Named And Stamped With A Brand
Limited interpretations,
Appeal only to those who are appeased.
And kept they are to view their lives,
Manifested to accept that which symbolizes images.
And what for them an image represents.
With a keeping of images limited to interpretation.
And if a depiction in their minds can not be defined,
It is dismissed as worthless.
Until a place for it is found to be labelled,
As an entity to be named and stamped with a brand.
To then be sold as a needed commodity.
With a familiar repeating done of subliminal marketing.
'Whew! What a relief.
We thought we had to accept it as is.
Having its own separate identity.
And that would be too mind altering,
For the limits we have set for our beliefs.
And right now we can not afford expansion.
It's difficult enough as it is to maintain 'some' control.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Images
I think images are worth repeating
Images repeated from a painting
Images taken from a painting
From a photo worth re-seeing
I love images worth repeating
Project them upon the ceiling
Multiply them with silk screening
See them with a different feeling
Images, oh, images
Images, oh, images
Some say images have no feeling
I think theres a deeper meaning
Mechanical precision or so its seeming
Instigates a cooler feeling
I love multiplicity of screenings
Things born anew display new meanings
I think images are worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, oh, images
Images, images
Im no urban idiot savant
Spewing paint without any order
Im no sphinx, no mystery enigma
What I paint is very ordinary
I dont think Im old or modern
I dont think I think Im thinking
It doesnt matter what Im thinking
Its the images that are worth repeating
And repeating, oh, images
Images
If youre looking for a deeper meaning
Im as deep as this high ceiling
If you think technique is meaning
You might find me very simple
You might think that images boring
Cars and cans and chairs and flowers
You might find me personally boring
Hammer, sickle, mao tse tong
Mao tse tong
Ooohhh, images, images
Images
I think that it bears repeating
The images upon the ceiling
I love images worth repeating
And repeating and repeating
Images, images
Oh, images, oh, images
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Your Face
In your face.
And scrutinized on a daily basis,
That should not take place with such curiosity.
But it does with the getting of attention.
I am an American man.
And labelled black to be made aware of that.
To offend many when my proudness is expressed.
I have always had ambitions to be my best.
With a dignity I wear my identity to expose.
I have never had a wish to be depicted as a stereotype,
To appease those who are white to please appetites.
Not me I am happy to be who I am.
And then there are those who wish to be viewed,
As 'good' Negroes.
With obedience and subservience,
Served to those they'd rather not upset.
I am an American man.
And labelled black to be made aware of that.
To offend many when my proudness is expressed.
I have always had ambitions to be my best.
Does this confession make me 'less' patriotic?
Or am I 'more' American because I have beliefs...
To be the best human being that I can be.
Regardless of any images that provide others with relief.
How you depict with descriptions to abuse and define?
Is a problem you have to overcome in your limited mind.
With time given to dread or not.
And 'that' will never be a question you will hear me ask!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Images Presented
The image that's presented,
Determines how impressive...
Those pretentious rush to protect.
And the image that's presented,
Has less to do with intellect.
Or competence and its effect,
Upon those expecting...
Much more than an image projected to accept.
Images old have molded.
Although repeatedly they have been sold!
Those images presented,
Represent times gone.
Those images presented,
Have been rusted so long.
Those images presented,
Do not feed!
Those images presented,
No one needs now!
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented,
Represent times gone.
Those images presented,
Have been rusted so long.
Those images presented do not feed.
Those images presented no one needs,
Now.
Those images presented represent a decadence.
And they represent with evidence pretentions that are meant.
Images old have molded.
Although repeatedly they have been sold!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What This 'Oneness' Means
No one born into this life,
Has been sent to evaluate...
The creations of God.
Or the work of the Angels,
With distorted interpretations.
There are many who have the ability to quote.
But few have the courage to live and accept...
We all are part of the experience.
None are here to inspect and reject,
That which God has selected as HIS best.
Upset are those people,
Choosing to divide and separate...
Based upon ethnic values,
Assumed by a few to make them great.
From an isolation in which to generate their hate.
Upset are those people,
Who congegate to celebrate...
What others need to fulfill their lives.
With limited possibilities.
They place upon others,
With an inflicting done...
To disguise and hide their own insecurities.
No one born into this life,
Has been sent to evaluate...
The creations of God.
Or the work of the Angels,
With distorted interpretations.
There are many who have the ability to quote.
But few have the courage to live and accept...
We all are part of the experience.
None of us have been sent,
To dissect into segments...
The intentions of what a 'Oneness' has meant.
Or to any of us what this 'Oneness' means.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Such a Magnificent Gift
That which we are,
With dreams to fulfill invented...
Those that seem to be within,
Limitations our minds accept.
Limited they are,
With no greater expectations.
And although complicated,
The naturalness of life seems to be...
We simplify all that surrounds,
With adjustments to gratify...
Lives to set aside for quick cravings to feed.
No one questions what has become commonplace.
Or everyday address with priority,
The defacing that is done...
To a naturalness that sits,
As such a magnificent gift to us presented.
And yet with an impatience,
We create conflicts with attempts to destroy...
Such a magnificent gift,
Given to us that should represent joy.
That which we are,
With dreams to fulfill invented...
Those that seem to be within,
Limitations our minds accept.
Limited they are,
With no greater expectations.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Conditioned That Money Should Be Prized
When people are conditioned,
That money should be prized...
Of course their own lives,
Are going to be worthless to them.
With the use of color of their skins,
Light in complexion or dark as night...
Their minds with insights may be encased in,
The mentalities fed are to use this as a weapon,
To defend or ignite one's bigoted and racist appetite.
When people are conditioned,
That money should be prized.
When people are conditioned,
That money should be prized...
Of course there will be deceit.
Of course there will be told lies.
And those who champion the marketing of images,
Aren't going to consciously reflect true beauty...
As it should be.
Beauty will be selective.
And chosen as a commodity.
To sell to those impressed,
And depress with suppression...
Those weakened through enforcing a belief!
When people are conditioned,
That money should be prized...
Of course there will be deceit.
Of course there will be told lies.
When people are conditioned,
That money should be prized...
Of course their own lives,
Are going to be worthless to them.
Of course they are going to feel subservient,
From birth until their lives end!
When people are conditioned,
That money should be prized...
Those who get and hoard it best,
Will have others believe...
Their minds are at rest!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Am Not Here To Revisit Your Limits
I want it known...
I didn't appear here,
To be absent from view.
I want it known by you,
Everything I do...
Is to show you and prove,
I didn't come to revisit your limits.
Or restrict my wishes to live,
Within barriers you've picked.
I refuse to accept it.
Fear and the thought of threats with anguish,
Are not for me delicious treats to feed consistently...
On any basis you face with convincing conviction.
You are going to find a leaving that behind,
With me...
A done deal.
And this is not an appeal for your opinion.
I didn't come to revisit your limits.
Or restrict my wishes to live,
Within barriers you've picked.
I refuse to accept it.
Come on...
Debate with me later.
But I am sure in your mind,
Little time you will find for that.
Come on...
I am not here to revisit your limits.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Piper That Gets Paid Knows
No one wishes to leave,
Perceptions of weakness.
Especially when financial debts...
Are handled to keep beliefs,
And people deceived...
For purposes to maintain,
A way of life sustained by delusions.
And marketing a plan that is well conceived
With discreet meetings kept secret...
Between those who know,
Who owes what to who.
Regardless of conflicting images,
Of dominance and superiority in public view!
What is due and who pays it...
Only the piper that gets paid,
Knows.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wonder of His Creations
Maintain you beliefs!
The ones that keep you restricted,
To limits and isolation.
I am not here to debate your outlook,
Or your fate!
That has been done,
By an indoctrination you satiate.
And baited to remain...
In a routine that you maintain that sustains,
Your joy!
Nor am I the one to convince,
That a higher consciousness...
Expands and not condenses.
To retrieve and leave those arguments...
Left behind walls and locked up fences.
Subtracting and contracting minds,
As is observed and evidenced.
Since I've already witnessed,
The lack of benefit...
To that restrictiveness.
Maintain you beliefs!
The ones that keep you restricted,
To limits and isolation.
I have been there myself.
That is why I have chosen,
The wealth of mind expansion.
Receiving all of God's gifts,
With blessings He delivers.
Without religious affiliation.
Or congregating with those...
Who oppose how I have chosen
To be devoted!
I know He is 'there'...
And so am I,
Here where He has delivered.
And I know the Almighty exists.
Without debating such 'wonder' of His creations.
Or where He chooses to sit,
Within His Kingdom.
So wherever you go to supply your satisfactions...
May you keep attraction them to fulfill your needs!
I am not the one to plead with you,
Which road taken...
Leads to Him any quicker.
Since my insight tells me His presence is near.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Interpreted As Conformity
In those slower days,
A dependable pace was kept.
And met on a regular basis,
With certainty.
When one could almost guarantee,
What those events would be tomorrow.
But those yesterdays with their tomorrows gone,
Are never coming back to keep pretentions intact...
For those to flaunt their upturned noses.
No!
Today the change amongst us is more of the mind.
Information collected is at a much faster pace.
Leaving behind those of a limited thought process,
Seeking to maintain control as once digested to accept...
Over that which has already been erased as outdated,
By those choosing truth as a preference to manifest.
Instead of ignorance as a choice to interpret as conformity.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Small Minds!
small minds
create small gods,
limited thought,
limited expression.
lack of commitment,
limited responsibility,
passes the blame
to untouchable judgement.
a small bird
thought he was an eagle,
till the eagle came,
and killed him in flight!
we worship our fears
out of convenience,
drunkenly beat our chest
with talons of repentence.
small minds,
see only black and white...
never tasting, never knowing,
the color and the sound!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Identity Of I
Identity is not what I promise others
Identity is what I do when I am alone
Identity is what I think of others
Knowing all the hatred they've shown
Identity is what every wound reminds me
Identity is what I learn and what I pass by
Identity is what I see in the mirror
After giving my best try
Identity is what I make out of my given chance
Identity is what I accept and what I deny
No one else has control over me
Life is about me, and what I identify
poem by Abhiraj Rajadhyaksha
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From The Beginning...To The End
From the beginning...
We all feed on those perceptions fed.
To feel an acceptance...
Of a normality taught,
That is compared.
And when those comparisons begin to conflict,
Some with nagging curiosities begin to investigate...
The validity of those perceptions that restrict.
Some settle for those teachings taught to them.
While others elect to peer over fences...
To view the doings of their neighbors.
And begin to confide in the opinions,
Of those who become trusted and loyal friends
It seems beyond the boundaries of families,
Or those we accept before adventuring...
Outside of those limits set.
An expansion of our minds happens.
And this broadens with a widened consciousness.
Only to offend those with beliefs they wish kept protected.
To keep closed in and unbending they defend....
To the end!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Much More Than Fluff
Because it is made to look easy...
People think it is!
Whatever it is one does,
And enjoys getting done.
Not a dropp of blood, sweat or a tear,
Is connected to what one does...
That seems to instantly appear.
And others perceive...
If it is done like that,
There can not be sweat...
Dripping off one's back!
So they stand on the sidelines...
To either admire or attack.
And the more productive one is,
At what one does...
Of course,
They must live lives carefree and breezy,
Correct?
One would suspect.
Not a life in the 'fields'...
Working harder than a horse!
However...
No one knows how long,
One toilfully struggles on.
Perhaps days and nights...
Without one wink of sleep in 'sight'!
This would ruin images!
But this is not the view that is chosen,
When someone selects...
Another to dissect!
Nor would they accept,
One working hard to produce their best.
This would ruin images!
They would rather pass judgements.
And compare what it is 'they' do!
To make that appear more tough and rough!
But what appears to be simple....
May take much more than fluff,
To produce the stuff!
Then make public appearances,
To further mystify...
Those who qualify images!
Producing a 'pleasantness'.
With a social accepted grace!
And 'that' may be the most difficult thing,
One works harder to create.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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They Know That They Don't Know
They know that they don't know!
And their opinions discloses the evidence.
Most of their knowledge has been obtained,
By innuendos and nonsense.
Leaving them exposed,
To an ignorance that shows.
They know that they don't know!
And any actions taken to comprehend...
Becomes entrapped by an inferiority,
Felt within them.
And that which escapes their understanding...
Is left out of their reach.
Although very close...
Are those answers they seek most.
But quick they fold their arms to their chests,
With stubborn hands to express...
Their choice not to hear,
What for them is best!
Declaring they wish not to listen...
Because facts distracts,
A consciousness they lack!
They know that they don't know.
But they want to gossip it.
They know that they don't know.
But they want to gossip it.
They know that they don't know.
But they want to gossip it...
And spread those rumors made to fit,
Those ears that are as limited!
They know that they don't know.
But they want to gossip it.
They know that they don't know.
But they want to gossip it.
They know that they don't know.
But they want to gossip it...
And spread those rumors made to fit,
Those ears that are as limited!
They know that they don't know,
With their minds closed.
They know that they don't know,
With their minds closed.
They know that they don't know,
With their minds closed.
And spread those rumors made to fit,
Those ears that are as limited!
They know that they don't know...
And it shows.
They know that they don't know...
And it shows.
They know that they don't know...
And it shows.
And spread those rumors made to fit,
Those ears that are as limited!
They know that they don't!
Stubborn and they're limited.
They know that they don't!
Stubborn and they're limited.
They know that they don't!
Stubborn and they're limited.
Stubborn and they're limited.
And spread those rumors made to fit,
Those ears that are as limited!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Those Kinds Of Branding To Label Traps
Do I have a 'Doctorate's Degree? '
No!
Nor is my approach and methods to learning,
Certifiably accepted by those approved...
Who do have such credentials.
But I am blessed to observe,
And connect with a consciousness...
I did not earn to be professed.
Or be one labelled as a scholar,
To prove a thought process within me that yearns.
And not a book do I read that has helped me achieve,
A common sense.
With experience and a willingness to learn,
Has assisted in the documenting...
What may be perceived as an approved 'Ivy Leaguer'.
I could not afford,
To waste my resources...
On those kinds of branding to label traps.
I've been saved from living my life,
Limited to impress others like that.
And nothing I believe in,
Has been certified to be classified...
With stamps of approval to identify as controlled.
To maintain standards beheld to uphold to teach...
A releasing of comprehension that limits one's attention span.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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On Flesh Branded
Prestigious,
Are those ties to bind kept.
Those sworn to be professed,
In a separateness.
To award with symbolic,
Images on flesh branded.
And meant to keep them above the rest.
As if they've been given,
Rights to digest a magnificentness.
And these folks like pests,
Have infested neighborhoods.
To implement a mental illness.
Leaving a shredded unity.
And yet they have beliefs.
Tied to a materialistic,
Bond that diseases.
But like an addict on drugs,
Minds like these are limited.
And do no good within restrictions,
That rot as they sit.
To eventually perish...
With meaningless lives lived,
They've chosen to inherit.
'Have no other gods before ME! '
Sayeth The Almighty.
Collector of ALL Souls.
'If you do...
Never will you enter MY Kingdom.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Images of Time
The images in my mind is like my thoughts.
Expressing my thoughts is like expressing my feelings.
Words are spoken.All my images are broken.
Broken down into pieces, which can never be made into new dishes.
Those images of past.It takes time to last.
It will last forever for met to take over.
All those images wore my past life.
But it has nothing to do with my past life.
Those images can be forgotten.But not those people.
Those people who are in your images.Can be in a real image.
When you see those people in front of you.
You like to say 'How are you'?
If they say I am fine.Then you will think of those time.
poem by Yash Pradhan
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Far Beyond Limits Of Restrictions
If a peeling away of every layer of their pretentions,
Is their intention...
More than an economic crisis now experienced,
Will be revealed.
They also will discover,
A weakness in their deceit and delusion...
Has increased in awareness,
By those they have chosen to oppress...
With their foolish beliefs,
That a truth 'they' seek...
Is a concept of their creative mentalities.
To continue a manipulation they alone control.
Not so.
As the evolution of those reaching a higher consciousness,
Are lifted to new plateaus to view and 'see' with visions...
Far beyond limits of restrictions.
Or druthers of others sold on dominance and confusion.
With a leaving behind those of demented minds!
As a magnitude of this reality and truth,
Breaks free...
From confined and defined divisions of flaunted greed,
That has suppressd with a keeping of a materialistic feeding!
These times that have arrived are here to stay.
And can not be chased away or threatened by ignorance.
No religious or political movement,
In this invisible 'spiritualness' is involved.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Self Explanatory
Once a learned young man named John
asked a serious question, an earnest question,
with no attempt at humour, or to string me along.
And the questions were?
‘How do you write like that?
How do you find the titles? ’
The reply. ‘I think like that.’
His reply. ‘No one thinks like that.’
An answer beyond his belief system.
An answer he could not reconcile accept.
Easier to believe own belief systems
than search mind expand limited horizons.
Really was this reply
in truth so hard to accept?
‘If I do not think like that
how could I write like that? ’
Self Explanatory!
No Further Comment Required!
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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