Necessity Craved
Honor those with customs and traditions,
Wasted in not listening.
One day they will come to value this.
And that time spent trying to convince,
A listening done leads to comprehension...
Will no longer become a thing that is rumored.
Or what others do because they believe they are better.
It will become a necessity craved.
Saving lots of time and the need for medication.
And perhaps a segment of the population healed!
With the spreading of respect,
As an unexpected and welcomed advantage.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Rumored to Have Hauntings
How is an understanding achieved from detachment?
Or comprehension received by one who lays in a coma?
Not saying that it can not be done.
However...
Someone with a consciousness,
Usually acknowledges an absence of comprehension.
There is a difference observed when one is between thoughts...
And one completely without them all together!
A vacant house can be rumored to have hauntings.
A vacant mind...
However,
Is not often rumored to have visitations!
That one can qualify as shared and welcomed ones.
Unless...
A séance is being conducted?
And if that's the case...
Any and everything then can be claimed,
As validation!
Even someone experiencing communication,
For the first time.
Possibilities do happen and can exist!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Black Bruises II
I can ponder upon the blackness,
the garrulous of silence
placated by benign solitude
I can endure the ostracizing
listening to lulling lullabies,
listening to trembling metals,
listening to enraptured echoes,
listening to a soundless shattering,
listening to nothingness,
listening to guffawing crows,
listening to diffident clocks,
listening to the waning time;
but am I the only one listening
to these black bruised whispers?
poem by Norman Santos
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Trying to Please
By the time you decide
Your life needs more attention...
You might find you are still too busy,
Not listening!
Yet wondering whose life
You've been living and giving,
All your time to!
And IF it is realized...
Neither one of you have spent any time at all,
Understanding with comprehension.
Who it is you are trying to please!
And what it is you've learned,
About wasting time on others who can't see...
The misery and depth of the grief you receive!
You're trying to please!
And that is as visible as a boarded window...
To those who could care less,
What it was you were doing for them.
Even if they knew!
Some folks 'ain't' that connected.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This 'Thing' About Time
I have this 'thing' about time.
And those who express,
Time for them is meaningless.
It is like having a discussion about discipline.
And many can intellectualize it...
But the act of it is too distant for them.
Being on time some define,
Is stated for the purpose to be on it and not late.
Others will take it and waste it as they see fit.
Not arriving before or on time at all.
Just to have another irritated losing patience...
Awaiting to hear an excuse someone makes.
I have this 'thing' about time.
And those who express,
Time for them is meaningless.
It is like having a discussion about discipline.
And many can intellectualize it...
But the act of it is too distant for them.
And long past the hour,
Someone appears in an atmosphere...
That by the minute is getting sour.
And more time is spent,
Listening to inventive excuses...
Describing why they had not called,
To apologize at all.
I have this 'thing' about time.
And those who express,
Time for them is meaningless.
With no sign of respect...
To the one that is questioned,
Why is it they seem to be quite upset!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Untitled 14
sometimes i find comfort in my silence
i am listening and
then i pretend i am listening and then
i continue pretending until then that the talker
sees that i am already showing that i am no longer listening
that i am no longer interested in whatever is said
that words sometimes have no use to ease the pain that we have
that we have inherited from the leaves of our family tree
from all of them down to the last and true source of our sorrow
when Adam gave the apple because he says Eve asked him to do it
because Eve was ordered by the Snake because they were all innocent
and dumb.
sometimes i look at a space
where there are no more trees, no sky, no sun
sometimes nothingness becomes the real thing: everything.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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S.O.S.
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
I'm shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'll be standing here and I'm miles away
Making signals hoping they'd save me
I lock myself inside these walls
'Cause out there I'm always wrong
I don't think I'm gonna make it
So while I'm sitting here
On the eve of my death bed
I'll write this letter and hope it saves me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm stuck in my own head and I'm oceans away
Would anybody notice if I chose to stay?
I'll send and SOS tonight
Wonder if I will survive
How in the hell did I get so far away this time
So now I'm sitting here
The time of my departure's near
I say a prayer
Please someone save me
Is anybody listening?
Can they hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
'Cause I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
So I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening
Listening
I'm lost here
I can't make it on my own
I don't wanna die alone
I'm so scared
Drowning now
Reaching out
Holding on to everything I love
Crying out
Dying now
Need some help
Is anybody listening?
Can you hear me when I call?
Shooting signals in the air
I need somebody's help
I can't make it on my own
I'm giving up myself
Is anybody listening?
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Up And Disappeared
There has been a lot of listening missed,
That did not reach either your left...
Or right ear.
And I know there has been many attempts...
To reach you.
But you...
Refused to pay attention.
Since what was said you did not want to hear!
Time is very much a factor in this.
Because it is with time allowed,
Comprehension needs that thought process...
To make 'anything' for one to become clear.
But the only thing your stubborn held fits,
Has not understood...'and' 'that' you've dismissed.
Any understanding those few were willing to give,
Has up and disappeared with no regret shown for it!
Time is very much a factor in this.
Because it is with time allowed,
Comprehension needs that thought process...
To make 'anything' for one to become clear.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Inside 'The House
If you are one,
To profess a faith...
Said is deep in God.
But a fear kept and limited,
Daily sits with you...
And warmly visits.
Put yourself on the hypocrite list!
And keep this in mind...
When you discover a scripture,
Delivered quickly from your lips.
Especially one easily remembered.
To find and repeat all the time!
One short and sweet.
And often rhymes.
Anyone with claims,
To have a faith in a 'Spirit'
With awesome power,
To lift their lives from burdens.
And able to gift them with blessings!
Who and what does one like this,
Try to convince?
When 'that' which is The Almighty...
Is constantly aware and listening,
For evidence of it.
Perhaps they view God,
Like many are prone to do.
From a pew on Sunday.
With a routine to follow through!
And name dropping to impress.
Yet being totally disconnected.
But hoping what is expressed...
Gains them an expectation of acceptance.
With quotes, notes and a nod from other folks.
Who like them...
Believe God is listening more intently!
Since they are inside 'the house',
Historically rumored and reported...
God lives in!
And He does not come out!
Or know a thing about them.
Or their pretensions to be...
More than the hypocrites they've been.
And He has known this from the beginning.
Since this they have insisted,
To choose and show to Him.
And even in their confessions,
This Deity remains unimpressed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Little Queen
now and forever
till the sun, oh my heart
become cold
how many time have you heard 'I love you'?
how many time have you said that?
you don't understand what it is
it couldn't be catched
it couldn't be seen
something there
it doesn't have a name and isn't called a name
some shining there
I keep listening what small creations say
one by one
through silence, spreads like water ripples
I like you
and I love you
we all open our ears and listening your voice
I am going to take you home
going home and learning again
the way to respect precious thing
learning again not letting go
and holding it with all your hands
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Listening Week
This is the listening week of the year
Listening-in.
A-cock and alert is the national ear
Listening-in.
All over the land in the country towns,
From the back of the Leeuwin to Darling Downs,
Layers of 'quids' or the odd half-crowns,
They are listening-in.
On the far-flung farms they are round each set,
Listening-in.
The work and the worry they all forget,
Listening-in.
Wherever an aerial soars in space
To the Cup, or the Oaks or the Steeplechase,
To the roar of the ring and the lure of the race
They are listening-in.
In the far outback there are sun-tanned men,
Listening-in.
Where the woolshed stands by the drafting pen
Listening-in.
Old Dad's come in from the Ninety Mile;
He scored on the Cup and he wears a smile,
And he 'reckons this game is well worth while'
So he's listening in.
To the edge of the desert the sound-waves go;
And, listening-in,
Ned of the Overland, Saltbush Joe
Listening-in
Recall the giants of years long past,
And the loneliness of these spaces vast;
But they reckon that life's worth living at last
With this listening-in.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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0031 Check-off
'Who was listening
when I apologised
for my life? '
I jotted that down
in a moment of regret
over the wasted things
of life, that is, my life..
and thought, that
sounds a bit like dialogue
or rather monologue to audience
stage or stalls
in Chekhov
so if no-one was listening
well, that's that
but suppose that 'everything'
was listening, and made
changes so subtle that
they'll go unnoticed except
that I find I have
nothing to apologise for
even to myself
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Listening
Listening.
And being there for someone loved...
To do just that!
With a mind willing,
To be receptive and clear...
Of opinions sitting,
On the tip of one's tongue.
With a giving of attention,
And staying mum.
Listening to someone.
Listening is not easily done.
For those who have experienced...
A life in which peace of mind has come.
When a listening ear,
Had not been volunteered by no one.
And some who know this...
Do their best to sit with patience.
Listening with no other reason...
But to be there as is wished.
For someone who has selected you,
Just for this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I've Been Listening to You Bitch
How do I know what makes you happy?
I've been listening to you for years.
I've been listening to you...
Sharing your agony and fears.
I've been here listening.
And I have not been distant.
I've been listening to you bitch.
And spending a lot of my time,
Doing it.
How do I know what makes you happy.
I know what doesn't.
And knowing that,
Is enough for me to know,
It is time for me to leave.
And 'if' that doesn't make 'you' happy...
Maybe knowing I am gone,
Will make you as thrilled...
I hope.
Even if only half as much,
As I know I am going to be!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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So I Am Told
There is one thing some have yet to discover about impatience.
So I am told.
Less thought with implusive action...
Has a longer unexpected regret span of time,
To reflect upon wishing to have taken more patience!
After finding that having remorse,
Seems to endorse an activity of self infliction...
By an awakened consciousness.
Sitting to never go away.
Even with the aid of good medication...
So I am told!
This can not be taught.
So I am told.
It has to be experienced.
So I am told.
And somehow,
Eventually...
This lesson is learned.
So I am told.
And I wonder why it is I am...
The one this is often told?
Since I am not the one soliciting this advice,
From anyone!
I've got too much to do.
With little time to listen to such nonsense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Listening Effectively
I got it...
The first time.
I got it...
The second time.
But it was after the third time,
Of understanding clearly...
What was said the first time,
I stopped listening...
To allow you to ramble on.
Hoping in the midst of you doing it...
Something in your mind would comprehend,
I am also participating in the conversation.
And doing the best I can,
To do that effectively.
'Oh...
So,
Why didn't you interrupt me...
To say that you understood? '
I tried.
But listening effectively,
Is not one of your attributes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Maybe Not Today But When That Medication Fades
I use to feel so bad about it.
I use to get so mad and doubt it.
When conversations turned to age.
And who had looks they thought would stay.
I use to feel so bad about it.
I use to feel so mad and doubt it!
When conversations turned to age.
And who had looks they thought would stay!
Right now,
I'm a little proactive than the rest.
Right now,
When I walk outside I'm there to exercise...
With a steadied pacing of determined steps.
And right now chronologically,
Nobody's getting younger.
And even those stunning....
Will see a Sunset,
On their youthfulness.
And an aging seems to creep up on the 'stunning ones'.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
They wish to run through life as if it's nothing BUT fun.
Maybe another day they will wish they didn't...
When that medication fades.
Putting off tomorrow what today should be done!
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
And they will someday gratefully pray.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
I use to feel so bad about it.
I use to get so mad and doubt it.
When conversations turned to age.
And who had looks they thought would stay.
And an aging seems to creep up on the 'stunning ones'.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
They wish to run through life as if it's nothing BUT fun.
To leave everything around them undone!
And they will someday gratefully pray.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
And they will someday rest and not have hourly played!
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
And they will learn to disobey doesn't really pay.
To wake up in resentment with time gone and spent! !
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
And they will learn one day to disobey doesn't pay.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
To wake up in resentment with time gone and spent! !
And this is a waste nobody has to witness!
But...
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
But...
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
But...
Maybe not today but when that medication fades.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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0008 A Ghazal
I lie awake as the light night-rain falls, listening
to its irregularities, listening
as the breeze blows it now and then
against the window and the curtain flutters; listening
and wondering if I can hear
the rain listening
to itself, as if – I sometimes think I hear this –
there’s a moment just before it stops as if listening
to its own decision to stop, as if it sighs,
thinks, that’s enough; it could be listening
to the gratitude of the closed flowers, the wet earth,
the ecstasy of roots which are themselves listening
to the flowers sleeping, sighing in their sleep.
But do you wonder why I’m listening
instead of sleeping, this warm rainy night?
What’s so important that it needs my listening?
It was the rain that woke me; and as I turned, sighed,
it was the thought of you last night here next to me, listening
not to me, but to your own dreams – which I may never share;
though I may share you in my listening
to your sweet sleep’s breath, felt faintly on my shoulder;
and so, there’s a question in my listening –
did you awake at the same night rain, you so far away,
awake, sigh, and in your half-awakened listening
know that I too, thought of you?
Sighed that sweet thought, of our shared, single listening? …
As the perfume of a rose may be more evocative than the rose,
So sweeter, steadier than thought, dream, memory – the listening!
[A ghazal has a rhyme scheme aa ba ca da >]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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That Voice Of Choice Is Their Own
When a game of catch up,
Believed can be played to be done...
Is initiated by some who think,
This battle against time can be won...
Is a matter of choice?
Their minds are stuck!
Listening to one voice.
And that voice of choice is their own.
And there is nothing in this world,
To convince people like this...
That their resistance in a stubbornness,
Has nothing to do with enemies or terrorists.
The ones witnessed being victimized,
Are they who perceive doing what they please...
Ultimately results to their benefit.
And there is a mindset of folks who think life is a joke!
With a listening done to one voice!
Not yours or mine,
By choice.
Just one voice and that is their own.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Turn Off The World
Got to pull it up
Got to pull it out
Got to survive
Got to stay calm
Got to think fast
Dont want to burn
Searching for a door
Searching for a way
Out of this thing
I dont know whats wrong
Dont know what to do
Im out of control
Nothing I can do
Nothing seems to work
Im barely alive
Got to slow it down
Got to do something
Or give in
Watching us fall
Trying everything
Fighting for life
Running out of time
I dont have a choice
Im riding it in
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
This is the fear
This is nothing like
You could believe
Panic in my heart
Like a cold hand
Pulling at strings
Ill do anything
Even pray to god
Just let me out
Turn off the machine
Turn off all the noise
Turn off the world
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
Im inside and Im trying to get out
Im inside and Im screaming for some help
And everythings gone wrong
Im listening to the sound of my own fear
Im listening to the sound of someones tears
Im listening to me
You learn fast when everything breaks down
You learn fast when thats all that you can do
You learn fast or nothing
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mood Indigo
Mood Indigo
Quite evening in the village, dogs bark now and then, they don’t bother
me anymore. The cruel heat has gone I have watered the flowers and
the bushes, which are slowly losing their bloom, autumn is here and it
is time for slumber. So many years spent on iron ships only seeing
the endless sea, yet there is a part of me who long for the oceans, but
not for the ships I sailed. Many a moon lit night I have leaned on
a railing listening to the sigh of the seas guessing what message it had
for me. My years as a seafarer was not wasted I have read hundreds of
books, learned about other cultures and respect for the rage of nature.
Twenty years in Paradise I shall not complain and ask for more, but it is
time for me to leave, age demands it, and that’s ok, I shall not travel
far only to the nearest town, I can visit my landscape when I need to.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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