Pressured From Depths
Not one.
But more than four thousand...
Are drilling deep.
For greed and profit.
And to keep green in pockets.
But a greasy mess seeps.
Pressured from depths,
No one can reach.
Although fresh technologies...
Could have made things cheap.
But creeps...
Have dollar signs in their minds!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Nurtured Crops
Those impending signs of tragedy,
Have long ago been seeded.
Accompanied by the taste for greed.
Implemented with a consciousness,
By the ones patiently harvesting their laments.
With wishes to increase their gluttony.
And inflict upon others,
A sense to impress with an exclusiveness...
Only those selected would get.
Those impending signs of tragedy,
Have long ago been seeded.
Accompanied by the taste for greed.
And those nurtured crops,
From the beginning quite damaged...
Were raised and praised to reflect a need.
And the feeding of this misfit craving...
Has today been denounced,
As blemishes that flaws...
The mindset of a blinded society.
Those impending signs of tragedy,
Have long ago been seeded.
Accompanied by the taste for greed.
And even though,
There has been those speaking against this...
The marketing of this addicting sickness,
Will continue as long as a dollar is made.
That very same dollar,
Faithfully worshipped but not associated with craze.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Scratch The Surface
Scratch the surface serve a purpose
scratch the surface don't waste my time
Such empty life Such simple sheep night after night
herd to the creeps all hidden faults beauty is null
such shallow sight barely skin deep
What is the force that drives the superficial
tell me what keeps their minds remaining little
so afraid of what they'd see underneath the fantasy
so afraid to actually scratch the surface.
All mirrors hide Big money lies faillure inside
big lying eyes that's maybe why eyes are the soul
they take so much time big dollar signs
song performed by by Sick Of It All from Scratch The Surface
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Underwater
Scanning at the blue bended headlands
White flurry scudded, a dark silhouette flashes by, in the wet
It is glistening flesh
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
There is room for make believe out in the ocean
There is room for make believe out on the land
In the wet, in the dream, if its flashing then seen
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
Looking to the white framed headland
Green pockets dropping, a bright cockatoo
Circles up in the breeze, in the realm you cant reach
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
There is room for make believe out in the ocean
There is room for make believe out on the land
In the west, crashes by, its a green silhouette
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
No one can make her, no one can break her down
Underwater, over land
No one can make her, no one can break her
Underwater, over land
No one can make her, no one can break her
She is what she is and no one can bring her down, bring her down
Looking to the white framed headland
Green pockets dropping a bright cockatoo
Circles up in the breeze, in the realm you cant reach
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
There is room for make believe out in the ocean
There is room for make believe out on the land
In the wet, flashes by, its a green silhouette
In the deep marine, in the deep marine
No one can make her, no one can break her
Underwater, overland
No one can break her, no one can fake her
She it what she is and no one can bring her down, bring her down
Underwater, overland
No one can squeeze her, no one can freeze her now
No one can make her, no one can break her down
No one can seize her, no one can freeze her
She is what she is and youve got to see it
song performed by by Midnight Oil
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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86 TV's
Feel so straight, and look so slow
But just you wait 'til I get you home
I saw you laughing on a TV show
Didn't think you'd know, all colours lead to black
Say you cant let go, and then you're never coming back.
Watch yourself when you talk to me
Cuz I've got you and 86 TV's
And all those words that they made up for me
And what I thought they'd be
The radio's are red
They made a mess of me
So now I'm walking home instead.
Sweet like apples, I pulled you
Reminds me of the things we said we'd do
Now all those words that they made up for you
Could never pull you through
The greed and all the gain
They made a mess of you
And now you'll never be the same
I'd love to say I'd like to thank you all
But I have not the gaul, the wisdom or the guile
You walked into that ball
And then you disappeared in style.
On 86 TV's, On 86 TV's, On 86 TV's, On 86 TV's,
Watch yourself when you talk to me.
song performed by by I Am Kloot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Digging Real Deep
Digging real deep,
In empty pockets...
For a touch or a feel of return.
And a lesson's not learned,
That...
A deposit made to dip,
For tasty lips...
Took too many dips,
To withdrawn the end of it.
And there will be no return...
You put that last deposit in your pocket,
And then you split...
With it.
You put that last deposit in your pocket,
And then you split...
With it.
Digging real deep,
In empty pockets...
For a touch or a feel of return.
And a lesson's not learned,
That...
A deposit made to dip,
For tasty lips...
Took too many dips,
To withdrawn the end of it.
Digging real deep,
In empty pockets...
For a touch of return,
IS...
Digging real deep.
Dig!
Digging real deep.
In empty pockets.
Dig!
Digging real deep.
In empty pockets.
Digging real deep,
In empty pockets...
For a touch of return,
IS...
Digging real deep
In empty pockets.
Dig!
Digging real deep.
In empty pockets.
Dig!
Digging real deep.
In empty pockets.
Dig!
Digging real deep.
In empty pockets.
Dig!
Digging real deep,
In empty pockets...
For a touch of return,
Long ago had been burned.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If It Was About A Lot Of Money
If it was about a lot of money...
My mind would be,
Trimmed in dollar bills.
With-my-thoughts-on a million of them,
And a caring less of my fellowman.
And if it was about a lot of money...
I'd ignore,
Every two cents made.
By anybody wanting to deliver to me,
Any consciousness attached to common sense.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money...
I wouldn't be concerned about the suffering seen.
And if it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
And if it was about a lot of money...
My eyes wouldn't cry when I see these scenes.
If it was about a lot of money...
My mind would be,
Trimmed in dollar bills.
With-my-thoughts-on a million of them,
And a caring less of my fellowman.
If it was about a lot of money...
I'd ignore,
Every two cents made.
By anybody wanting to deliver to me,
Any consciousness to instigate.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money...
I wouldn't be concerned about the suffering seen.
I'd fill my pockets and get away!
If it was about a lot of money.
I'd fill my pockets each and everyday.
If it was about a lot of money.
I'd fill my pockets and get away!
If it was about a lot of money.
I'd fill my pockets up and run the other way.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
If it was about a lot of money.
And if it was about a lot of money...
There wouldn't be a single word I would say.
I wouldn't have concerns or feel this way.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Thousand Days
Ask me no questions and Ill tell you
Ill tell you no lies
When all is said and done
Does it really matter whos wrong or right
Dont ask me for a reason, I cant explain
Why we hurt one another again and again
As I lie bleeding here I still
I still reach for you
A thousand days
Have passed away
A thousand days
Were captured in her eyes
Your eyes are open now but you know
Its still hard to see inside
When action and intention
Are two seperate things
Now I somehow wish I could explain
Why we hurt each other again and again
Like someone on his dying breath
I still reach for you
A thousand days
Have passed away
A thousand days
Were captured in her eyes
Forever weve been
Trapped by our hearts
Trapped by our minds
Id like to leave
Id like to win at love
But I just cant let it go
And I just cant watch it slipping away
And I just cant let it go
And I just cant stand another minute
Maybe now someday our shattered lives
Will mend themselves again
But now a million miles away
I still wish I could
And though I somehow know, I cant explain
Why we hurt another again and again
Like someone on his dying breath
I still reach for you
song performed by by Offspring
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Deep
You're more lovely than all the shades
of greens and purples of any precious garden.
You're my most dreamless sleep,
my green, my cool and dark and deep.
Your smile's worth more than all the jewels
within the earth, begging at your feet.
Hot and humid, overtired. I beg for sleep!
My fresh, my green, my dark and deep.
My purple! Oh, for a dreamless sleep!
My green, my cool, my dark and deep.
You are sweeter than summer night's jasmine
and brighter than the sun's morning laughter.
My Prince, my man, my green lovely, my sleep!
my best, my fresh, my cool, my dark and deep.
poem by Guy Peppin
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Big Slick
Just after BO ok’s more drilling
Gulf rocked by large explosion
People killed, fires, toxic gasses
Proves fossil fuel abomination
(Quit suppressing alternative energy technologies)
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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The New American Way # 3
lets see.
you finance your multi-trillion dollar
wars 100% with China ... and leave
the burden of the debt for the
American taxpayer to pay.
meanwhile, you take the billions
(maybe trillions) of dollars profit
that you make on defense contracts,
etc ... and put it in your pockets.
i've only been in the business world
for about 25 years but i know.
(forgetting the moral and ethical
implications) as we say
here in the south:
'that dog dont hunt! '
poem by Eric Cockrell
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This Poem Is A Mess
This poem is a mess
It claimed shads of paper
Drained in pensil and ink
Finished and unfinished
This poem is a mess
This poem is a mess
It victimised toilet paper
Short and long, of all colours
Scribbled, drafted and erased
Pinned on the wall, anywhichway
This poem is a mess
This poem is a mess
It messed up everywhere
Lying on the floor, sholved
In the pockets, every corner
With incomprehensible words,
Misspelt, miswritten, strange
This poem is a mess.
Sunday,12/04/2009,
Huyton, Liverpool, UK
poem by Isaac Maliya
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Engrossed and Trapped
They feel the freedom to express the affects,
Of today's racism.
As technologies advance.
To leave mindsets like these...
Engrossed and trapped within their insecurities.
One would never believe these conversations breed,
This kind of attention in the year two thousand and ten.
There seems to be more focus on one's color of skin.
By ignorant radio talk show hosts...
Being paid top dollar,
To use the airwaves to solicit a hatred...
That validates the feelings of those who listen.
Whites who describe themselves,
As disliking blacks, browns and jews.
Are given this kind of authorized soapbox...
To discuss their self righteousness.
And who should live as they choose.
There seems to be more focus on one's color of skin.
By ignorant radio talk show hosts...
Being paid top dollar,
To use the airwaves to solicit a hatred...
That validates the feelings of those who listen.
They feel the freedom to express the affects,
Of today's racism.
As technologies advance.
To leave mindsets like these...
Engrossed and trapped within their insecurities.
One would never believe these conversations breed,
This kind of attention in the year two thousand and ten.
But then again...
IF a superiority is what is truly felt.
Why are there reminders needed?
And why is a country of physical diversity...
Have some folks believing,
They should be directing all people...
To do what a few who deceive as they please.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Price
we should have learned
in Vietnam... but no,
we keep aggressively
opening the doors...
keep our finger on the pulse
of those we would control...
wherever there's a dollar to be made!
we liberate for profit!
while in smoke filled rooms the
plans are made, ... to dominate,
to shape, and to destroy....
and somehow freedom becomes
enslavement... it's all good!
the bodies of women and children
killed without thought,
rot and stink in the ditches.
oil, power, turn the dollar wheel!
with 'God' on our side,
fear and lies as our tool....
do we dare sleep at night?
body bags and flags a waving....
but in the end,
who will pay...
the price?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Peace Peace Is Needed!
“Pray for all nations,
think of what is needed.”
Peace Peace is needed!
A war on terror
is a mandate to war.
So much profit
in war industry
but to make this profit
you need a war.
What politician wants to kill
a million dollar a minute industry?
Peace Peace is needed!
To profit from this greed
this suffering is to serve
Babylon The Great
that Satanic harlot and whore
for nations drunk
on the wine of the anger
of her fornication
must surely include a love of war!
Vast money you spent
in destruction you rent
could not a little more
have been spent on our poor?
To drill a few more wells
to provide clean water?
So African child
died not of thirst
swollen belly starvation...
have a little pity
you master engineers
engineering your profit wars...
have pity upon
nations you exploit
earth’s global poor...
vast fortunes amassed
fortunes you cannot spent
in four hundred lifetimes...
pointless profit
never forget
born with nothing...
and you will
leave with nothing
except soul ripe...
for a final accounting
a last judgement
where your rules profit...
mean absolutely nothing
where you will be judged
held individually accountable...
by a Prince of Peace.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Best Buy, Good Sale, Fine, Sell
ok, you got the best buy
in the history of sales
got this contract
with lesser obligations
but more returns
maximized at most
for your benefit
though, it's scratched
with what?
with some hidden defects
got the best buy today
cheap
tomorrow i will have a good sale
of course, more expensive
for my gain & profit
that's how capitalism works
a third country having the best
buy from the rich country
and sells the same
to its people at a higher cost
of their freedom
and other liberties
ok, fine, if everything is at its highest
sell
what you bought at the cheapest
this is the law
and this will always be the law
when cheap buy
when high, sell
boils down to....
what do i get? yes, profit.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Greed Is God
Man-made goods are made to fail
'Greed is the mother of invention'
'Going public' be their 'Holy Grail'
'Quick profit', their main intention
poem by Ray Lucero
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Ignorized
Many are starving.
More than 'many',
Have lost their dignity and homes.
Jobs are few and for some nonexistent.
Poverty grows.
And those unaccustomed to this,
Are persistently resistent.
But those who are concerned about ratings,
Of TV shows...
And which host draws the most,
Higher advertising gross.
Could care less what billions of dollars misused,
Should consciously address.
Since minds of greed represent those kinds of people.
And they are the ones,
Why this society is in a mess.
People who feed their self centeredness...
Are reasons why a decadence produces so much unrest.
And why those who are 'sane'...
Are made to be perceived as 'liberal' rejects!
Because those who have media control...
Have their minds only on pocketing dollars.
And not known to uplift with goodwill,
The needs of the masses...
To reflect their very best!
Since most TV 'execs' are soul-less leechers!
Fed to consume,
As fast as they can a trash for them...
Free of responsibility.
With only an objective to see ratings soar and zoom!
While they actively participate...
In the crushing of those viewers,
Who keep their pockets full.
As they, the people...
Unwise and ill advised...IGNORIZED!
Head hypnotized by televised lies.
Blinded are their eyes.
And faithfully fated awaiting a programmed doom.
Glued to this twistedness with anticipation and kept fools.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Reformed Penny Pincher
I've figured it out,
I'm more on top...
Than just a dollar.
And I don't bother,
To worry about how many I've got.
I've figured it out,
I'm more on top...
Than just a dollar.
And I don't bother,
To worry about how many I've got.
My worth is not how much I've got up in my pockets.
Copped up in stocks.
Or...
Those markets to be watched.
Nor do I pinch a penny,
Everyday to pitch a fit.
Because I know that pinching pennies,
Makes not a bit of sense.
I've figured it out,
I'm more on top...
Than just a dollar.
And I don't bother,
To worry about how many I've got.
My worth is not knocked up,
Or rocked by losing dollars.
Or scream and holler...
About what I have not.
My worth is not how much I've got up in my pockets.
Copped up in stocks.
Or,
Those markets to be watched.
I guess I'm just a reformed penny pincher.
Believing my self worth a richer picture.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Collapsing from Greed...Reprised Because of Need
Will you come to love me,
Before the winds of transformation
Seal my lips from whispering your name
In sleep where dreams bring you near!
Or, will we find each other
Pulled together by the magnetic forces
Of our hearts...
Once we free ourselves of needless debris
That keep us from feeling the needs
Of one another...
Reaching to please and be received.
Will you come to love me,
When we seek to find warmth and reason
In a World collapsing from greed!
This I reprise,
Because of need.
My own!
That seem to flow unstoppable.
From a place deep within.
And showing no signs to slow.
Or go away from depths you've injected.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Will Not....
i will not be a part
of your wars!
keep your oil wet,
blood stained fingers
off of my throat!
i will not, by actions,
or inaction, be a part,
of that which furthers hunger
and suffering to pad
the pockets of greed.
i will not kill for profit,
will not march to the drum!
i will not believe in your lie,
nor wave your flag!
i will not cast judgements
with prejudicial blows,
i will not take from the poor,
nor dig the graves...
to bury the children
that you never named!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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