In Increments
In increments it must now come.
What's being done...
Should not overwhelm.
It should not succumb,
Or overcome with its might.
Nor should it frighten.
But deliver enlightenment.
A dose of that at a time is needed.
And not too much to feed the untreated.
In increments it must now come.
Impatience might cause havoc!
And a running away of those too stunned.
Appear before a few...
Let them give previews.
Let them first astonish those in disbelief!
Let their appetites build and increase.
Let their curiosities begin to tease.
Before the descending of our ships they see!
But...
In increments.
'Your Highness...
Would you care for more tea? '
Yes,
Please!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Break any problem into, or make any changes in, small increments.
quote by Anne Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think that growth and spiritual awareness come in slow increments. Sometimes you don't know it's happening.
quote by Mariel Hemingway
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Increase in pay
I hear him humming
A song of increase in pay
The same tune he keeps on drumming
Day after day after day
'Increase in pay, ’ he says
'Increase in play, ' he says
Today his hair is whiter than grey
Thirteen increments of pay
But he still keeps on humming
The same tune he keeps on drumming
'Increase in pay, ’ he says
'Fewer hours, more power, ' he says
No more do they listen
Once they did when he glistened
Now they wait gently endlessly
Now they debate quietly mercilessly
'Delay the pay, ' they say
'Decrease the play, ' they say
Can't you see his hair has turned all grey?
Soon! Soon he shall only wither away!
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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It was from them that I learned that hard work in stable surroundings could yield rewards, even if only in infinitesimally small increments.
quote by Sidney Altman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Questing Relish
zealous young xenophiles
wail violent utterances
tasked surreptious rail
qualms permit ornaments
nibbling mice livid
kilo joule increments
harped geese fly
every delicate caress
bourne aloft
poem by Frederick Kesner
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Good Health That IS Enjoyed
There is nothing like knowing,
A peace of mind that one has achieved...
Came to be,
In increments.
Until every last bit of it,
Was deservingly welcomed.
And with joy received.
And as time passes on,
With those believed deceiving to please...
The one who reflects about the past,
Has no regrets.
Or wonders what has happened,
To those who did their best...
To upset one's current happiness.
As one who has received this peace of mind,
Has a life abundant...
With good health that IS enjoyed.
And validated success!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The jarring of a midnight's dew
What permanent vanquished beauty
What tyrannical sea of change
Transmutes and transmogrifies
All that is indigenous to atoms
Rock, iron, wood, salt, root,
Bone and flesh..?
What increments roost in you,
In us..? in this archaic, masquerade
What sagacity, what foresight
Inches us forwards singular
Into an esoteric silhouette
What everlasting beauty
Imbibes through you! so you, too
Can be tantalized and bid within,
The jarring of a midnight's dew
Enchantments, repository.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Elegy upon undoing love forever
I cease for the importance of humanity
I know ot if mine was a desire or necessity
The fire had died out
The cold had no more clout
But if I ask will it arouse again
If i am to spot another
Of mine body, soul alike to pain
Will i be able to go on further?
The elegance of love is tarnished by necessity
I know not of amendments
But I can never forget you but can dim
In old ages increments
But will I meet another
I think while watching you go somewhere
Heart is maybe wet leather
It can be thrown anywhere
[ With this poem I end my love I shall rather die then forget. Alas I am a mere spectator as woe plays and celebrates it's might]
poem by Vittal Vandavasu
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Reruns
I live my life by watching it all pass
In thirty minute increments—in shows.
I'm feeling tired from sitting on my a**.
I don't go outside. I've heard fresh air blows.
I'm encapsulated and contained by my chair
In a world scripted and superficial:
Mem'ries manipulated for a stare,
Pixelated by blocks of commercials.
What I see is what I want… maybe not.
I prefer to watch… oh, I like watching
My melting brain cryogenic'lly caught—
Now, no more are the baby thoughts hatching.
Instead, I repeat myself in reruns,
An endless cycle of prepackaged fun.
I'd change the word if not for the rhyme scheme.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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No One Has To Accept New And Fresh Debts
No one has to accept new and fresh debts,
With a sitting on their front steps...
Regetting in a public display of it.
As if the giving of pity to pocket,
Is what passersby would select to pick.
Everything owed, borrowed or stolen,
Has a way of delivering a headache felt...
That is conscious with a degree of sorrow.
And...
Awaiting headaches to expect,
Is not high on the list of recommendations.
We all have at one time,
Signed away our lives on that 'bottom line'.
And that act alone,
Can not be erased by the taking of medication.
Many have overdosed on their delusions.
No one has to accept new and fresh debts,
To regret them.
However,
What is suggested...
'Before' experiencing Buyer's Remorse,
Is to plan in advance a mental evacuation route to take.
Yes!
Enjoy the temporary break away from that self hate.
With a rescheduled date...
To return to self loathing much later.
But in the meantime just celebrate the taste,
Of living beyond what can be afforded.
Everyone does it.
No one has to accept new and fresh debts,
To regret them.
Know that this predicament,
Is as common as being teased by the necessity...
Of wishing for needless greed to feed.
And repaying for the deed in increments,
When the funds presented become available.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Enduring Psychic Wounds
To amble through a desolate city
Of dilapidated houses and dispirited streets
In search of jubilant flowers
And the song of gurgling fountains!
My heart is stung
By the absurdity of the odds
Of ever finding any positive resolution
To insistent desires
As I attempt to recall
An exultant dream.
For too long
I’ve had a melancholy face
Too distressing for strangers
To gaze upon,
Too sad for a room with mirrors.
I’ve been haunted in vain
By ghosts of previous lives
Trying to guide me into the light,
But I’m only capable of perceptions
Of myths and fabrications.
The cycle of sorrow only relents
In insignificant increments
For the mind to slightly heal
From enduring psychic wounds.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Time
Where dose time really go once it has past
Time is time
Is there such a thing as bad timing
Why dose it fly when were having fun
And slow down when we want it to fly
Can you answer me
Can you tell me why
Dose time stand still
Time waits for no one
Travel in time machine
Dose time ever take time out
Time rules the world
From the time we raise to the time we sleep
We are paid for our
WE pay to use someone else's time
So time is money really
Time we spend together
A life time
We use time reading the times or time magazine
Can you tell me the time please
How many times would that have been said
Lunch time dinner time
My time your time
Your wasting time your wasting my time
Killing time i don't think so
We are running out of time
Race against time
loosing time
Making up for lost time
A bit of overtime
Time to go
Don't Give A Dose To The One You Love Most
Don’t give a dose to the one you love most.
Give her some marmalade...give her some toast.
You can give her the willies or give her the blues.
But the dose that you give her will get back to youse.
I once had a lady as sweet as a song.
She was my darlin’, and she was my dear.
But she had a dose, and she passed it along.
Now she’s gone, but the dose is still there.
So, don’t give a dose to the one you love most.
Give her some marmalade...give her some toast.
You can give her a partiridge up in a pear tree,
But the dose that you give her might get back to me.
So if you’ve got an itchin’...if you’ve got a drip,
Don’t sit there wishin’ for it to go ’way.
If there’s a thing on the tip of your thing or your lip,
Run down to the clinic today, and say...
'I won’t give a dose to the one I love most.
I’ll give her some marmalade...give her some toast.'
Give her the willies or give her the blues,
But the dose that you give her will get back to you.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The last visit and conversion…
Here lays my grandmother
A week from: Death.
The gentle archetypal, type of grandmother
Who nursed my cries; made all things better.
Here lays, my grandmother…
In that; week before their heinous lies….
“Spoken in hellos but not goodbyes”
In that week before her untimely: Death.
Before; her cloak of life fell silently away bereft.
In isolating surrendered breaths…
In hopes and prayers…
In hopes; never-ending…
In words that were formed:
Like crusts of bread.
Floated in the mouths of the living…
Where once it was lovingly said.
That our own increments will rise conversely…
And speak from; our own deathbeds.
Shall we not all of us…
Then one day, converse, with the dead.
Here lays, my grandmother…
And to date—she is dead.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Another chance
I can recall nothing at all.
My mind is like a pristine page,
it’s rather sad but comical
I do not know my name or age.
I am aware that I’m a man.
I recognise the common things
I try to recall what I can
and each new day some fresh fact brings.
I think that I must have a wife
because I wear a wedding ring.
Some fog blots out my former life.
I can’t remember anything.
Perhaps I have a family
I wrack my brains but all in vain.
It seems no one is missing me.
My doctors say I may regain
My memory in increments.
This does not really comfort me
I don’t believe in such portents.
Between themselves they can’t agree.
I think my loss is permanent
Perhaps this is a second chance
to start afresh by accident.
As in some story book romance.
My tally sheet has been wiped clean.
I have no baggage from my past
I don’t know what I might have been.
I only know that time has passed.
Since I was who I used to be
I have become a different man
I will have to wait and see
and do the very best I can.
To make a success of my life
A golden opportunity.
I have maybe escaped from strife
what I become is up to me.
This cause me no great distress
I have grown used to being me.
The me I am now I must stress
not the me I used to be.
The man I was does not exist
he vanished with my memory.
Although some memories persist
I can choose who I want to be.
25-Sep-06
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Man Or Animal
You give me a heart attack
You look like the summertime
You call me an artifact
But I'll save that for another time
I could be rich or poor
I don't need anymore
Keep your love inside the kitchen
You can feed me anything
Leave the feathers on the chicken
Peel the leather from your skin
I can be young or old
Sweet or sad, hot or cold
Chorus
Man or animal, I don't care at all
Find the antidote underneath the dose
Man or animal, obidient
out of control
I will love you more than money
I will breathe you in the smoke
I will drink you in my honey
Sweet and golden down my throat
When you're right, when you're wrong
Head is near, eyes are gone
You can drown my appetite
I will sip your tears at night
You can tie me to a chair
Skin and bones, I don't care
I could be rich or poor
I don't need anymore
Chorus
Man or animal, I don't care at all
Find the antidote underneath the dose
Man or animal, obedient
out of control
Man or animal, I don't care at all
Find the antidote underneath the dose
Man or animal, obedient
out of control
out of control
You give me a heart attack
I will give you more than that
You give me a heart attack
I will give you more than that
song performed by by Audioslave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Deliver Great Impressions
Feed their dreams.
Not their anxieties.
Avoid the realities...
Of their living days.
Don't exclude their delusions.
Use them to excite.
Use them to ignite their hopes.
With intoxicated appetites.
Feed them a vision...
Of what a greatness means.
Feed them and sustain their attention.
Then do nothing you mentioned
With an intention that is 'seen'.
You deliver great impressions!
But none of that expresses...
What your suggestions are,
For cleaning up your mess!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Good Is What You Need To Feed
Close your eyes.
Remove disturbances from your care.
Care less where you put them.
Just know they aren't there.
To stare and haunt your composure.
Silence the race within you.
Gently inhale and exhale your wishes.
Send them to become delivered.
And do not wait.
They need time to make them come true.
For you!
They will.
As soon as you begin to release impatience.
And exercise your desires.
Kindle that flame that sets a fire to them.
Feed your mind this in solitude.
Nourish your life with that which you like!
Let go of any bits of vindictiveness that may sit...
To visit and discomfort!
You want happiness to attract.
Let go of tit-for-tat spats that nibble on your good!
And good is what you need to feed,
Your dreams!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Weather Balloons? ? ? ? for friend Thad
I’m just an ordinary guy
who’d like to know the reason why?
The powers that be resort to lies
about the strangers in our skies.
Why do they think they can conceal
what people see with their own eyes
and try to make out they aren’t real.
They wonder why no one complies.
Some may be real and some are not.
Illusions caused by tricks of light
Which will account for quite a lot.
I think that people have the right..
To be allowed to speculate
on what these U.F.Os may be
Not as they have been up to date
Bamboozled systematically.
By governments who all deny
that something strange is going on.
When questioned give the stock reply.
You are mistaken there are none.
Perhaps they’re seeking to prevent
the populace from panicking.
But being cynical I suspect
that they are only dithering.
Because they don’t know what to do.
It’s typical of governments
when they are faced by something new.
The truth leaks out by increments.
A trained observer does not lie
about the things that he has seen.
Strange lights manoeuvring in the sky.
and wonders what they might have been.
Though governments try to suppress
by any means they can conceive.
The right of people to express
what they have seen, what they believe.
I’m just an ordinary guy
I am no expert scientist
but I can see no reason why.
Alien races can’t exist.
Perhaps we are in quarantine
because we are belligerent.
and other races intervene.
From time to time with good intent.
They wait in hope we will mature
and learn to live in peace at last.
But only when they are quite sure
we’ve learned the lessons of the past.
Will they reveal themselves to us.
Not as potential enemies
but neighbours who are curious
and thus resolve the mysteries.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Jobs?
Jobs?
They don't want jobs.
Not the ones they exclaim,
Can make a down payment...
On credited fantasies.
And they want to be able to pay for them.
They want money.
And lots of it.
They are above pushing a broom.
They've been spoiled by 'entitlements'.
That's why those who created those jobs,
Found a cheaper way to produce their products...
Now being made overseas.
With more sweating they get,
From grateful and pleasant employees.
Not discussing their retirement plans,
Or increments of expected raises.
Those employers wanting to survive,
Have prioritized their needs as well.
With a paying of those interested in creating quality...
And not those more involved,
In discussing where they vacation...
During a two hour lunch break.
While complaining what the boss makes...
Or who shops where for a price making eyes pop.
As they within eight hours do exactly what they please.
To leave a job before it is time...
Completing nothing that is due.
Jobs?
They had jobs.
And complained 'aliens' were taking them away.
When blacks began getting tips waiting on tables,
It was soon discovered how they were no longer qualified,
To do menial work.
Since 'some' folks began to realize,
Those menial positions could become very lucrative.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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