En.Citatepedia^®.ro

My Childhood Lived

So glad I had been given chores to do 'then',
With activities to keep me occupied...
In the days of my youth.

I admit to feeling overwhelmed.
And I resented a lot too.
Whenever I was taking out the garbage,
Or sweeping floors...
While other children were outside playing.
And I had to do what it was to get through.

Today I look back at my childhood lived,
With a discipline restricted...
To first complete those things I did.
And grateful I am I have a respect for time,
Since now many who had wasted theirs...
Are addicted to afflictions they can not rid from their minds.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Have Nothing To 'Anyone' To Prove

SOMETIMES...
Not often,
I am amused to meet...
Someone from my childhood,
Who attempts to re-invent...
The events I lived through,
From 'their' memory!

And how good it was,
In those days long gone...
When I was made to do chores,
As other kids played...
And I was home taking out garbage,
Washing dishes...
And mopping and sweeping floors.

As I look back at those days today,
I can say I am no longer bitter...
By how I was raised.
Or the fact that I had been called names.
But a fear I did not express.
Although I walked with my head down,
Feeling insecure and shamed.
'You're gonna fix this God? '
I would 'always' ask!

Today?
I live not too far from that same neighborhood.
And God has made so many things 'right' in my life.

That bitterness that use to sit within me?
Has been replaced by so much joy these days.
~Gee...
Is this 'me' feeling all this happiness? ~

I am tempted to evaluate others.
But I can 'feel' my mother daring me to do it.
And hearing her voice whisper in my ear to say...
'Larry, you have nothing to 'anyone' to prove.'

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Just a Pinch of Common Sense

I am glad not to repeat...
Those days of my youth.
Encouraged to be everything else,
Instead of what I wanted to pursue.
I was young and self expressive,
Then.
With opinions I had...
I made known,
If I chose to
Over again!
Which I did often.

Much of my life lived back then,
Was done fast tracked!
With many things done...
Today would not be condoned!
Not like that.
And I am not going to settled today,
For childlike conversation,
And a densed destination...
From someone who claims to be grown!
If I can get just a pinch of common sense...
Determined to exist within one person,
I'd be feeling at home!
But those feelings here,
Aren't shown
Not like that.
From anyone claiming ownership!

That's what makes me feel lonely.
Buried in thoughts of how things used to be.
In today where those 'used to bees' are useless!
When I think about that,
I become sad as the feeling of isolation...
Overwhelms me!
When I think about that...
I realize more,
Why you and I had to depart!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kids I Once Knew Had Specific Chores

We knew fear but not excuses...
Where I grew up and lived as a kid.
Plus we were too competitive...
With a daring done to prove we weren't afraid.

And much too inquisitive about life,
Back in those days...
When we were taught to be respectful.
And all of the kids I once knew had specific chores,
Assigned to do to get done.
With a doing of them first or face the consequences.
To 'then' be followed by the doing of any school homework.

I am not one to say the children today are lazy.
Nor am I one to pass judgement on the obvious,
To argue in debate or heated discussion with those offended.
Since today there is a difference between being 'smart',
And having common sense.
Intellectualizing what is obviously a detriment,
I leave to those still trying to impress...
There elementary school teachers.

There is a technology involved a lot of children use,
Without using their heads like we once had to do.
And not being able to read 'and' write?
To then brag about graduating from high school?
Whether or not they attended day or night...
With an acceptance given to go to a college too?
I will not say is ridiculous...
Since to me that's my observation.

And I have had it being the one considered to be a fool.
No wonder they have no discipline.
Folks refuse to acknowledge the truth.
Or instill this asset within the minds of their children.
They've been given the right to do as they choose.
And refusing to listen...
So many have chosen 'that' to do!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lost, Confused And Refusing To Admit It

Toxic is a scrambled mind that sits,
Lost, confused and refusing to admit it.
Without an ambitious wish to see fulfilled.
And feeling more each day restricted,
To 'what ifs' and accepting negativity...
Self inflicted.

Toxic and addicted to a poisoned environment.
One in which the majority entertain themselves,
With headaches, pains and the suffering of nonsense.
In which those inhabiting with minds twisted,
Seem to delight in disturbing someone's peace...
With a releasing of initiating conflicts somewhere.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Im Addicted

1, 2, 3, 4!
Look around this dirty town
Drink it up till we fall down
Dont want to live forever this way
But its gonna have to do for today
Oh, Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
Before that hurried call
I had my back against the wall
No, dont want to be shown
Go out and learn your own
Oh, Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
1, 2, 3, 4!
Before that hurried call
I had my back against the wall
No, dont want to be shown
Go out and learn your own
Oh, Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be
Im addicted - as I want to be

song performed by by Goo Goo Dolls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Much More

How much more
Can a love be loved,
When that love that is given...
Is like none other?

How much time
Should one wait to find,
A love to discover...
That one is not restricted with
To exist within limits someone inflicts.

Unconditional is that love that lifts,
From minds not pre-occupied with it!
Or fantasized to pleasure and tease.
As something on a list,
Required as a prerequisite!

How much more
Can a love be loved,
When that love that is given...
Is like none other?

How much time
Should one wait to find,
A love to discover...
That one is not restricted with
To exist within limits someone inflicts.

Expectations and preferences,
Finds one living life with regrets and disappointments.

Dismissing one's looks,
As a book unread...
Yet accepting a physicality,
Without chemistry...
Delivers a reality!

How much more
Can a love be loved,
When that love that is given...
Is like none other?

How much time
Should one wait to find,
A love to discover...
That one is not restricted with
To exist within limits someone inflicts.
Or deal with a second hand romance...
Taking a chance,
That whatever isn't there...
May with time be forced to fit!
How much more,
Can one put up with this?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I Was A Child

when I was a child
so very small
so very young
so very long ago

I had a few
very small wishes

I wanted to
leave this world
a little better
than I found it

I wanted to
be less sinning
than I was
sinned against

I wanted to
give God a good
life witness
from my heart

I wanted to help
people not realizing
many wanted to help
themselves unjustly

very small wishes
so easy to perceive
in innocent childhood years
so hard to lifetime complete

I am glad I kept
my innocence
much longer
than most children

growing up today
I am glad I lived
in an age of values
less are proud to affirm

I am glad truth
was born in my heart
for it is truly better
to give than to receive

I am glad and I smile
because it is to some uncool
but I am still in many ways
that simple childish fool.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Children's Special...

Every child is born with a gift,
and there is a day to celebrate it.
A child is your treasure given by God,
Be blessed so, and pray to the Lord,
for that child gives you happiness,
Gone are your day's of loneliness.

Childhood does not last,
Every child remembers the past,
It depends on how you groom,
Give the child more than a room.

A child carries an ocean of innocence,
not knowing it's consequence,
does a deed that is not desired,
Many parents have always admired.

Thinking of a day for children,
is a wonderful thought,
Cherish every moment of what they have brought,
to you with their playful minds,
which do leave a trail of joy in your mind.

Remember your own childhood days,
make it more than special today,
make the children feel how good you felt that day,
when you celebrated the children's day,
in your childhood days.

poem by Deepak Calyampoondi
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The Joy Of Their Laughter

The children are playing football in the park off of the street
The joy in their laughter it does sound so sweet
'Tis true youth is such a marvellous thing
Like the flowers of the fields that bloom lovely in Spring.

The joy of their laughter bring back memories to me
Of happy boyhood days of any cares free
In the Town park on Summer evenings we kicked the football
Such wonderful memories are good to recall

The years went so quickly and time did not wait
And I've grown grayer and slower and I'm putting on weight
The future belongs to the youth of today
Though they too will grow to learn that time quickly ticks away.

Some of those I went to school with now with the dead lay
And some are grand parents and their grand children play
The games they themselves played they run up and down
In pursuit of the football in the park by the Town.

As I walk to the bottle shop for to buy beer
The laughter of the children playing football I hear
Their best days approaching and mine in the past
But time keeps on ticking and nothing does last.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Still Without Rhythm

Intentional activities,
Come to breathe no new life...
By those of influence,
With narrow eyesights.
And no experience...
Outside of researched and instructed,
Outlooks to compare and grade.
Outlooks...
Taught from books.

To mention good intentions,
When the intent is not visioned...
May excite someone watching paint to dry,
But does nothing for those...
Left ignored,
With innovative imaginations.
And restricted to obey...
Rules penned upon parchment.
To relate to as having a significance,
Documented and adhered.

Like the wearing of wigs,
To hide and deny one's true identity!
As if ashamed.
By the 'evolution' of things.

The ones depicting a certain way of life,
Reflecting a love for horsedrawn carriages...
Seen meandering on cobblestone streets.
May serve a purpose,
For those whose lives are as fresh...
As repeated museum visits to the same exhibits.
With the air inside just as stale.
But having an addiction to things unchanged,
Keeps one to foundations grounded.

However...
Some standards and traditions should be mothballed.
Not resuscitated as if a life lived was then loved.
Yet wasn't.
That is why cemetaries exist.
To bury that which has died from a life which lives.
Many are confused by this transition.

But what repeatedly survives...
Are the narrow minds and diseased philosophies,
That still exist to keep progress restricted.
In a 'let's-live-life-as-it-was-when-darkness-hid-our- flaws'
Syndrome.

Those dancing today and still without rhythm...
Will never have 'it' to know what staying within it means.
They've been out of it observing.
Hoping that the act of 'taking' it and putting it somewhere else...
Keeps an attachment that grows to become familiar.
As if the hearing of a beat will connect to their feet.
No matter if the thumping roars...
A sadness is still observed upon the floors.
Something in the mind is out of sync.

But...
If nothing is felt,
Because of lack of 'soul'...
What is done is as useless as the doer,
Who can not associate what that feeling is...
That is needed.

No one can lay under it...
Like laying under the Sun to camouflage reality!
To then describe what has been obtained,
As healthy.
And yet destroy those with the natural appearance.
Those not baking.
Like those who later sizzle with contempt shown.

Feelings are needed,
If one is to know what the enjoyment of life means.
And that is not a perception delivered by a hired architect!
Or contained in a bottle to release a protectiveness,
One perceives to get.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Return my Childhood

If I get a chance to bargain
Will ask the Almighty again;
‘O God! If thy really could
Give me back my childhood.

I want back my those days,
Innocent acts and plays,
Tricky games and cycle race,
Showing friends masked face,

Digging pits in soil of land,
Drawing sketches in the sand,
Running after the butterflies,
Watching planes in the sky,

Playing with the puppy,
In parties becoming happy,
Hopping in the streets
Going to buy sweets,

Doing things not known to me,
At times crawling on knees,
After school watching cartoons,
Little sleeps in the afternoons,

Doing independent activities,
Free from all responsibilities,
Free from all kind of tensions,
Asking confound questions.’

Childhood is morning of life
From here life begins thrive;
No hardness, no tough heat,
Childhood is innocent n neat.

‘Return my childhood,
O God! if thy could.’

(c) S. D. Tiwari

poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Children Need Their Fathers

The mothers are now saying,
Their children need their fathers.
But weren't they they ones,
Who kept the fathers away?
And had the law hunt them down...
After having the courts chase they,
With warnings to keep their distance...
From these same children,
The mothers are saying...
Need their fathers!

And the fathers...
Who have discovered a peace of mind,
Are no longer trying to find excuses...
Why their fatherless children,
Seem to be out of their minds.
No matter who tries,
To blame their lack of discipline...
With no respect to others to show or give,
And put this on their shoulders...
To claim this is a reaction to their absence.

People who make decisions with ignorance,
Are always guaranteed to put their activities...
In the path of someone else to fault and shame!

'How many children raised by their mothers,
Compared to those raised by their fathers...
Have issues of discipline?
Or sit in prisons?
As a direct result of those who have created,
This statistic...
As if it had developed on its own!
Like hunger, homelessness and racism.'

~Excuse me?
I think you are looking for the excelerated classrooms.
You've stepped into a remedial one,
By mistake.~

'I'm sorry.
I was getting eye contact.
And immediately I thought they were paying attention.
Where are the excelerated classrooms? '

~Up those stairs, take a right...
And they will be the ones,
Where the light is shining bright.
You will not miss them.~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Future Is The Children's

The future is the children's and I am of the past
And I too had my young years but nothing ever last
On looking back the Seasons how quickly the years have gone
Old age is fast approaching and the clock ticks on and on.

The future is the children's the children of today
They have the gift of youth with them though youth with them won't stay
On looking back decades from now when time has left them slow
They will wonder as I do where did the years to go.

The years are catching up one me and time has left me gray
And the future is the children's that would be true to say
The people in their sixties are running out of time
And few of them will be living when today's children are in their prime.

The future is the children's and to them alone belong
And those who will tell you differently have somehow got it wrong
But the hands of time keep turning and time on none does wait
And all of us are branded with an invisible use by date.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sees With A Desire Sought

Like my father.
And his father before him...
I was the eldest.
And made quick to grow.
With a teaching of life early.
And many times angry,
I had to let my childhood go.

Used to set examples.
And enforced to do chores I had to do...
Did not sit well with me at all,
As I saw other children playing games...
With a loving to do it too!

But as I grew older with skills I had been taught,
I still observe those 'children'...
Playing the same games with those teachings.
The very same games they have handed to their children...
With beliefs a maturity comes to one automatically.
Yet...
One does not achieve the meaning of responsibility,
Unless there is an influence one sees with a desire sought.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Faith Restricted

So glad am I faith restricted my attempts...
To take tempting shortcuts,
Around those obstacles I did not want to face.
So glad am I,
To have been faith restricted.

So glad it was not stubbornness but insight...
That shown as if a beacon bright,
On my path and journey.
Those doubts that appeared disappeared quickly.
So glad am I,
To have been faith restricted.

So glad am I to have been open to criticisms.
And not afraid to stumble and quit.
With an ego driven into embarrassment.
So glad am I,
To have been faith restricted.

So glad it was not stubbornness but insight...
That shown as if a beacon bright,
On my path and journey.
Those doubts that appeared disappeared quickly.
So glad am I,
To have been faith restricted.
Having it strong and blessed with it!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sweetest Days Ever Known

Sitting in McDonald's
Watching my youngest / last
Frolic in the 'playland'.
I consume coffee, she drinks in simple joy.
Knowing full well
How so soon and suddenly
These days will sadly be all through;
I've seen the days
Quickly come and go,
I see adulthood, like a lion, charging us...

A repeat of when my first / oldest
Stopped playing in those children's
Care-free days and ways.
- Though I must confess
Whenever she still calls me 'daddy'
My heart says a thank you to God.
(Perhaps now, in some sense,
I begin to see, to understand
How He feels toward us.)

I watch her play,
Laugh and dance;
I love her sweetness,
Innocence and unconditional spirit...
With praise I give God thanks for them both.
And for the wonderful times we've had,
The times of youth, and the times beyond,
The past, present, and future.

Still, I cannot help but wish
These sweet, wonder-filled, loving days
Of beautiful youth would linger on,
And last a while longer,
Than they have.

I am so grateful for what has been,
And what yet shall be;
Lord, be with my children,
Your children, eternally. Amen.

poem by Smoky Hoss
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But I Was Never Alone

I had to grow up,
Early.
There was no sheltered path,
Protecting steps...
I was made to correct.
By a sibling older...
I knew as I grew.

I had to grow up,
Early.
With a consciousness,
Of what to do.
And to face those consequences,
I lived to go through.

There were days of resentment.
There were days I spent alone.
There were days I wished,
For a childhood that was childish.

And today I am grateful,
For all of those experiences.
I learned through mistakes made,
And heartaches too.
I learned to listen,
With introspective comprehension.
My battles I fought.
And with time I recognized,
Those blessings to me God has brought!

I had to grow up,
Early.
With a consciousness,
Of what to do.
And to face those consequences,
I lived to go through.

But I was...
Never alone,
To be alone on my own.
And this to me,
God has shown.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Oddball In The Window

The boy sat at the window
Looking out at the other boys
Laughing and playing their games
Enjoying their childhood days

The boy hopes that they will cherish
Those blissful moments of youth
That have been stolen from him
Moments gone forever from his childhood days

He’s not crippled in body or mind
He’s not allowed outside to play
Those boys point and stare at the boy
They call the oddball in the window

His parents have imprisoned him
To wrap him up in cotton love
He is just to much a gift from god
He is their only precious child

The parents say it’s for his own good
He’s such a delicate child
He just sits at the window
Jealous of the children running free

He will never laugh with other children
He will never join in their games
He never smiles in photographs
He’s not enjoying his childhood days

He’s grown up now; still sitting at the window
His parents can’t get him to venture outside
Everyone passing takes time to point and stare
At the man they call
The oddball in the window

poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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These Are The Days

Ah ah
Heres a song
About living in the past
If it was so good then
How come it didnt last?
If it helps you
Ill put it in a phrase
Those were the times
But these are the days
These are the days
These are the days
These are the days
These are the days
These are the days
The times youre smiling back on
Had that great sitcom
It hardly compensated
For the terror of the bomb
Let me help
cause youre looking through a haze
Those were the times
These are the days
These are the days
Hey hey hey
These are the days
Can you hear me now?
These are the days
Look around look around look around
These are the days
These are the days
Hey hey live today
These are the days
Its time to put the past away
These are the days
The more you do the more you say
These are the days
The more I need to get away
Youre longing for a time
There never was
Now tell me the truth
Youre looking for the reason
Its because
Youre fighting for youth
But if I have to listen any more
To fantasy talk
Or any other bug you have
Im leaving
Now Im not saying
Everything is really great
Hey hey hey
After sixteen years
Of legalised class hate
Why waste time
Looking back for things to praise?
Those were the times huh
But these are the days
These are the days
Looking back in history
These are the days
Time to get contempory
These are the days
The past is not the place to be

song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Getting Old

When you’re young you think you know it all
Then you get old and life begins to unfold.
In their youth they don’t think ahead
The future is something they do not dread.

They feel that everything in life they can control
They’re young and strong and very bold.
Aaaah! Those beautiful days bring back memories
Of how simple life used to be.

Youth had respect for the elderly
And their fellow man.
Now the elderly they try to scam.

When they are older they will see
They want respect and to live with dignity.
they are young and they don’t seem to understand
That with age you may need a helping hand.

Everything in life comes in stages
It’s like a book when you turn the pages
It gets deeper and keeps you enthralled
Until the time that you reach the end
And you’ve lost all your family and friends.

The First stage is when you are a child
And someone is taking care of you for that while.
The Second stage is when you become a teen
And you feel like a king or queen.
You feel that you can not get old
This is what you believe at this stage in your life
Because you’re not looking at the struggles and strife.
The Third stage is the adolescent years
And you feel you’re in control and lose your fears.

The final stage is when you become old and gray
And your youthful years have slipped away.
You look back and ask yourself!
where did All those years go?
Why did I waste so much time?

And the most important thing is
That I am so glad I made you mine
For with you by my side I had a life divine.

So to the youth who have not gotten to this stage
Don’t get angry, and get rid of your rage.
There is no way to turn back the time
For time just moves straight ahead
You’re getting to the point that you now dread.

WELCOME TO OLD AGE! HA-HA

poem by Louis Rams
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