In Separate And Foolish Divisions
Too controlling.
Many set out to prove from birth,
They could and would with a showing of self worth...
Fake to erase the slightest mistakes they've made,
And unmistakably done as they continue to do.
Yet unable to face they are,
Their own flaws well covered and left unpursued.
They were raised,
With an 'look-at-me-see-what-I've-got'...
Mentality.They were raised to think of unity as a curse.
But used as a reaaon to come together,
To rehearse the berating done to others.
With a doing to anyone,
Regardless of how sacred relationships were.
They were raised,
Not to praise one another with encouragement.
Or support or re-enforce their successes.
But instead they had a purpose,
To ensure no one would achieve...
Unless they were the ones perceived,
As deserving of getting attention.
And without mentioning they did everything possible,
To do what they could to get it.
Raised to behave to pass judgement.
Based upon appearances and 'things' claimed owned.
Raised to behave to pass judgement.
As if those that did not condone their point of view,
Were not as blessed to profess they had been 'favored'.
With their 'holier-than-thou' self righteous attitudes,
Obsessed to self absorb and accepted as a right of passage.
And with a flaunting of pretentions they kept to do religiously,
In separate and foolish divisions!
Believing restrictions like this,
Would keep hidden their blemishes...
Out of sight, out of mind and away from a living of life.
And no one can deny the obviousness of their boundaries,
When witnessing the limits their minds have set.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
With My Finger Up And Raised
Tired of deceivers,
And the lies they leave...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.
Tired of the thieves,
And corruption of beliefs...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.
Tired of false faces that come.
Tired of those fixed smiles done.
Tired of the running by some...
Of those who say they care!
But not one woe I will do!
Tired of deceivers,
And the lies they leave...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.
Tired of the thieves,
And corruption of beliefs...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.
But not a single woe I will do.
And....
Not a woe I will do will prove...
With my finger up and raised!
Tired of the thieves,
And corruption of beliefs...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.
Tired of deceivers,
And the lies they leave...
Yes I am.
Yes I am.
But not a single woe I will do.
And....
Not a woe I will do will prove.
Or a showing I have had it,
With attitude.
And my finger up and raised!
But not a single woe I will do.
No.
Not a woe I will do will prove...
Or a showing I have had it,
With attitude.
And my finger up and raised!
With my finger up and raised!
'You don't need your finger up and raised.'
With my finger up and raised!
'You don't need your finger up and raised.'
With my finger up and raised!
'You don't need your finger up and raised.'
With my finger up and raised!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Technique
I am not perfect.
I have flaws.
And they are there in public view.
I have long been under a microscope.
By those who pass judgement,
And scrutinize too!
What makes you think I wish to hide,
Anything from you?
I've been raised to expect critique.
That's why I don't charade or masquerade!
Like many choose to do!
I live to be 'free'
Of the displeasures of others.
And that is my technique!
That suits 'me' and I use.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Daughter of Death
I was born
Born to the blood of angels
Born through the veil of a storm
Born without love inside of me
Born with a need to perform
Born out of vengence
Born out of scorn
Born out of hatred
out of love torn
Born with a mission
Born with a drive
Born with a need
with a need to sruvive.
Now it's time to show you what i'm really about
no more pretentions;
No more frothing at the mouth
there's no use of hiding
all my sins deep inside
I'll wear them on my shoulder like a badge of pride
Cuz i'm the daughter of death
from my very first breath
i'm the daughter of death
blood red as macbeth
living a filthy mess
i'm a daughter of death
just a daughter of death
I was
Raised from buring ashes
Raised with tragic crime
Raised from cries of chaos
Raised on borrowed time
Raised by the darkness
Rasied by the night
Raised by the claws of fright
Raised to be hated
Riased to be loved
Riased to be doomed
By the powers above
poem by Brittany Cook
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You're The Only Hell Your Mama Ever Raised
Well I heard mama late last night
She was talking to my father
Now it's time that boy was shipping out
And I mean come hell or high water
Smokes and spits and drinks and fights
And his friends all look like trouble
Oh he sleeps all day and gone all night
Where's that boy I used to cuddle
Ten good years and then
He must ahve gone insane
CHORUS
You're the only hell
You'r mama ever raised
She tried ot tell you
But you got to do things your own way
Says you're a good boy and
That you must be going thorugh some phase
You're the only hell your mama ever raised
Mama ever raised
Mama ever, Mama ever raised
Susie sneaks out every night
Say's its only fair, yeah
Mama won't let me have no fun
Sometimes I think sh'es Linda Blair, yeah
Sixteen years of bristine tears
Then susie changed her ways
You're the only hell your mama ever raised
She tried ot tell you
but you got to do things your own way
Should know, know better and
that you must be goin through some phase
You're the only hell your mama ever raised
mama ever raised
mama ever raised
Oh yeah!
Ohhh mama, little boy may be leavin' today
I don't care what you say
Woman I've got to go
And fly away
song performed by by Warrant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You're The Only Hell Your Mama Ever Raised
Well I heard mama late last night
She was talking to my father
Now it's time that boy was shipping out
And I mean come hell or high water
Smokes and spits and drinks and fights
And his friends all look like trouble
Oh he sleeps all day and gone all night
Where's that boy I used to cuddle
Ten good years and then
He must ahve gone insane
CHORUS
You're the only hell
You'r mama ever raised
She tried ot tell you
But you got to do things your own way
Says you're a good boy and
That you must be going thorugh some phase
You're the only hell your mama ever raised
Mama ever raised
Mama ever, Mama ever raised
Susie sneaks out every night
Say's its only fair, yeah
Mama won't let me have no fun
Sometimes I think sh'es Linda Blair, yeah
Sixteen years of bristine tears
Then susie changed her ways
You're the only hell your mama ever raised
She tried ot tell you
but you got to do things your own way
Should know, know better and
that you must be goin through some phase
You're the only hell your mama ever raised
mama ever raised
mama ever raised
Oh yeah!
Ohhh mama, little boy may be leavin' today
I don't care what you say
Woman I've got to go
And fly away
song performed by by Warrant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Raised Up By God
Friend, I was raised up by God, to walk with Him upon earth’s sod,
He raised me up from the dust, when He breathed life into all of us.
But, because of man’s sinful fall, I did not walk with The Lord at all,
I simply went about my sinful way, living only for myself day to day.
Although I did not walk with Him, He came to save me from my sin,
While upon that cross at Calvary, where Christ died for you and me.
That sin that lead my heart astray, had taken me down a darker way,
But it was God’s love, not His wrath, that lead me to a brighter path.
I simply lived a life of emptiness, as I lived in my own righteousness,
A life far removed from God above, and void of His Grace and Love.
And it took me to an empty plight, all shaded by the darkened night,
But He put me on a path that’s right, one filled with my Savior’s Light.
God then raised me up to New Life, one that is found in Jesus Christ,
The Lord, who had truly died for me, has now given me Life Eternally.
Christ who raised me from the dust, is the One in whom I put my trust,
And through the power of New Birth, will soon raise me from the earth.
I shall be raised by Christ my Lord, to then live with God forevermore,
Until then, God fills these earthly days, with His Power and His Praise,
To lead others on earth to new life, through the Power of Jesus Christ,
And when together we are raised, in Glory God will be forever praised.
When and Where Did They Leave Behind Their Minds
I have been blessed to be in the presence...
Of those obsessed with the purchasing of things.
Themselves and what they possess.
And have them profess to me,
What 'I' could be and 'things' I could have...
IF I just put my mind to it!
So glad I endured such ignorance.
Little did they know,
I thought people like that were ridiculous.
And in time they would come to think of themselves,
That very same way.
It happens.
It pays to be observant.
What I have today and have had most of my life,
Is a sense of my own self worth.
What I have today and have had most of my life,
Is identity and self respect.
What I have today and have had most of my life,
Is my faith and gratefulness...
To know from where my blessings flow!
And the source of my insight.
And those folks...
Wouldn't leave from their doorsteps,
Without making sure their pretensions were intact.
But then again...
Times have changed!
And maybe some of them are scurrying around,
Trying to discover...
When and where did they leave behind their minds.
And what had been their purpose?
What purpose do they serve?
And how is that purpose felt?
Where is that purpose at?
Especially those clinging onto materialistic notions!
Believing themselves to be...
'Blessed and highly favored',
To have acquired positions of status.
With bling and other things to flaunt,
An eroding way of life that has them entrapped.
And I wonder...
Is 'this' a purpose?
Or is this,
A sad act!
God...
I thank You,
For showing me how to lead.
And not follow.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Was Born and Raised
When the sun was hanging bright
And the moon gloom with execsive light
Then I was born
When the days were constantly burning
And the cloud immensely weeping
Then I was born
When human were not humble
And the races were different people
Then I was born
When actions were filled with advantage
And the minds were like gabbage
Then I was born
When the street were filled with blood
And human words were built with fraud
Then I was born
When parents cannot make their stomach feed
And they cannot take the responsibility of their breed
Then I was born
Where the people were just part of a story
And their effort was to build another man glory
Their I was raised
Where men were like iron
But their strength was for a corn
Their I was raised
Where people were deprived
And from them wealth is derived
There I was born and raised
Where the land is good
But the people cannot make their food
Their I was born and raised
Where the place is called africa
And the people are called african
Their I was born and raised
I was born and raised
Where the people’s destiny lies in the grave
poem by Kemurl Fofanah
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Little House Made Out Of Logs
I was raised in a little house
Made out of logs
Had a dirt chimney
Made from moss
Cut out windows
No glass at all
Little house
Made out of logs
Never swept any floor
Made out of dirt
You don't see any more
Kerosene lamps
Water from the spring
Makes me thirsty again
Raised on potatoes and cornbread
Wood stove was all we had
Never thought much about the holidays
Just a season for another time and place
Can't forget how I was raised
Makes you learn to appreciate
I could do the same in time
Little log house
On my mind
poem by Monette Paul
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With Affixed Discretions
Raised on hate.
Rescinded bad judgements,
Don't break affiliations...
That one makes.
Accepted,
When one is taught...
And raised on hate!
Reflecting a society,
Draped!
And shallowed in denial,
By such debates.
Truth comes late!
When money spoils eyes of those
Who create mistakes!
Exposing ignorance,
As a choice...
To validate what takes place.
And remorse dressed to seek forgiveness...
With excuses,
Does not thaw a salvation...
From hearts feeding,
On demented values condoned.
With a sympathy displayed,
Scored by a symphony that plays!
But when shown...
Some chosen acts of cruelty,
Done by those well known...
Are denied and outlawed!
Uncovering the flaws,
Of a twisted system chewed...
Between the teeth of demon jaws!
Without review!
Or an addressing of the standards
Demanded...
And ordered to continue.
With affixed discretions,
Bloodied, blessed and subdued!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Psycopaths
On the news we see abusers,
Are they psycopaths.
Drug abusers in the schools.
Are they psycopaths.
Confused sick people,
Are they psycopaths.
The misfits, unfit depicted as mad.
Are the ones paranoid,
Also psycopaths.
And the people who annoy,
Are they psycopaths.
What about the crooks,
Are they psycopaths.
And what about the people everyday I pass.
And what about the people everyday I pass.
Are the ones who lie and cheat,
Are they psycopaths.
And what about deceivers,
Are they psycopaths.
And the cops who beat up people,
Are they psycopaths.
Is everyone I see,
A psycopath.
Is everyone I see,
A psycopath.
And what about the homeless,
Who have no cash.
Are they and the hungry,
Psycopaths.
And what about the people everyday I pass.
And what about the people everyday I pass.
Are the rich and snobby people,
Also psycopaths.
Are the people who don't eat,
Are they psycopaths.
And those who watch their diets,
Are they psycopaths.
And those playing videos,
Killing fast!
Are children being raised,
As psycopaths.
Are children being raised,
As psycopaths.
And will psycopaths,
Have all of the cash.
And will psycopaths,
Have all of the cash.
And will psycopaths,
Have all of the cash.
Are children being raised,
As psycopaths.
And will psycopaths,
Have all of the cash.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Alone In This World
I'm alone in this world my heart hurt
My body is weak
I can't feel I can't sleep
My eyes are low
So is my spirit
my faith is not strong
But I hold my head high
With a fake grin
End to end
I feelings are gone
Seem like keep singing the same old song
I'm alone in this world
I wonder if anybody notice when i try
Doing my hair
Do they at least stop and stare
I hate living the life
Of no life
Of keeping a fake smile
Not going any where
This is the life of me
Sometimes I cry
Thinking that I will never find
The love of my life
Somebody ready to make me there wife
No man could love such a girl
A girl who cleans, works
Take cares of the kids
Make sure his clothes are out
And his meal is cooked
No man loves a girl like me
Raised in loving care
Raised without a gold to her name
Raised to be ready but hated by many
Because of her curves
Her beauty
Her love what man
Can love such a girl like me
Maybe I'll never find love
in this crazy world we live in
poem by Raesheka Antwine
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Mother To Mother
Mother to daughter, mother to mother
A greater love, there is no other.
You looked towards me for your guidance and my love
But this was given to both of us
From the lord up above.
I protected and sheltered you the best that I could.
And you followed the same road that we all take
We did not stop or hesitate.
A mother is not one who just gives birth
But one who shows her worth.
I was her mother, she was my daughter
Everything according to GODS order.
I raised mine, she raised her own.
But the love we had was always shown.
She was like the sun bringing light into this world
For she was my little girl.
She was like the sun radiating beauty from
The inside out, of that I have no doubt.
As the sun brings a smile to your face
And leaves you with a glow inside.
She could do this, and that’s no lie.
She created life, and loved them with such tender care
And the joys and sorrows, with them she’d share.
She loved and honored her children in every way she could
And raised them the way a mother should.
She was closer to me, more than anyone could ever know
And put in me a strength that would grow.
When it was the time for the LORD to take her away
And I’m sure that she wanted to stay.
She gave her soul to our lord above
But left us with an enduring love.
So to my daughter I say to you, I loved you at your birth
And I loved you till the end, for you was
not only my daughter, but my friend.
mother to mother, I thank you with all my heart and soul
For you left me with beautiful children for me to hold.
poem by Louis Rams
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Raised On Rock
(words & music by mark james)
I remember as a child I used to hear
Music that they played lord with a feel
Some call it folk, some call it soul
People let me tell you it was rock and roll
I was raised on rock, I got rhythm in my soul
Every day when I got home I turned on my radio
Listening to the music that my idols made
I knew every single record the djs played
A honky tonk a hound dog, a johnny b. goode
Chain gang, love is strange, knock on wood
I was raised on rock, I got rhythm in my soul
I was born to love the beat I was made for rock and roll
I thought it was a fad, thought that it would pass
But the younger generation knew it would last
Times gone by, the beat goes on
But every time I hear it lord it takes me home
I was raised on rock, I got rhythm in my soul
Every day when I got home I turned on my radio
Mother played recordings of beethovens fifth
Mozarts sonatas down the classical liszt
My papa loved to listen to his country songs
While I was in the back room rockin on
I was raised on rock, I got rhythm in my soul
I was born to love the beat I was made for rock and roll
I was raised on rock, I got rhythm in my soul
I was born to love the beat I was made for rock and roll
I was raised on rock, I got rhythm in my soul
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Infestation
From birth to achieve one's purpose,
Is that what it is one's life should be?
Or are we given this experience...
To exist to witness others succeed?
Are we to take life as an expected gift?
To sit in anticipation...
As life should come to us,
To breeze through easily.
From birth to achieve one's purpose,
Like steps come in increments.
First there is a crawling done.
To stand up tall to fall.
Ignoring to stall these as minor incidents.
Is not this life to live with such a preference?
No flying from a leap...
Some believe taken in clean sweeps,
To not repeat...
Incompleted lessons.
From birth to achieve one's purpose,
In sessions God dictates.
Although some prefer to stay whining like babies.
Hoping an empathy negates their impatient wait.
And some are often praised,
When they leave implusive scars...
To leave marks condone!
By others shown...
They too were raised to be just as crazed!
With the effects of this to go unquestioned.
Since their beliefs are released...
For a complete infestation for others to reap.
As reality takes a backseat...
While continuing to be depleted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Those Who Value the Emptiness of 'Things
They were raised with beliefs,
They should compete.
Brothers and sisters...
Separated by jealousies,
And envy condoned.
They speak of favorites...
Picked and solicited,
By parents who thought of them
As part of a litter.
Not one of them knew love...
Since this was not shown.
And that which is not known,
Is reflected by shallow misgivings.
And in an environment
That offers deception to shine
Behind the minds of those
Who value the emptiness of 'things'...
Over a missing self worth!
Flourishes in deceit.
Diminished in those,
Still holding onto its existence!
Is an encouragement self contained.
Yet showing an absence that craves,
An attention too long ignored!
But then again...
Truth has not been welcomed,
As a friend either!
And this is widely reflected,
From generation to generation
Of those obsessed to possess...
Costly sensations,
To appease a loss unprevented!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Those Browbeaters Are Out In Droves
Those browbeaters are out in droves.
With their voices raised high
Proposing to keep,
Fantasies kept about their lives
Free of restrictions
Those browbeaters protest,
With an exposing of their selfishness.
And demand an attention to focus on their needs.
Regardless of the sacrificing done,
Of those historically
Forced to exist to please on bended knees.
Browbeaters like these,
Insist their standards valued should be those
Unopposed by the ones seeking,
To diminish inequities.
The ones with a consciousness
With beliefs that equality benefits humanity.
Those browbeaters are out in droves.
With their voices raised high
Proposing to keep,
Fantasies kept about their lives
Free of restrictions.
But those restrictions must limit
The feeding of greed,
That has depleted with a decreasing
All aspects of the economy.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whatever fortune has raised to a height, she has raised only to cast it down.
I was raised a Catholic and when you're raised a Catholic they don't teach you to think for yourself. You're taught not to think too deeply about things.
quote by Abel Ferrara
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Technology - a thumbnail tribute to Martin Heidegger
Tekne’, to the Greeks
was the art of bringing-forth
from the true (and, it’s hoped, the good)
into the beautiful:
poetry; sculpture; machinery of wood and metal
such as that which raised the Parthenon;
raised Apollo, Venus, out of stone;
raised myth out of poetry.
And I, we, too have technology
forever at our finger-tips..
Did it happen through chance,
through procrastination,
or through attention given
to a task and needs,
this ‘beautiful’ solution
that mathematicians talk about?
it happened on one godgiven day,
scrubbing those shining new potatoes:
the right-hand thumbnail now grown long
suddenly a more efficient tool
for removing ‘eyes’ and hollowed dirt..
so now, this intimate and valued tool
carefully shaped between a v and u;
and from the fingertip to heart
arises wonder, awe: the gentle curve
of nail gives added strength.. how magnificent
the humblest, least worshipped fingerends
of these so precious hands…
Do I mimic man called ‘primitive’
as I depend on nature’s tools
to alert the inventive mind
by the attention which, taken so for granted
links us to the gods themselves…?
Tools first, then machines, then ‘technology’
have no limits under divine law:
call them, the exteriorisation
of our brain, our mind:
thumbnail, bridge, interstellar rocket
are thus one in wonder; every action
now to mind and heart, a sacrament;
the bringing-forth, the showing-forth
of Man – the tekne of the gods;
the gods who live, who wake from sleep,
only when Man rounds the circle with his praise.
“Questioning is the piety of thought.”
poem by Michael Shepherd
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