Heard To Curse
The same people heard to curse,
Their anonymous obscenities...
In telephone calls placed,
To upset and disrespect...
Others wishing to live peacefully.
With identity and dignity,
They've earned to get.
Are most likely the very same people,
Publicly cussing profanities...
With the same insanity,
And attention grabbing zest!
And no!
For anyone believing,
These acts are of a random coincidence...
Are too absorbed in fantasies perceived,
When a stability is missing...
And not trying to hide,
Any hints of this kind of ignorance.
With a determination,
To keep those sleeping reminded...
Just how close 'reality' stalks...
And approaches them.
Right in those places,
They feel safe and reside.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
With A Wishing Of Their Ickiness To Stick
Someone else's troubles aren't that easy to leave.
Especially the ones who come sharing them with ease.
And that one analytical chosing to keep politically correct,
By avoiding those who quickly leap...
On a peace they keep to be kept,
Seem to be directly chosen to be next...
For an elimination of patience.
And an effective tearing down of a peace wished to protect.
There seems always an excuse made,
To dump disrespect...
On those who have earned their peace to keep.
And a happiness one has been blessed to have met.
Even friends, foes and those people that don't know,
Seem to do this in a heartbeat.
With no regard as they break down the walls,
Of that which one guards...
When knowing not to answer certain telephone calls.
People know just who to pest...
With a pestering done to another's quietness.
There seems always an excuse made,
To dump disrespect...
On those who have earned their peace to keep.
And with a wishing of their ickiness to stick has been done,
Those folks don't seem to stay too long after!
They seem to do their icky sticking doing quick,
To then get up and run!
This they do with a dumping done.
People seem to do their icky sticking doing quick.
Then after their performance made...
Without apology,
They get up and run...
As if to gloat with pride by the act of doing it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Through An Osmosisness
Unconscious assimilation,
To seduce one into conversation?
Perhaps.
But there are some with realities,
Who are distorted by facts.
And few comprehend that,
When they allow...
The comfort of their delusions,
To sit back and relax.
I have earned the right to express my identity,
With much flair if I dared.
From dawn 'til noon until midnight.
And doing it aware that I have not a care.
And if anyone expresses I do this and declare,
My arrogance to be unbearable.
And a dignity I pride...
Begins to choke with a coolness I carry.
As if I owned the air!
So be it!
If I flaunt a bit of obnoxiousness.
I've earned all of it.
The identity I pride with the dignity I don't hide.
I am not here to defend every step I've taken.
Nor those experiences life to me has personally given.
'Oh!
I can understand how you feel! '
Is that right?
What part of my life have you lived that delights?
And what hour of which day...
Have you said to yourself,
'Ignore what others say.
Keep your faith it will be okay! '
'Well...
I don't have to go through that process,
To understand what others go through! '
Hmmm.
I see.
So you're one of those folks who live vicariously?
Through an osmosisness done.
And challenging all obstacles that come?
'Well...
I don't have to go through that process,
To understand what others go through! '
Hmmm.
I see.
So you're one of those folks who live vicariously?
Through an osmosisness done.
And challenging all obstacles that come?
'Well,
I don't have to...
Forget it.'
That just expressed,
I can understand and accept.
As from you confessed.
There is no need to further address,
Your comprehension to suggest.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hmph...People
Leave me alone.
'Okay,
I will.'
I'm not talking to you.
'I see.
Then...
Who ARE you talking to? '
No one in particular.
It has been a while since I've said it.
And it is refreshing to know,
You weren't offended at all.
I remember the days,
My saying that would upset you.
'Why should I feel offended?
Or upset.
I was hoping you weren't going to ask me,
Where I am going? '
What?
Where are you going?
'That's none of your business.
And I'm hoping that doesn't offend.
Now you can practice not getting upset.'
Upset?
Why should I get upset?
You're trying to get me upset.
And I'm not a child.
You can do whatever you want.
Who cares?
I don't.
Upset?
Why should I get upset?
You're trying to get me upset.
You can do whatever you want.
Who cares?
I don't.
And what are you laughing about?
'I was only teasing.
I'm not going anywhere.'
Oh yes you are!
You're going to leave me alone.
'Okay,
I will.'
People!
They will do anything to get on your nerves.
Upset?
As if I was that easily provoked!
Hmph...people!
'I heard that.'
Who cares!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Too Much Freedom
If we were to stay anonymous
And our need for identity be forgotten
Then life would have too much freedom
And end in its own destruction
For anonymity leads to
Self expression
Of the most extreme
For their freedom fears not
The eternal cell of scrutiny
For their is no face to judge
And confine its uncontrollable
Laugh from the face of mankind
To be free from the curse of identity
Is to be cursed with freedom
For too much freedom
Leads to too much power
And a 'Common Power' at that.
For conflicting ideas
Of freedom and voice
Would choose to eliminate
Hindrances by its own hand
Without the ordered hand of identity
For a faceless man
Is a man without shame
And doth be invisible
For his own expression may threaten
The expression of others
A darkened shade
Placed across the world by total freedom
Will forever mask the anonymous
For their actions can not be traced
To the identity that had given breath to it.
poem by Antoine La Najja
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Interviewed To Spew
Remember those days
People were granted to give
Their unsolicited opinions
As if given a spotlight
To voice their views
From atop a soapbox to spew
And those listening
Would either be empathetic or amused
But did not openly disrespect
As many are accustomed
And have grown to do
Today
People are standing in line
To be interviewed to spew
And many are turned away
Because they are told
They are not qualified to be upset
But to leave their telephone number
With a forwarding address
In the event there should be
A window of opportunity for them to open
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Lonely Spider
The lonely spider reaches out
For what, you might ask?
If not to spin his web then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
The lonely spider calls out
For what, you might ask?
If not for his mate then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
The lonely spider waits
For what, you might ask?
If not for his food then for what?
For his identity
The identity of him
His identity...
'A spider doesn't have feelings! '
How should you know?
'A spider isn't that smart! '
That could be true.
'A spider can never have a real identity! '
And neither could you, or any of us
But we try to find one even if we're not looking
And thats our life... after which we die
What have we done with our life up until then?
Either we've thrown it away, gave it up, wrecked it, lived it up to the fullest, took it for granted, or got far in it.
We still had one.
It's up to us what we shall do with it
Just like the lonely spider
Who will probably just end up on the bottom of your shoe anyways
poem by Andreanna Atkins
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wishing long live the butterflys
Wishing you were free
Wishing going wherever you see
Wishing life isnt plain
Wishing you have no pain
Wishing you can breath
Wishing you cant leave
Wishing you can stay
Wishing you can fly
Wishing you have the whole day
Wishing to watch the clouds pass by
Wishing you were a butterfly
Iong live that butterfly
poem by Fading Heart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Producing Remedies
When listening became regarded as offensive...
Disrespect found refreshed acceptance.
And now that disrespect is as mainstream,
As naked beauty queens...
Viagra, bras and sex enhancements,
Advertised on national TV...
People are wishing for those 'good old days' to return.
I lived in those days.
And the same people inflicting their prinicples,
Are the same ones in laboratories...
Producing remedies,
That have little to do with finding cures.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How Deep Do You Want It?
How deep do you want it?
You want it cloaked or flaunted?
Would you like it raw and bare?
Or perhaps a little sweet...
Discreet without flair?
Procrastinated teases,
Would that please your fantasies?
Breathy telephone calls delivered...
With heightened obscenities?
Would this arouse a need,
Or a possibility?
Would that get you moist?
Hot and bothered...
Is that your choice?
How deep do you want it?
You want something slow and thrusting?
You want something 'nasty' done to you?
You want something throbbing...
Hot to make you sweat!
How deep do you want it?
I'm not saying I can do it!
But at least I will know...
Where on your wish list this will go!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
No One Here Has Been Invited To Do The Boogey
With a-pitching and a bale-ing all day the hay.
And a-picking the tobacco...
Everyday until the Sun fades away,
Reminisces up my ancestors.
With a reminiscing up their lives...
And what it takes,
For me to stay...
As I am this day today.
Is a reason why I pride my dignity.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
No time to do a hi-dee-hey!
And no time to drink up my hard earned pay,
To be buzzed around...
From midnight until dawn!
No...
No time to do a hi-dee-hey.
And no time to drink up my hard earned pay...
To whisper gossip,
With a nonstop to dropp it.
Like if I cropped it.
To then sweep a floor...
As I whistled while mopping it.
No!
With a-pitching and a bale-ing all day the hay.
And a-picking the tobacco...
Everyday until the Sun fades away,
No!
To then sweep a floor...
As I whistled while mopping it.
No!
Like if I cropped it,
With a nonstopping to it?
No!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk.
That's the reason why I walk around...
With identity!
'Uh...
You?
The 'artist'!
I like your footwork.
But no one here has been invited to do the boogey!
Got that?
Good!
Now do your chores! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lofty Ambitions
I do the best I can to avoid confrontation.
Especially in environments in which disrespect,
Has become a sport.
And people are entertained,
By slandering others.
As if to do so gains an appeal,
To the quality of life love by those...
Who thrive on aggitation.
Even answering one's telephone,
May put one on the defense.
Sometimes being cordial,
Welcomes a misunderstanding!
And wanting to exchange pleasantries...
Turns into someone being upset,
Because you wish not to spend your time...
Swimming with them,
Through pools of solicited gossip.
'What's wrong with you?
Why you so 'bland'? '
~I'm just spending a quiet time home alone,
Enjoying my peace and relaxing! ~
'Well, you just do that then!
Maybe next time,
I'll catch you in a better mood.'
I do the best I can to avoid confrontation.
Especially in environments in which disrespect,
Has become a sport.
And people are entertained,
By slandering others.
As if to do so gains an appeal,
To the quality of life love by those...
Who thrive on aggitation.
And all that is desired,
Is a mutual exchange that benefits...
An uplifting of consciousness.
Yes...
I've been accused of having lofty ambitions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Anonymous Ghurl
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to her mother
'I'll be me and no one else
I'll never be another'
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to her dad
'The things that you have done to me
They make me feel so sad'
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to God
'How can I belive in you
You are such a fraud'
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to her friend
'I don't want to go on any more
I want it all to end'
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to no one
'I can't go on anymore
As she pulled the trigger of the gun'
Anonymous Ghurl Anonymous Ghurl
Said one day to me
'Leave your body far behind
And you too can be free'
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Soldier of Stance
A fortress of identity
Solid and unbreakable,
In the jungle of deception
Can’t be bulldozed by propaganda
Soldier of stance; Kamikaze
Defend dignity to the last blood
In the battle against biasness
Buried with no tombstone
Alone,
For the sake of identity,
For the sake of the truth
Finally, dies with dignity.
poem by Ibnu Din Assingkiri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Promessionals
Professionals?
Where are they?
And what does being one mean?
Everywhere there is a mess,
It seems.
And...
Not hidden from observations.
Disorder and confusion appears,
Gleaming as if schemed...
To smear upon many scenes,
As people are heard blatantly screaming...
Their choice to use obscenities,
To flow from mouths unstoppable...
Like water from a faucet streaming!
And to what degree,
Are human beings 'being' declared as such?
More today are upset by a mess confessed...
It would be better to identify,
Those 'pros' in the field addressing incorrectness...
As 'promessionals' at best.
Since it seems they have done nothing less,
But to initiate the creating of 'messes' to be left.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Telephone Book
I look at my telephone book
I look at my telephone book
I cant stand the way it look
I hate to think the way you took
Me down into a burnin rage
I wrote your name on every page
But you dont return my calls
You dont return my calls
You dont return my calls
Im ready to bust down the walls
Im going down niagara falls
In a barrel of fun
Hey aint I a lucky one
You dont return my calls
My telephone book is the color red
My telephone book is the color red
The red is all in my head
Some things are left better unsaid
Is that why you dont try
To acknowledge or reply
You dont return my calls
Why did you hear from an old friend
I knew once way back when
I did some bad things to myself and my health
Or did you happen to hear an old song I once sang
Did it make your sweet sweet blood run cold in your veins
And will you never think of me the same
Gordon gano: vocals, guitar
Brian ritchie: bass
Victor delorenzo: drums
Recorded at carriage house, stamford, ct
gorno music reprinted with permission
song performed by by Violent Femmes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Unified By Their Nonsense Making
When people become offended,
By someone expressing an identity...
There is an acceptance of an unconsciousness,
That has become collectively defended,
By overwhelming ignorance.
And no one has to go to a mall,
To shop for the proof of the evidence.
A blindness is preferred by those following,
As if addicted sheep...
Down a road where the process of thinking,
Independently or not...
Is regarded as a threat to those easily upset,
By those they overhear communicating...
With a maturity expressed.
And not a sign of an argument building up,
Between them addressed with...
The spewing of cuss words heard.
This is a dangerous environment,
For anyone with intelligence to live in!
People with intelligence are suspicious,
Of making attempts to be 'better'...
Than everyone else.
Especially those,
Who prefer to live their lives...
Down to Earth and as foolishly as possible.
When people become offended,
By someone expressing an identity...
As a choice of one attempting to think,
With common sense...
Is not a recommendation,
For anyone choosing to separate themselves...
With a maturity,
From this kind of accepted behavior...
Chosen by those unified by their nonsense making,
And faithfully tied to rituals...
They neither understand nor respect with depth.
'If it was good enough for my mama and her mama...
And those 'mamas' known before that,
Well...
It is good enough for me!
And I will take that with two hamhocks,
Yams dripping with butter and gravy smothered chops.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
From Which They Receive No Substance
How do I feel,
About the escalating disrespect...
Shown to me?
And the pride I have taken,
In priding my identity?
That is a very good question.
And I am glad you asked it of me.
First and foremost...
I am not the one to be traumatized,
By an awakening...
To realize my entire existence,
Has been a hoax!
And that is why I stride with a dignity.
Everything about me that 'appears'?
Is what it is!
And my consciousness,
Has never been sold to be stripped away from it.
Everything about me that 'appears'?
Is what it is!
Others may be here to make excuses for themselves.
And...
Out of mind and feeling out of place to escape from fates.
So unfortunate are the ones who have been 'hoaxed' to live...
Their lives they do not value.
And support themselves...
On a faith that is replaced on a daily basis,
From which they receive no substance.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bitterness [Amărăciune]
I'm feeling bitter and bizarre
I'm mad at God and those around,
And God and people always are
Upset with me, as I have found!
They curse me and inside my mind
I take the curse, however wild,
How can a man be good and kind
When he is God's created child?
And if I act as people do
It's not my fault and I don't lie...
They laugh at me, I'm feeling blue,
But mock them all although I cry!
poem by Alexandru Macedonski, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
Vote! | Copy!
Common Denominator
You do the math.
A selected lifestyle,
Continuing to upset...
The very same people,
Who have chosen that life to accept...
With little done to improve what displeases
Are vocal with their pities weeped.
Never have they been given looks of disrespect,
From those they rejected,
As being less and many steps below them.
No one they dejected,
Felt of themselves better off than the rest.
And if observed,
It would appear those upset...
Direct their eyes upon those who have chosen happiness,
As their common denominator...
Over bling and shiny things to impress.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nothing I Could Say
I remember the first time,
I confronted someone...
Reacting to a rumor.
And from a third person heard.
I shouted obscenities,
In the face of this person.
Only to discover...
The rumor I heard,
Had been about another.
Years has passed.
And I have seen again,
That person I offended.
And with friends that person said to me...
'Are you still that fool I remembered?
And are you still as ignorant,
As you impressed me first to be? '
There was nothing I could say.
I had learned to keep my mouth shut.
And from those wishing to start confrontations...
I don't acknowledge this.
I simply walk away.
Growing older to wisen up,
Has its benefits.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!