisting upon not listening to comprehend.
But willing to defend and 'assume' with no end,
You can do as you please with a creating of your doom.
And each time this lesson is taught to bring to your attention,
You 'believe' you have been chosen to extinguish your existence.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Part Of Life, That is
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
Stuck with sticking emotions felt in my gut...
Unable to abandon them.
Or give them up...
Had been a place I'd been,
Back then.
With no one but myself...
And faith,
To help me slowly break away...
Of a hold I had on them to mend.
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
I have learned to feel grief deeply,
Where it is felt.
Let it visit.
And then from it to leave!
Not to forget the process...
But to breathe!
Remembering...
With an agony upon my letting go,
Knowing what I felt was painful...
It was also,
Part of life!
A part of life,
That is!
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
Few get to sit in the midst of it.
Part of life that is.
With the giving of opinion and the giving of lip.
Part of life that is.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Choose To Heal
I've decided not to be reminded of my griefs.
I've learned that carrying a baggage of sorrows,
Only weighs on my back...
Unhappiness to be left to be repeatedly monitored.
Tears cried as others measured my pain,
On a scale from one to ten...
Are days I've chosen not to live.
Again!
And again.
AND...again without end.
Why should I celebrate my agony,
On a regular basis?
What does doing this for me achieve?
A hatred and bitterness I pray from me will leave?
Or a constant search to seek validation,
How miserable my life lived can be?
NO!
For others that may be so,
To acknowledge without a letting go.
But for me...
My happiness comes with the knowing,
I can forgive.
Not forgot!
My mind wont let me do it.
But make attempts to forgive I can do.
I've decided not to be reminded of my griefs.
I've learned that carrying a baggage of sorrows,
Only weighs on my back...
Unhappiness to be left to be repeatedly monitored.
I choose not to keep my healing wounds,
Left to pick to bleed repeatedly in anger.
I choose with faith,
That God will handle my business.
I choose with faith,
God has my back.
And will correct all that has gone wrong,
To make right for my life.
I choose with faith,
That God will handle my business.
I choose to heal,
Not to relive moments of my agonies.
I already know what it takes to moan.
I already know that process.
I've renewed my commitment to living.
And give my deepest respect,
To those who had experienced...
Untimely deaths.
I've decided not to be reminded of my griefs.
I've learned that carrying a baggage of sorrows,
Only weighs on my back...
Unhappiness to be left to be repeatedly monitored.
I choose not to keep my healing wounds,
Left to pick to bleed repeatedly in anger.
I choose to heal.
Not to be left,
For the rest of my life dropping tears wept.
To spend in the process of mourning.
Riding high on the shoulders of grief.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Frustration
There are days of great frustration
when you want to do something, but can’t.
The more you try the worse it gets,
not giving up you keep trying repeatedly
only just to get the same reply.
The more you yank at your hair,
the balder you get,
until finally your iron will snaps
and you say that is that,
I will come back another day
and try all over again.
Hopefully I will have more success then
with fingers and anything else you can cross.
It is your only hope for survival
from the frustration that you feel.
12 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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They Want You To Pay Them Attention
Why aren't you paying them any attention?
'Who? '
The ones ignoring you.
'Huh? '
Yeah!
They want you to pay them attention,
So they can ignore you.
'But...
Isn't that what they are doing? '
YES!
But you are not expected to show,
You could care less about it!
'Oh...
I see.
So...
Maybe they are the ones seeking attention,
And giving it to me...
In the hopes I notice it.
But pretend I don't suspect it is from them.'
I don't know!
Is that the message you want me to deliver?
'Huh?
When did the minding of my own business,
Become their focus? '
Don't ask me!
I was told to get you to look their way.
So they can ignore you!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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