Open Up Your Wallets...
I appreciate the participation,
However...
Why do you find it neccessary,
To interrupt my reading.
'It's not poetry.
It's some form of a narrative.
At least that's what I was taught at Harvard.'
I see.
And were you also taught at Harvard,
To be disrespectful, insidious and a flaming fool?
'That's what I mean...
This delivery is a narrative.'
IF I am stretching my creative expression,
To incorporate the evolution of humanity...
With my interpretations,
By keeping up to date....
WHO are YOU to define that direction,
With attempts to confine it within your limitations?
Haven't you Harvard people done enough already?
'That's offensive!
And what is that suppose to mean? '
I have no idea!
You're the one equipped with the definitions.
And...
I am...
Quite pleased!
You were wonderful.
Ladies and gentleman.
Give this man your applause.
Wasn't he great.
Sir...
Absolutely stunning.
Thank you so much for agreeing to assist,
With my expanding reach to bring this form of expression...
To broaden a field once regarded,
As speech for the elite.
Thank you.
Now...
My next poem will be,
'Open Up Your Wallets...
Pull Out Two Twenties.
Approach the Podium...
And Show Me Your Love.
'That title is rather long.
AND...
I regard that as solicitation.'
Sir...
Come here please.
I have something I need to say,
Only to you.
Listen up.
Within this poem,
You will discover...
There is no need for a duet delivery.
Trust me.
I appreciate your assistance,
When upon request.
I'll slip you a buck.
Now...
Your attention is requested.
And...
Forgive my directive.
But...
Please shut up,
And return to your seat!
Attention everyone.
I am about to recite my last 'piece'.
This is my most endearing,
Heartfelt composition.
I am needing your thorough concentration.
Silence.
Thank you.
And...
~Open up your wallets,
And...
Lift, lift from out of your wallets quick,
Two twenty dollar bills...
And approach the podium with it.
Put them in my hand,
And then leave.
No need for applause...
That alone will please me.~
I thank you all for attending.
You have no idea how appreciative,
You have made me this evening.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Move On With Your Charming Ways Fixed To Leech
You requested my assistance,
In your questioned delivery.
And when I insisted that I could not...
You began to offend my dignity.
And instead of getting angered,
I respected you...
And suggested to you with hints.
To only have you say to me...
My way to you did not make sense.
You requested my assistance,
In your questioned delivery.
And when I insisted that I could not...
You began to offend my dignity.
And now when I don't respond to you,
With an expressed interest...
You want to defame my intentions meant,
By claiming in public with derogatory statements...
What you think about me,
To those who have no clue about your indignities.
And like I have stated to you once before,
It is not me but you,
That must open your own doors.
My experience in doing this for myself,
Is not transferrable to anyone else...
To decide what it is I have pursued for years,
Takes for them too much time to accomplish.
Because work and sweat is involved with some tears.
And like I have stated to you once before,
It is not me but you,
That must open your own doors.
I am not assigned to be anyone's butler,
Doormat.
Or slave!
I may offer to assist,
But when my assistance is regarded useless...
Move on with your charming ways fixed to leech.
Don't stab me in the back,
Because your insecurities wish to see me bleed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Harvard Crimson
Harvard..
crimson with the blood of hundreds of millions of animals
dead in their underground vivisection labs
Harvard crimson, as the US university with the largest endowment,
invested in war, animal and fish flesh, factory farms, killer drugs
Harvard crimson, with the dollars it has stolen from the US poor.
Harvard which lost prion discoverer Stanley Prusiner, who was tired
of the university's animal flesh investments putting his research on
the back burner.
Harvard economists, destabilizers of the Russian economy
Harvard, driving the poor out of their homes, paying $4000 in the 70's
for homes in surrounding neighborhoods
Harvard, way behind Oberlin in ending exclusion of women and African
Americans
***************** ****************
Boston is the vivisection capital of the US, and Harvard receives more
vivisection dollars than any other university.
poem by O. Anna Niemus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I won't say there aren't any Harvard graduates who have never asserted a superior attitude. But they have done so to our great embarrassment and in no way represent the Harvard I know.
quote by Derek Bethune
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This is a man who graduated summa cum laude from Harvard University in three years, editor of the Harvard Law Review, argued 39 cases before the Supreme Court.
quote by Rod Parsley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Once From Their Sight 'Your' Treasures Leave
As long as someone 'assumes' there is a benefit,
You will be shown some aspect of respect.
By those who prioritize the feeding of their needs.
And you might be left to believe,
Any attention you receive from them...
Is a result of your radiant personality.
There is nothing wrong with 'your' perception.
If from them you now get a wished reception.
In an atmosphere of shared embellishments.
We all keep some delusions handy and accessible.
However,
This is generally the 'observed' scenerio:
If you have nothing others can value,
Or 'things' available that impress...
On sight and can be used.
To address 'their' hangups and insecurities?
No one is brave enough to face seriously.
You will not maintain their attention!
Listen...
Maybe with a mention of disgust on their lips.
That's just how it is when people are first taught,
To worship...
And 'prey'
On others with a solicitation that leeches,
In support of their greed!
This is felt as you will witness this.
Especially once from their sight,
'Your' treasures leave!
That's just how it is when people are first taught,
To worship...
And 'prey'
On others with a solicitation that leeches,
In support of their greed!
That's just how it is...
In the land of 'opportunity'.
Where the breeding of this has yet to cease.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What I Want For You to Do
I am asked to do 'this'.
With a request to do 'that'.
I am even asked to rate a significance...
Upon completing those tasks that I'm asked.
To accomplish every one I get!
Folks could care less when they make requests.
And I can perceive how some are caught up in it!
Believing that an attention given...
Will keep me interested and content!
As if what I do is not a sacrifice.
But comes from a natural 'oozing' done...
From some 'other' source,
That's an outside device.
'And...hmmm,
That could be a possibility.
Now that 'that' has now occurred to me.'
I sometimes will read those requests I get.
But no one has yet to answer my questions...
'What's in it for me?
What do I get?
What do I receive as my benefit? '
Love?
And don't say you'll do for me,
What you've requested me to do!
And yet have I had a delivery,
Of freshly minted one hundred dollar bills.
To pop out of a box over stocked.
Not once!
Besides...
I am more original than that!
I want returned to me...
The time taken away from what I love.
Since it took me quite some time,
To find myself quite in love with it!
And not a response do I get!
Except the usual...
'But you're already doing,
What I want for you to do for me too! '
EXCUSE ME?
And those requests,
Get my silence at its best!
Since I recognize...
There is no shortage or famine,
Of this kind of selfish greed.
From Sunset to Sunrise!
It is as 'if' my eyes are 'theirs'...
And will supply them vision.
With a clarity I can provide.
And if that's the case...
Someone should get me 'booked'
On Oprah!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Blown With The Wind
You have taken my heart in your hands...
At first you were very gentle with it
But now you have left me with absolutely nothing
Nothing but a broken heart and shattered promises
Every commit you made had been broken
The wind is my sole witness...
For they carry with them all your lies and false dreams
Now I don't know if I could ever trust you again
For so long I waited and kept you in my heart
I never thought you would do anything to cause me hurt
I thought you loved me, at least that's what you claimed.
Then why am I sitting here all by myself?
And why am I having to put the broken pieces back?
Now you tell me if you want another chance...
How can I trust you again, to be true and sincere
You took me in once, twice, thrice, but let me go...
We were in love at least that's what it seemed
If that is what you think love is then, I don't want it!
Yes I loved you, I still do and I always will
But your love isn't unconditional like mine
You seem to fall in and out of love easy, at least you did with me.
So how do I know if you will carry my heart
Like it is fine china that you cherish?
You did really good at breaking my heart the first time
Then the second, then the third...I lost count
I've yet to collect pieces bit by bit
Can you put the memories back to make me complete?
*This is a narrative poem better off said than written, I wanted to convey its message, wanted it flow freely without minding the technical aspects...that's what we called, expression.
However, I experimented on rephrasing the poem with a more poetic touch. See it for yourself on the poem 'Swept'
poem by Cynthia Aluning
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Long Poems & Short Stories
Some think that a story has no place
in poetry - 'Put it in the short stories, '
he said, dismissing a poem I wrote
as a narrative, as though such verse
must be relegated to short fiction.
Must I go back to Beowulf, composed
in the first half of the eighth century,
to illustrate the validity of the form
(written in meter without using rime) ?
Robert Browning's The Ring and the Book
is a long poem of dramatic monologues
in twelve books concerning a murder
and an adulterous affair in Florence.
Less scribbling and more reading
might improve one's perspective,
don't you think?
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Out Of The Confines Of Definitions
They wish to define soliloquies,
As a dramatic monologue...
Spoken in a reflection,
By one who rambles in prose.
You know...
Those who profess to be 'scholars'.
AND...
Degreed!
They wish to 'confine' poetry,
As a delivery of lines...
For those who believe,
They have an expertise...
Of what they perceive,
Is an etiquette definition of poetry.
Something, of course...
That elevates the nature of it,
To proper standards that are elite.
Well...
When I receive an image,
And it is written to create an effect.
I am not the one to count lines...
With a caring done if it has rhythm or rhyme.
If I am emotionally affected and what I read connects,
The author of what I read that touches me...
Could be a literary genius!
Or someone considered out of their mind.
And most times,
People who create are just that.
Out of the confines of definitions,
To create their own.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Read Me Like a Book
You wish to read me like a book?
Good.
You will find each piece to fit.
Very little of it will be misunderstood.
I am not a one dimensional quick read at all.
I lay it on the line.
You will find I wont allow anyone,
To sit and pick my mind.
I don't waste that kind of time.
Unless,
Of course...
You are divorced from that as well?
Hmmm...
You wish to read me like a book?
Good.
You have no idea how much I wish,
To get you hooked.
Craving to salivate.
Drooling!
Each chapter has been crafted,
With some sentiment and pain.
You will find some sorrow and regret.
And some expression of heartache left.
You will discover blemishes and flaws,
With attempts to have them corrected.
Notice I admit imperfection...
With self reflection I don't neglect.
Or regret it is you I wish to impress.
No games of tit for tat I play.
I say what I mean.
Not what you wish to hear me say.
And none of it is from mumbled lips.
I want each word read you 'read' conveyed!
I want what I say in your mind to stay.
You wish to read me like a book?
Good.
But you will never comprehend...
How long this process took.
Flip through each page,
As if you seek definition.
You will discover I am not perfect.
But freed by a peace...
To solict your complete and total admission.
Willing to show you mended scars.
You wish to read me like a book?
Good.
I knew you were coming!
That's why it is already open.
Take your time.
I want you to find me an easy read.
Hopefully to collaborate on new chapters.
Together,
You and me.
You wish to read me like a book?
Good.
Take me with your eyes.
Hold me in your hands.
And bring me close to your heart!
There we are.
Touching!
That's how I like it.
Do you?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You, to whom I am myself
O You Who Are - the formless, nameless One,
more real than all forms and names can speak:
You for whom we seek to find a name
and yet who has no name, who needs no name;
You for whom we seek to shape a form
and yet who has no form, who needs no form;
Yet whom we name in every name we speak,
and whom we see in every form we seek:
is there some name bestowed for nameless name,
a form imagined for a formless form,
by which all hearts today that seek themselves
may shape their search as if for One unknown?
may kneel in front of their own golden throne?
Should we approach you as the Lord of Hearts,
who’s spoken of in heartfelt praise of glorious human brilliance,
endeavour, art, achievement and discovery;
the Lord who gave us hearts to know we love?
Should we approach you as the Lord of Self,
whom we all know when we relax, become
more our known self, in silence, rest, or company
that sparkles round a table built of happiness?
Should we approach you as the Lord of Consciousness
in whom we live and move, and be; yet never see
for you’re the seeing in ourself; to whom we wake
and know, and stand securely, watching all?
I ask You for the sound of some new yet eternal name;
that sound by which all quickly know themself
and talk once more from hearts forever free,
of what we are, and know, and love to be.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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There Was A Poem Long Ago
THERE WAS A POEM LONG AGO
There was a poem long ago
A poem of youth and hope
Now there are other poems
Poems of age and sorrow.
There was a poem once
Of love – and happiness in love
Now there is a poem of lovelessness
And sadness.
There was a poem once
Of the long and distant open road
Now there is a poem of the dead end.
There was a poem once
That believed in Poetry
Now there is a poem that knows
Even the most beautiful worlds of words
End in dust
There was a poem once – long ago.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Today People Aren't So Patient
Remember when a self loathing,
And feelings of defeat...
Were attention getting empathy grabbers?
And someone would approach with eyes dancing,
To convince that life was such a joy to live.
Do you remember being lifted from your woes like that?
By such genuine caring.
I hope those days are long gone for you.
I wouldn't try that 'woe-is-me' stuff today!
People are not so patient.
Today...
Any expression of feeling down and out,
Just may be enough incentive...
For someone to help you both find a quick way to end it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No Poem Is An Original
No poem is an original
everyone who writes
poetry thinks their poem
was an original, it just so
happens that their poem just
surfaced to the top
of their mind first, so they
were able to write it.
Everyone has love, hate
compassion buried deep
in their soul.
Poets are able to bring
all of this to the surface,
to construct, add the words,
but it is not an original
idea, for the poet because
they wrote it now, it
becomes an original for them.
Who has not heard a song,
read a poem, story or book,
seen a movie and said,
to themselves, hey I had
that same idea.
Only thing is, someone else
brought it to the surface
of the mind, and wrote it first.
Even this poem I'm writing
now is not an original
someone out there
has this idea buried
deep in their soul.
So if you have an idea
for a poem, get busy
write it, don't wait,
or you won't write an original
start today,
don't delay.
wrote 2-2-07
Harvard makes mistakes too, you know. Kissinger taught there.
quote by Woody Allen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Ode Poem To You
My mother gave me an ode poem, oh how I love that poem
The scene of her perfume on it, the picture of me in her arms
This letter I keep with me all the time, I love it so much I sleep with it under my pillow
To her nice hand writing, to the black ink she wrote in, she wrote until her ink went low
My poem is great, my poem is wonderful, to the white paper she wrote on it’s beautiful
To the green words of the title, my poem she gave me is the best
I love how she gave the lip stick print on the top of my poem, sad to say she's at rest
I will always love the poem she gave to me before she passed
To the words in the poem she gave me will always endure
Word by word my lovely poem is speaking to me gratefully
This ode poem was from my mom and for only me sincerely
I love my poem, oh how wonderful it can be
Its so wonderful do you want to read,
Take a look, take a look and you will see
poem by Twilight Simmons
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Without A Drumroll Or A Cheering Audience
I was still in my early twenties,
When I felt I had earned my doctorate's degree.
After I had graduated from elementary school,
I had already received my 'bachelor's'.
I was taught to be accountable,
For every responsible action I made.
I did not have a childhood.
I had chores and responsibilities.
And had been a latchkey child by the age of 5.
That was before the innocence of children,
Were identified to be protected and realized.
I was taught to value independence....first!
I was still in my early twenties,
When I felt I had earned my doctorate's degree.
Married, divorced and a military veteran...
I knew my life had excelled through a course,
To experience early such maturity.
And that wasn't a choice!
But more like a marriage of enforcement.
And my tolerance for those who are ignorant is low.
Extremely!
Especially when I've seen people pull themselves up,
Out of places few would dare to go.
Without a drumroll or a cheering audience to encourage.
With so many today wasting their minds and time,
Debating their entitlements while sitting on wide behinds...
Expecting a delivery of some kind they did not earn.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A lot of companies have chosen to downsize, and maybe that was the right thing for them. We chose a different path. Our belief was that if we kept putting great products in front of customers, they would continue to open their wallets.
quote by Steve Jobs
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Biasin
Biasin, basin, sin, in, as, bin, ban!
Hotel Biasin;
Louis and Louise,
To be in love;
And, were met at the Hotel.
The kiss,
Hot, . cold!
Way in and way out;
Like Harvard man and Harvard woman.
Amazing!
The atmosphere;
Come, welcome!
Efficient, sufficient;
And, with a compromise.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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You Must Come Out of Disguise
I know my willingness to assist you,
Comes as a surprise.
But I've noticed your list of repeated indignities,
Needs a fresher delivery.
And you must come out of disguise.
If you insist upon using the same list,
You must approach those of 'lowlife' you depict...
With an undeniable,
Sincere sensibility...
If you choose what you say to stick.
You see...
They've grown accustomed to your capabilities.
And they believe you have yet to expose,
The depth of your sleaze.
They feel there is more you have yet to show.
I'd like to offer some suggestions...
Since your lack of commitment is in question.
You've infuriated the people with a periodic tease.
Their expectations have grown.
And like them I too believe...
Those who create and bait animosities,
Should not deliver them just to leave.
Your ability to deceive should be given proper credit.
Every aspect of it was from your mind as conceived.
I know my willingness to assist you,
Comes as a surprise.
But I've noticed your list of repeated indignities,
Needs a fresher delivery.
And you must come out of disguise.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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