Gone Are Their Treasures
From which one of your stale placements,
Do you believe you can rate...
My taste for staying updated?
No powdered wigged out judgements,
Of colonialistic restricted mentalists...
On the pursuit of political correctness,
Can exam with blinded minds...
These times that now exist!
Gone are their treasures.
And documented claims made in print!
Pomp and circumstance pulchritudes...
Appear rather silly!
And exposes their foolishness.
With a laughable return of such seriousness.
That should be burned and left in dusting urns!
From which one of your stale placements,
Do you believe you can rate...
My taste for staying updated?
With methods to attempt,
To make your nonsense permanent.
And there is evidence everywhere...
Your beliefs are vanishing in thin air!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Staying Swift On My Feet Keeps Me Peaceful
You snooze you lose,
That's it.
I'm no longer in the business,
In keeping you updated...
As to what occurs,
In front of your doorstep.
I've had to break away from that habit,
That addicted you...
To select which objections,
You preferred to accept.
When you allowed them to happen.
And I annoyed you as you slept!
Oh no...
Some things in my life,
I just had to let go!
You snooze you lose,
That's it.
I'm no longer in the business,
In keeping you updated...
As to what occurs,
In front of your doorstep.
And too tired have I become,
From excusing myself through it...
When from you I would leave.
Only to return.
To find you still unaware and fast asleep.
And getting disrespect,
Coming at me from both ends...
I could no longer justify.
You can close your eyes and keep them closed,
For all I care.
Today I don't have those concerns.
You snooze you lose,
That's it.
I'm no longer in the business,
In keeping you updated...
As to what occurs,
In front of your doorstep.
I have learned,
Staying swift on my feet keeps me peaceful.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Me and Jerry left because we felt we weren't getting anywhere playing our old songs in tiny clubs. The group was getting stale and staying behind the times.
quote by Johnny Thunders
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mutual Head Club
Well it's getting colder and you're getting distant
and I just keep thinkin
that I never meant it to be like this (to be like this)
You know what comes next (so do I)
Youre begging for a way to gracefully bow out
and say goodnight
It's worse than you think
On your way home, you should have known
you never listen to me
Im only complaining to keep myself busy, sweetie
Im only complaining to keep myself busy, sweetie
I cant say I blame you
but I wish that I could
Im sick of writing every song about you
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
So keep me updated, call back in a week, to check up on me
song performed by by Taking Back Sunday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who Really Gets A Raw Deal?
Who really gets a raw deal?
Those suppressed?
By the ones taught to oppress,
Through historic teachings documented...
As evidence of superiority by their ancestors.
Or...
The ones awakening to realize,
Their whole lives have been based upon lies.
Which victim clearly is despised for having identity?
And who wins the prize,
For a hiding behind a fresh set of updated disguises.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Viable
Image with pomp and circumstance,
Seems to have been diminished.
A taste of life that one wishes to feel,
Has risen high on priority lists.
Agendas with symbols to idolize,
Has become less utilized...
These days when portrayals,
Are being dismissed...
By those seeking a purpose,
For them to exist without needless conflicts.
Image with pomp and circumstance,
Seems to have been diminished.
A taste of life that one wishes to feel,
Has risen high on priority lists.
With a viable reliable happiness,
Felt and unresisted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Too Cheap And Cheesy
I am not a garbage creator.
But I do understand,
Those who have a taste for it
May rate it as great.
To satisfy that taste.
And I am far too original
To substitute what I do,
Just to get a cheap nibble or two.
I offer more to the menu,
From which to choose.
But just to throw together garbage
Is not what I choose to do.
That's too cheap and cheesy.
I am a chef.
Not just another cook on the pursuit.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Renovated Much Too Late
Redone.
Refurbished,
And...
Renovated much too late.
Although...
Updated are amenities.
But...
There is something that will never please,
A mind re-arranged.
And...
Enlightened by the changes,
Of the times.
Redone.
Refurbished,
And...
Renovated much too late.
Although...
Updated are amenities.
But...
There is something that will never please,
A mind re-arranged.
And...
Enlightened by the changes,
Of the times.
And when times have changed,
Many leave what 'was' behind.
No matter who wishes to have it redesigned.
Since when times change,
Many seek a freshness to find.
Leaving what 'was' that could have been left behind.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Staying Where You Are
If I am saying what I mean...
Why would I change it?
To clarify or rearrange it?
What efforts do you make...
To shake or break your habits,
Of staying where you are?
'Down to Earth',
Remaining!
With a stale satisfaction...
You claim provides no challenge!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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But with a rate of return of 1.6 percent or less, or a negative rate of return, our children and our grandchildren, if we do not make changes, will in fact not have a secure retirement. Indeed, they will not have the funds when they go to retire to even minimally get by.
quote by John Shadegg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Updated and Refreshened Eulogies
What are they there,
Waiting for?
Updated and refreshened eulogies?
Those dead horses beatened,
Have turned into dust!
Although times have changed...
Their complaints have dusted.
And the staleness of trust...
Has long ago rusted!
What had been admired,
Has expired into visible jealousies.
They can not honestly believe,
What has been done religiously...
Can be revived and retrieved.
They can not believe that?
They can't!
Do they?
What are they there,
Waiting for?
Updated and refreshened eulogies?
When those made initially,
Had been carved into valued stone.
Supporting the approval,
Of those with cold shoulders.
Convinced they can survive on their own.
Why can't they move on?
And leave well enough alone!
Knowing those bonds,
That could have been mended...
Are absent of emotion.
Or anything that identifies,
A relationship to devotion.
Or even souls connected...
To mummified bones!
But the groaning of complaints,
Continue to droan with their moans.
What are they there,
Waiting for?
Updated and refreshened eulogies?
For opportunities to vent,
Why their time has been spent...
Arguing with one another,
Over what for them makes sense?
And who among them qualifies,
To adjust to new movements!
Done before no one is left,
And, hopefully, before...
All have died!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My patient population has a low recidivism rate, but if they haven't made up their minds that it is permanent, then of course, they will fail.
quote by Robert Atkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The caged lust
A stale wife is not a stale woman.
A stale husband is not a stale man.
Woman is a magnet to a stranger.
Man is a bullet to a stranger.
12.03.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Still Without Rhythm
Intentional activities,
Come to breathe no new life...
By those of influence,
With narrow eyesights.
And no experience...
Outside of researched and instructed,
Outlooks to compare and grade.
Outlooks...
Taught from books.
To mention good intentions,
When the intent is not visioned...
May excite someone watching paint to dry,
But does nothing for those...
Left ignored,
With innovative imaginations.
And restricted to obey...
Rules penned upon parchment.
To relate to as having a significance,
Documented and adhered.
Like the wearing of wigs,
To hide and deny one's true identity!
As if ashamed.
By the 'evolution' of things.
The ones depicting a certain way of life,
Reflecting a love for horsedrawn carriages...
Seen meandering on cobblestone streets.
May serve a purpose,
For those whose lives are as fresh...
As repeated museum visits to the same exhibits.
With the air inside just as stale.
But having an addiction to things unchanged,
Keeps one to foundations grounded.
However...
Some standards and traditions should be mothballed.
Not resuscitated as if a life lived was then loved.
Yet wasn't.
That is why cemetaries exist.
To bury that which has died from a life which lives.
Many are confused by this transition.
But what repeatedly survives...
Are the narrow minds and diseased philosophies,
That still exist to keep progress restricted.
In a 'let's-live-life-as-it-was-when-darkness-hid-our- flaws'
Syndrome.
Those dancing today and still without rhythm...
Will never have 'it' to know what staying within it means.
They've been out of it observing.
Hoping that the act of 'taking' it and putting it somewhere else...
Keeps an attachment that grows to become familiar.
As if the hearing of a beat will connect to their feet.
No matter if the thumping roars...
A sadness is still observed upon the floors.
Something in the mind is out of sync.
But...
If nothing is felt,
Because of lack of 'soul'...
What is done is as useless as the doer,
Who can not associate what that feeling is...
That is needed.
No one can lay under it...
Like laying under the Sun to camouflage reality!
To then describe what has been obtained,
As healthy.
And yet destroy those with the natural appearance.
Those not baking.
Like those who later sizzle with contempt shown.
Feelings are needed,
If one is to know what the enjoyment of life means.
And that is not a perception delivered by a hired architect!
Or contained in a bottle to release a protectiveness,
One perceives to get.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It's O.K. (It's Alright)
(it's alright)
I've been looking for about an hour, for a place to drink
Trouble with this town, everyone's asleep
Me and my girlfriend, had another fight
Now she's gone and left me, in the middle of the night
It's OK, it's alright, baby's staying one more night
It's OK, it's alright, baby's staying one more night
If I've been looking for about an hour, for a place to drink
If I had a number, I'd give her a ring
I've got to, got to tell her, how sorry I am
If I get to see her, I know she'll understand
It's OK, it's alright, baby's staying one more night
And just you, and I, maybe we can make it right
If you're sure your answer's no,
Take you where you want to go
It's OK, it's alright, baby's staying one more night
I've been trying for an hour, to find the right words
I know what she's thinking, I know how it hurts
It's OK, it's alright, baby's staying one more night
And just you, and I, maybe we can make it right
If you're sure your answer's no,
I'll take you where you want to go
It's OK, it's alright, baby's staying one more night
It's OK, it's alright, baby's staying one more night
song performed by by Fine Young Cannibals
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Stuff Ain't Fresh
This stuff ain't fresh.
Just restated.
Updated to give it flair.
The same minds will ignore it.
And the proof will be there.
The rhythm changes.
With the same words repeated.
The beat is felt.
With those patting their feet.
A monotony delivers,
An expectation.
Yet no one will listen...
With dulled sensations.
This stuff ain't fresh.
Just restated.
Updated to give it flair.
The same minds will ignore it.
And the proof will be there.
Unless I write something,
About a 'monkey's butt'.
Only then,
Will all eyes stare!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Easy Made Cake
Easy made cake...
Doesn't taste,
Homemade.
An easy made cake...
Doesn't taste,
Homemade.
Or does it age...
Like a fine wine.
Made from grapes,
Picked and saved...
Off of a selected vine.
Easy made cake...
Doesn't taste,
Homemade.
Or have a flavor staying,
In one's mind.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Until This Adventure Ends
I have no purpose meant,
To identify and acknowledge...
That which does exist.
With a repeatedness...
That collects dust and sits!
As if I am assigned,
To show others...
How to stunt and rust their minds!
I am only obligated to be aware,
And expand my consciousness.
With an acceptance of a process...
Some who do this,
Have labelled as growth!
With a daring to live life...
And to share the findings that are there.
Until this adventure ends.
Those accustomed to the taste of stale bread...
Seem to always find the time to comment on it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Taste The Summer
Can you, can you taste the summer?
I do, I find it in your mouth
Now if I have a weakness it's for sweetness
And it's floating on your breath, the sweetest melody
Doo doo doo doobeedoo
Can you taste the summer?
Sure we can make it till the evenings
Cool haze is reflected off your thighs
Long days are coming up and staying up and playing
Music of the falling stars, a melody (melody...)
Doo doo doo doobeedoo
Can you taste the summer?
Wild orcid on the wind you know
Just where it's blowing
So fresh, fromyour lips is born the melody
Doo doo doo doobeedoo
Can you taste the summer?
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Popularity Bestowed
To declare someone or a thing done,
As popular...
Is a point of view.
Like a fad one embraces,
Until the taste of it is replaced...
By something else considered fresh,
And updated.
In some schools these 'labels' given,
Hold true too.
With a giving of attention...
To a uniqueness that is mentioned.
That others may attempt to replicate.
But when something is determined by some,
To become popular...
Others may perceive that a popularity bestowed,
May go to one's head to marinate to stay.
To carry around without sleep.
With a thought of this believed.
To be accepted as received.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This Is Cause For Celebration
Aren't you happy to hear,
The unemployment rate...
Has gone down.
'Let's see...
People losing unemployment benefits.
Plus those who have given up seeking work.
And those companies who have taken their employees,
Overseas to pay no taxes here at all.
Who 'had' been unemployed and documented as such.
It's great to know that!
Less jobs are being found.
And the unemployment rate,
Is going down!
It is a miracle.
This is cause for celebration.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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