Hands-on Involvement
Can you comprehend any of this?
With bricks crumbling to the ground...
Many collective in voice,
Are finding others to blame around.
Even though those bricks,
Were by them picked apart...
With a consciousness insisted.
And the blamed is laid on those trying to fix...
What the lips of those wicked,
Lay to say...
To remove themselves from it.
In well attended campaigns!
Used to smother any remembrance...
Of the many seeing them,
With their 'hands-on' involvement!
Can you comprehend any of this?
With bricks crumbling to the ground...
Many collective in voice,
Are finding others to blame around.
And the confused are alarmed,
Like guinea pigs addicted to abuses inflicted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
The Ten Thousand Poems
it is like a brick
just some bricks
day by day
and day by day
i lay those bricks
some on the brink
of breaking days
day by day
but know what
i do not get tired
laying those bricks
as always i think
of building
our future
cathedral.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Indictment Against Entire Nations
Collective Guilt Is Groundless.
Guilt is individual as is salvation.
Collective guilt cannot enforced be
laid upon innocence preadolescent.
Vengeance reparations cause wars?
No indictment exists
nor means rationally
for law creating crime
as collective nations
shame blame guilt.
Penalty culpability
regret responsibility
admissions of evils
For the Indictment
of an entire nation.
Least free-born blood
of race righteousness.
Condemned in error.
Cry out from ground
in accusation against us.
Evil must be cleansed
to source malignant.
Before humanity can
collectively throw off. Weight
cavitation chains walk free.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Composing is like driving down a foggy road toward a house. Slowly you see more details of the house-the color of the slates and bricks, the shape of the windows. The notes are the bricks and the mortar of the house.
quote by Benjamin Britten
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Another Brick In The Wall, Part 3
[Sound of many TV's coming on, all on different channels]
"The Bulls are already out there"
Pink: "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrgh!"
"This Roman Meal bakery thought you'd like to know."
I don't need no arms around me
And I dont need no drugs to calm me.
I have seen the writing on the wall.
Don't think I need anything at all.
No! Don't think I'll need anything at all.
All in all it was all just bricks in the wall.
All in all you were all just bricks in the wall.
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just a little poem about a house
A house made out of glass and bricks
That has seen some tricks
A house that has been here for years
This house has witnessed some happiness and some tears
This is house used to be my home,
Used to call it my dome
Now it doesn’t exist anymore
Glass and bricks are swept to the floor
Memories of the past, weren’t meant to last
The only thing that still stands, is the drawing in your hands.
poem by Oopsie Woopsie
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A Fighting Against Gale Enforced Winds
Oh no!
There has been an oversight.
A little loophole.
When applying the bricks,
To fortify contents inside the compound...
The blueprint we have 'just' been presented,
Indicates...
There was no cement mentioned,
To hold the bricks together.
In fact,
None had been used.
It's here in print.
How can the makers of the compound,
Skip over that?
How those bricks held together,
Is a mystery.
Therefore...
Those reported comments earlier stated,
About a fighting against gale enforced winds.
And people risking their lives,
To sandbag walls to prevent them from caving in...
Has to be re-written.
Or at least,
Retold!
And...
This is an opportunity to enhance the struggle,
Against the opposition.
And a prior status given...
To the ones declared as putting their lives on the line.
This time around,
We will announce they've been true heroes!
'How about...
A slinging of mud thrown viciously,
That disrupted into a fierce and brave retaliation? '
I love it.
Sounds good to me.
Release 'that' immediately.
Oh...
And add something about a dog.
Appearing from nowhere...
Wearing infrared goggles.
And somehow...
Managed to drag survivors to safety!
That should take the focus off of the cementless bricks.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Feeling A Red Brick Wall With My Soft White Hands
red bricks
walls
thick walls
seeing these walls
of red bricks
feeling the hardness
of each
with my soft hands
close my eyes
feel that
i am inside you
a wall
no i don't scream
i moan
and then i am silent
so tired and
asleep
dreaming of windows
red doors
golden locks
platinum keys
wings on my shoulder
feathers of birds
blue skies red suns
blue moons
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Bricks
When we were young,
we build our bricks
as solid as we can.
As one may crumble
we build another to replace,
and so it goes on,
until we are too old and tired
to build bricks anymore.
Then when they crumble,
our lives turn to dust,
ready to be blown away,
by the first strong wind,
to pass our way.
poem by David Harris
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Soul of Flames
I sit and watch as the flames lick at the bricks
The red, and orange tipped beauty
The tongues of fury lick
As it burns through the wood and metal preforming its duty
The red hipmotizing, the orange bright
I watch the light fill the black
What a wonderful sight
Bringing the memories back
The house falls to pieces as I sit and stare
My tears falling to the ground
My eyes filled whith the flames glare
My tears fall to the ground without a sound
I sit and watch as the flames lick at the bricks
The red, and orange tipped with beauty
The flames swirl and mix
As I sit in silence intranced with love and lust
The flames so wonderful so bright
The night dark as coal
My eyes filled with stars, with light
The flames licking at my soul
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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The Garden Wall
Bricks of the wall,
so much older than the house -
taken I think from a farm pulled down
when the street was built -
narrow bricks of another century.
Modestly, though laid with panels and parapets,
a wall behind the flowers -
roses and hollyhocks, the silver
pods of lupine, sweet-tasting
phlox, gray
lavender -
unnoticed -
but I discovered
the colors in the wall that woke
when spray from the hose
played on its pocks and warts -
a hazy red, a
grain gold, a mauve
of small shadows, sprung
from the quiet dry brown -
archetype
of the world always a step
beyond the world, that can't
be looked for, only
as the eye wanders,
found.
poem by Denise Levertov
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Our democratic richness arrives when we're able to comprehend our collective humanity accurately.
quote by Stanley Crouch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Another Bag Of Bricks
T'was in the early evenin'
Near the presence of the moon
You told me you would meet me here
Well now is not too soon
This dagger twisting in my back
Tells me I never should
Have trusted everything to fall
From beggar to fool
I see your face like every race
A serpent with two arms
Devouring me while rains the sun
With dreams in foreign lands
This cold dark tormented hell
Is all I'll ever know
So when you get to heaven
May the devil be the judge
With another bag of bricks
I scratch your name across these walls
And with my blood turns red
Then drips upon my killing floor
Where I now call my bed
No precious light to harbor
Like so many here before
Now breathes a thousand more
With another bag of bricks
Temper filled with blindness
Leads this lost and lonely man
Dragged around your whipping tree
A scourge you can't command
So deafen me with silence
Drown me with your roar
Scowl me with your hollow eyes
Still burnin' to the core
No door will go unanswerd
Like so many closed before
No vagabond to knock upon
This tired and beatin' war
When all return to exile
Free from all once bound
Decline and brawl old parasites
The truth will yet be found
With another bag of bricks
This cold dark tormented hell
Is all I'll ever know
So when you get to heaven
May the devil be the judge
With another bag of bricks
song performed by by Flogging Molly from Drunken Lullabies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unfamiliar Knocking
Overnight a growth process does not begin,
To become uncontrollable.
A control loses its hold,
When people pretend...
The hearing of them is negatively mentioned.
And those unafraid to make bold sentiments,
Are ignored as being pessimist...
Who are nonconformists.
And overnight troubles are not planted to manifest.
It just seems that way,
To those bumping against them with their eyes closed.
Only to open them...
When unfamiliar knocking is heard,
On both the front and back doors.
And a peeking through them,
Doesn't prevent bricks being thrown through the windows.
'NEVER! ...
In my wildest hallucinating dreams,
Could I be convinced something like this...
Would remotely happen in 'this' part of town.
Since all of us HERE do our utmost best,
To protect those 'standards' we treasure and value.'
~Did you happen to get a glimpse,
Of who might have thrown those bricks? ~
'Yes.
Those adorable children living across the street.'
~And...
Just how old are these children?
Would you happen to know that? ~
'Of course.
One is 27 and the other 33.
I happen to know that because they still come over,
To play with my kids.
That's why I am at my wits end to comprehend,
Any of this.'
~And...ah...where are your...'kids'? ~
'You know...
My children are very civic minded.
They are out making deliveries,
To those poor and needy in the inner city.
They said they had packages to dropp off.
Usually they are back no later than 2am.
I am so very proud of their efforts.
And the tremendous chances they take,
For such a worthy cause.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The press should be not only a collective propagandist and a collective agitator, but also a collective organizer of the masses.
quote by Vladimir Lenin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Collected Madness Accepted
As you read this...
The wicked witches have brewed their fix.
Conflicts have addicted an avoidance to mix...
Those who adventured to trick with splits,
And those who prefer to be left in quiet sits.
Agitating divisions have increased.
Relationships have since decreased.
Backbiting has found itself on the rise.
And the shallow minded now are the ones to cry!
As you read this...
Those of higher consciousness continue to resist,
An obvious planting of encouraged dementedness.
And a struggle to hold onto values crumbling to the ground...
Scattering those responsible,
For a quality of life lost...
Never again to be ever found.
Since a racistness supporting a separateness...
Had followers believing,
This greed they fed would leave them receiving...
The benefits of threatened interests!
And it has...
Left them!
In a unified and collected,
Madness accepted!
Inflicted to intervene with rumors of peace.
Sold to protestors to wear on tee shirts...
Marketed and released!
For a price to pay.
As you read this day after day.
Numbing these events...
That come to stun and are here to stay!
Unless those brave,
Confront them with mental strength.
To condense them,
And erase them away!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Spoke To Mondrian This Evening
I spoke to Modrian this evening
He'd just bought some Lego bricks
He really was excited
He'd found how business ticks
These paintings i've been doing
He said with a big smile
Are really not high art at all
But simply nice designs
I'm going to sue Lego
They've stolen my ideas
Then i'll set up my own business
Selling bricks and maybe wheels
I really am excited
I've ditched Theosophy
My art will live forever
And have real utility
I was so disappointed
That Mondrian had seen
Financial gain within his art work
Then i awoke as from a dream.
poem by David Keig
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Differentiate love
My love for you is built of passion
As the house is made of bricks.
A heap of passion is not love
As a pile of bricks is not a house.
Love is of lust;
Lust alone is not love.
20.08.2001, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Never Allowed To Heal!
Saddled by racism.
Their minds are addicted.
Regardless of a quality of life...
Strangling to exist,
From this twistedness.
And a society constructed,
By a promotion of it...
Finds itself lost in times.
And a collective mindset,
Found scrambling to find...
A way to deny a consciousness,
Clearly demented.
With beliefs what is seen,
Does not demean.
And this illness persisted...
Becomes a wound picked.
Never allowed to heal!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Another Brick In The Wall, Part Iii
I dont need no walls around me.
And I dont need no drugs to calm me.
I have seen the writing on the wall.
Dont think I need any thing at all.
No. dont think I need anything at all.
All in all it was all just the bricks in the wall.
All in all it was all just the bricks in the wall.
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sawn in Half
Her languid, prime speech drawls
‘tells it like it is’ tongue
skims stones, creates ripples
ushers vowels
past her white overbite_
I catch every exhaled pebble
from her gravelly voice
stoned on cigarettes and cider.
Her bricks and mortar vernacular
graduate to polysyllabic
mortar board remarks.
I am magically sawn_
in half by the me
drawn to her accomplished artistry,
the poet to the page,
and my jaw agape
at her sandy hair framing cheeky smirk
finding gems in conversational trivia
stoking the embers, stirring the pot
with ‘school of hard knocks’ confidence.