En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Hoping With Their Fingers Crossed

From the very moment they raided the kitchen,
To leave the cupboards and the shelves empty and bare...
Those who had been entrusted,
To oversee the supply in abundance there...
But stole what they could,
And ran like lieing thieves who connived...
Are now back on the scene in the same suits and ties.
Hoping with their fingers crossed,
That no one remembers who had their fingers in the cookie jars...
Long before their attempts to place the blame,
On the ones who came with rolled up sleeves and one purpose...
To permanently rid every rodent and remodel the entire house,
With a fresh coat of paint and furnishings...
That will restore accountability and integrity,
To once again have the occupants...
And everyone in the neighborhood,
Feeling proud that someone has focused with priority...
To finally move forward by naming every rat trying to come back,
These crooks are now on the defensive and innocence in their eyes...
Also display gestures,
Of having had an absence of memory for their misdeeds.
And of course...
They seek an attention to have everyone believe,
Their intentions are nothing but wholesome, honest and sincere.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Held Accountable

We all seek to get attention.
But many who wish it to get,
Pay little of it to others to mention.

We all want to be understood.
And if we could,
Describe ourselves...
With the having of no flaws at all.

We would like to have others seen,
As treating us indifferently...
When our good intentions are interpreted,
To be deceiving misdeeds.

And...
Some people wish not to be responsible,
For their own actions.
Preferring to place the blame,
For their responsibilities unclaimed...
On the back of someone else,
To be held accountable.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Consequences to Pay

All of it is connected to the whole.
And those who have focused their attention,
On obtaining pieces of greed...
To leave others to feed on crumbs,
Will find today...
They wished they had nibble along the way.
Instead of devouring themselves into hunger!
Without teaching all to develop moderate appetites.

Some lessons taught may not be pleasing to receive...
However,
The pain left by the breeding of ignorance...
Has its consequences to pay!

And acts of gluttony,
Often introduces realities of suffering...
Attached to remorse.
With many searching ways...
To uncover resources,
To supply the basicness of their needs.
Found to be lost in a sea of grief!
With justification a meaningless deed to seek.

'Gee! Can you say that another way? '

Sure!
How about...
Dusty shelves and barren cupboards?
With a stubbornness attached to empty stomachs.

Were you looking for rhyme?
Or reason?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rebel

He made his way back to the old town
And everything looked just the same
The shops and the schools and the factories were there
But somehow the faces had changed
So he went for a walk in the high street
Took his coat off and rolled up his sleeves
He thought of his father and his father before him
And how he was the first one to leave
Well he didnt come here for forgiveness
There isnt a lot they can say
Cause I remember the reasons he first ran away
Hes a rebel
Just a rebel
Got his back to the wall
Gonna fight til he falls
Hes a rebel
Dont ever look back - dont surrender
The old men say theyve seen it before
Oh they drink their beer and they talk about friends
Who didnt come back from the war
Dont say hes too young to remember
Dont tell him whats wrong or whats right
Just give him a chance to get out there and fight
Hes a rebel
Just a rebel
All the battles are won
But hes still on the run
Hes a rebel
When it comes time for leavin
Dont stand in my way
Theres nothin left for me here
Gonna run, run away
In the morning he walks past the old house
In the rain under grey northern sky
Theres a new coat of paint on the front garden gate
But theres more there than first meets the eye
For a moment he stands undecided
Looking back on the days of his youth
As two worlds collide in a moment of truth
Hes a rebel

song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Keepin My Fingers Crossed

Chorus:
We gotta work it out
Get back what we lost
I see shadows of a doubt,
But Im keepinmy fingers crossed
She was just turning 17
He always promised her hed stay
They were so love crazy til she had a baby
Then he turned and walked away.
How long will we keep this goin on
Before we find a way
To care for each other
Living for today, we'll never see tomorrow.
Chorus
He was just out to get a wreck
He was too proud to show his pain
Someone pulled a trigger guess he never figured
He would lose at his own game.
How long can we keep this goin on
When no one takes the blame
Theres so many gone
We could find a way, it may not be too late.
Chorus
Take a look around, see how hard it is
To survive these days
But sometimes you wonder
How long can this keep goin on
I guess the only thing you do is keep your fingers crossed
How long will we keep this goin on
When no one takes the blame
Theres so many gone
Livinfor today, we may not see tomorrow
Chorus

song performed by by New Kids On The Block
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dispossesion

My coat, leave behind my coat and my belt,
Leave behind my coat and all that,
I don't want it back...
It's called undertown and it's over that way.
Some people leave in the morning,
Some people when they go to bed.
Inside, it's been rotting for a long time now,
Ever since I found out
I? not to blame if I get left out.
My coat, leave behind the looks, magazines and books.
Don't want it back.
We're going away, we're dropping the lot.
We'll take another tack if we ever get stopped.
It's the last plan we made before we came unglued.
Everything I touch is on the blink.
Gotta find a place to land, find a place to think.
Who are you people?

song performed by by Nada Surf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let's Consider This

Shallow is their insight and with it is that existence.
And some are accused of having less patience with them.
While displaying less tolerance for their ignorance...
But should express more acceptance of it!
As well as their lack of consciousness.
To pass on an accountability...
That becomes part of a stagnated unity,
With increased division to further irresponsibility.

However...
Let's consider this!
When one decides to move forward,
In steps that are direct...
There is an intention meant,
To leave behind a confinement...
One graduates from with no regrets.
And feeling free to express an obtained intellect,
As part of that process to share...
In an exchange being done.

With a stretching of the mind that one desires to get!
With an expanded acknowledgement.
And...
Some just AIN'T there yet!
Whether they are making those attempts,
Or know how to spell motivation.
There is a noticed absence of it!
And 'that' appears in overqualified abundance.
You feel me?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Crooks

It may be a little harsh,
To label what they do as such.
Perhaps another approach...
Would qualify their activities,
In a reproach that dignifies them
In our eyes.
How about 'lifters' of goodwill?
The term 'thieves' implies
Something done with merriment.
And today these 'misdeeds',
Are much too common!
Immediately an image of urban dwellers
Comes to mind!
You know...
The kind that are struggling to survive?
If we call them 'crooks'...
And dress them in suits and ties,
With briefcases and horn rimmed glasses...
Would that deliver the message quicker?
If they were placed in settings,
At the pinnacles of all that's cherished...
With worshipped ideologies,
AND adorn them with respected credentials.
Then we will feel less guilty,
When it is realized they represent
Our utmost values!
Let's just call them 'crooks'...?
And redefine our standards!
Only then,
Will all of our pretentiousness...
Come to an end!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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.

poem by Bob Barci
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our Truths

i

they were first
the baby's hands opening
slowly as fingers

ii

God has a fan that
He spreads open
to display

iii

then he closes it
all fingers as one folded
fan

iv

it is us
all truths kept back
to the Hands of God
so lovingly kept
back to its
proper place

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Accountabilty My Greatest Priority

Something to fight is corruption
Something to embrace is accountability
Nothing better than perfection
Everything to get in this race as our priority

Accountability my greatest priority
With dignity as the only identity
As corruption never makes glow

Growing is what makes glow
With proofs to show
Development then becomes
The next room-mate
As success shall surely be our fate

Accountability gives us good fate
Integrity just our faith
With this accountability light of mine
We will certainly shine

poem by Ehimika Ehimigbai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Committed To Memory

It is conveniently done,
And with a purpose to serve...
A boosting of one's morale and nerve,
To discredit others behind their backs...
With the telling of lies and other non-facts.

To enable one heard and seen doing this,
An opportunity to smear to have themselves uplifted.
And always at the absence of another unable to defend,
Or agree to an expense being paid free of evidence.
To have such comments being said,
By those attempting to convince with nonsense.
And to leave one unprotected against,
The telling of falsities conveniently delivered.

And those who seem to remember what others do,
As if committed to memory a reciting of official documents...
Find it difficult to remember their most recent misdeeds,
To have others believe they are victims of their own innocence.
And these folks are all over the place hoping to collect dirt.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hooped Dresses In the Dirt Dragging

Is it so crazy to relive happy days.
With a squeaky clean innocence,
To amaze.

Gone are cloudy eyes cleared from a haze.
Reminiscent of those times,
Covered wagons were the rage.

Hooped dresses in the dirt dragging,
With dudes in zoot suits.
Wide-legged, high-waisted pants...
And wearing button spatted boots.

Today are seen exposed breasts.
And men's underwear.
No one wants to cover up,
Anything bare.

Hooped dresses in the dirt dragging.
Bring 'em back.
Bring' em back.
Dudes in zoot suits,
And wearing button spatted boots.
Bring 'em back.
Bring' em back.
Hooped dresses in the dirt dragging.
Bring 'em back.

My mind is old-fashion.
Yet ecclectic are my dreams.
I'd never thought I'd be a prude.
But some exposed butts demean.

So crude are these visions.
Looking away is not enough.
Who okayed today's display?
With no signs of it giving up!

My eyes have grown tired.
And my lips have long not touched.

'Where are we? '

Hooped dresses in the dirt dragging.
Bring 'em back.
Bring' em back.
Dudes in zoot suits,
And wearing button spatted boots.
Bring 'em back.
Bring' em back.
Hooped dresses in the dirt dragging.
Bring 'em back.

Today are seen exposed breasts.
And men's underwear.
No one wants to cover up,
Anything bare.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Cheeks Do Not Turn

Returning back what I get,
Seems to offend the ones...
Who possess selective memories kept,
In their archives of thoughtless actions.
To conveniently forget as is often done,
By those who have a knack...
To excuse everything they do,
On the dysfunctions of their childhood.
And this 'defect' is fed to THEIR children,
To accept as a custom as a family heirloom given.

You do me...
You will get done!
That's it!
I apologize for the detour.
But that's how it is.

And always there is a parent to blame,
Who either smothered them with strictness...
Or did not supply them with enough love.
However,
My empathy given does not extend to include...
Forgiveness to anyone wishing to use me,
To later express a pathetic childhood lived.
I don't carry around a box of tissue.

Detour number two...
I am into Brahms and Beethoven.
And a little Mozart.
But sobbing tears with strings,
To crescendo gradually in the background...
As one attempts to defend what they've done?
No!
I am not a part of that audience.
Especially when one has aged with maturity OR not,
To be held accountable for those misdeeds...
Consciously done to others to do to forget.

You do me...
You will get done!
That's it!
My cheeks do not turn.
But I am told I walk with a switch,
By those who mistake my proudness for something else.
And I don't spend time looking at myself from behind.
Even if I could do it I wouldn't.
My footsteps and eyes are focused forward.
Obviously some have their eyes fixed elsewhere.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With and Without a Show of Interest

What is it that I want from you?
Consistency!
Since I've been giving that,
For as long as I can remember.
With and without a show of interest.
Or a sign of gratitude from you.

Why am I doing this...
And at my own expense?
It is an investment of patience.
And soon,
I am going to relax and enjoy the dividends.

And while you make the same excuses,
You have chosen to do...
Consistency I wished and wanted from you,
Might take place in my memory.
But don't bet on it!

I've been too motivated to prove to myself,
All I need is discipline and focus to achieve.
And...
Well,
I was hoping you would recognize that too!

Since I only have one pair of sleeves I keep rolled up...
I'm not trying to devote my attention all over the place.
Especially if my business,
Is taking care of it!
And not in persistent excuse making.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Irresponsibility Had Been The Main Course

With a strapping that is saddled,
On the backs of the middle class...
Unhappy are the legal thieves,
Who express sadness those promises...
A bona fide leader made,
But could not deliver...
Or to them pass!

And perhaps that leader is correct.
Since when promises were spoken,
The economy was not so openly broken.
People 'then' were not as affected...
By unsuspecting crooks behind the scenes,
Dressed in suits and running off with all the loot.
To leave them without funds,
And their bank accounts cleaned.

And now as the sand in the hour glass descends...
Deceivers wish to transfer their lack of accountability,
On the shoulders of this leader...
Until his back bends.
With pretensions they dismiss,
As this leader defends his judgements that are 'hissed'.
When an irresponsibility had been the main course,
Long before his leadership began to exist!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Launched

I am being launched.
With a back straight and eyes focused.
And if my shoulders were witnessed haunched,
At a time seen rehearsing...
I was preparing to spring into action.
And that moment has come to be done!

I am being launched.
Back straight. Eyes focused.
Heels lifted and ready.
And...
Off to explore new heights.
To leave those feeding on their limits.

Launched to soar to experience more,
Of life.
And so prepare am I for fresh interpretations.
With no pits of pity to revisit or rehash.
My ASpirations have been launched.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fingers Of Love

Can you imagine this
An itch to sensitive to scratch
The light that falls through the cracks
An insect to delicate to catch
I hear the endless murmur
Every blade of grass that shivers in the breeze
And the sound that comes to carry me
Across the land and over the sea
And I can't look up
Fingers of love move down
And I can't look back
Fingers of love move down
Colour is its own reward
Colour is its own reward
The chiming of a perfect chord
Let's go jumping overboard
Into waves of joy and clarity
Your hands come out to rescue me
And I'm playing in the shallow water
Laughing while the mad dog sleeps
And I can't look up
Fingers of love move down
And I won't be hit
Fingers of love move everywhere
There is time yet
Fall by the way
From the cradle to the grave
From a palace to the gutter
From beneath the dying waves
To the sun like fingers of love
Through waves of joy and clarity
A fallen angel walked on the sea
And I'm playing in the shallow water
Laughing while the mad dog sleeps
And I can't look up
Fingers of love move down
And I won't be hit
Fingers of love move everywhere
There is time yet
For you to find me
And all I want
Fingers of love move down

song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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House for Sale

I stood in the midst of the empty house,
It was silent, empty, and bare,
gone was the laughter the tears and the life,
and the family that once lived there.
I stood there observing, to try to revive
the memories this house had to share,
the secrets, excitement, unhappiness too,
these feelings so willing to bear.
I heard children playing and lapping up life,
I heard adults talking and scolding,
This house bore it all with its solid repose,
and accepted with wisdom beholding.
I stood in the midst of the empty house,
with a feeling of sadness around,
abandoned and empty, a lonely shell,
for the place never uttered a sound,
it was silent and bare, where the rooms had been stripped
and the furniture taken away,
the paint had been scratched and the floor left unwashed
when the house was abandoned that day.
The ghosts from its past walk through each lonely room,
and I sigh as I button my coat,
I slam the front door with an echoing bang
and a lump seems to lodge in my throat-
for there on the green lawn for all eyes to see
with dark letters outstanding on pale
is a board standing taut in the cold winter sun
with the large, lonely wording- "For Sale"

poem by Margaret Hanning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Back Where I Come From

In the town where I was raised
Clock ticks and the cattle graze
Time passed with amazing grace
Back where I come from.
You can lie on a riverbank
Paint your name on a water tank
Miss count all the beers you drank
Back where I come from.
Back where I come from,
Where Ill be when it is said and done,
Im proud as anyone thats where I come from.
We learned in a sunday school
Just who made the sun shine through
I know who made the moon shine too
Back where I come from
Blue eyes on a saturday night
Tan legs in the broad daylight
Tvs they were black and white
Back where I come from
Back where I come from,
Where Ill be when it is said and done,
Im proud as anyone thats where I come from.
Some say its a backwards place
Narrow minds on a narrow race
But I make it a point to say thats where I come from.
Thats where I come from,
Where Ill be when it is said and done,
Im proud as anyone thats where I come from.
Thats where I come from
Im an old tennesseean
I am as proud as any one thats where I come from
Back where I come from
Back where I come from
Back where I come from

song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How I Live...

there is another world
where my eyes sojourn like
a white yacht
anchoring for a while
while the storm to my
destination rages

this is the place of temporary
hiding

there is another world where my
hands permanently reside
it is a world of ropes and chains
where my fingers
are hindered from moving
from pointing
except to feel what my heart
desires

my eyes are too honest
they do what they want
they feast when they are hungry

my fingers are like nuns
in the monastery
my hands are the nunneries

on two worlds my body lives
balancing
the rope, the chains and the
pulpit

meanwhile, the confessional is
occupied
the sins revealed
to God in metaphors...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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