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Professing To Be Strong

Those today professing to be strong in faith,
But display a weakened identity...
And questionable intergrity.
Are not those I would suspect,
To have any backbone.
At least none that is projected or publicly shown.
And...
Those offering their feathery sweetness,
Sicken with their hidden agendas.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No Hidden Agendas

There are no hidden agendas
in my writings or my life.
No subliminal messages
I feel I have to get through.
My life is too much an open book
with the good and bad I have done
and my writing speaks for itself,
mainly simple and full of fun.
Life is too short to go without trust
with both friends you can and cannot see.
I am not a very clever man,
but someone who is simple and honest
and the things I write are based on the same principal.
I do not lie to those I can see
and I do not lie to those I cannot.
If someone wants to hurt me
and destroy the trust I have in them,
they can do that so very easily.
However, what will they gain from that?
Probably only the loss of a very beloved friend.
I have no hidden agendas
within anything I do
and the only person I ever hurt at times is only ever me.
I am sometimes too trusting
with everyone who comes my way
with friends seen and unseen.
I always want to believe they are as open as me,
and have no hidden agendas
and are only out to deceive.
Sadly, in some cases, they are
and I admit that I have been hurt now and then.
We do not really know anyone,
but hope they are as honest as we,
with no hidden agendas tucked up their sleeve.

22 February 2009

poem by David Harris
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I'm still going to make mistakes, but I don't have any problems with publicly professing my faith now. It just took me a long time to get to the right place in my relationship with Christ.

quote by Scott Stapp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Once A Thief

So youve decided to set me free
Ive paid my debt to society
Fresh out of jail trying to make a new start
On the street with a bitter heart
But my past keeps on haunting me
There aint no chance for a man with my history
Once a thief
Always a suspect
Once a liar
Never be believed
Will they ever forget that
I was once a thief?
I was out in the cold
I was soaked to the skin
I needed a home
And your heart took me in
Then I heard all the lies
And I lost my belief
You threw away my hope
And you called me a thief
So youve decided to set me free
Im out of jail but youve still got the key
There was a time when I thought you respected me
But somehow you always suspected me
Once a thief
Always a suspect
Once a liar
Never be believed
Will they ever forget that
I was once a thief?
Instead of offering me charity,
You shouldve tried to put some faith in me
Instead of making me a better man,
You kept reminding me of what I am
Instead of offering me charity,
You shouldve tried to put some faith in me
How many years must a criminal pay?
Until hes old and his hair turns to gray
You smile at me
But I know underneath
Youre thinking
Once a thief always a suspect.
Once a thief
Always a suspect
Once a liar
Never be believed
Will they ever forget that
I was once a thief?

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Over the Place

They've allowed innuendo to grow.
Slander to meander.
Petty gossip to pop up!
Nosiness to remain top on their lists.
And questionable 'christian' values,
To determine 'how' to acknowledge themselves.

And no one has an identity they show...
Or can say they 'know' to pride!
Apparently that has been sacrificed
For the right to express indignities...
With a disrespect shown and owned.

'WHERE are you going with 'this'? '

I am not going anywhere with it!
In fact...
This crap is all over the place!
And I can't get it off my welcome mat!
Even with the use of tact!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Nurturing This to Have It Grow Like It Grew

Remember...
When the clouds of regret,
Begin descending to fret...
All opportunity to correct this,
Has been exhausted.

Everything you own,
Will seem valueless!
Unworthy to be shown.
But all is not lost!
There has to be 'some' decisions you made
Pleasing your heart...
That did not require a purchase from the start!
To impress.
With a lease, rental or mortgage to digest!

If you are happy within,
With a peace of mind you can display...
What else is more satisfying than that?
Today...
Many are holding onto impressions!
Possessions they can least afford.
Accompanied by confessions that bore.
Today...
Many are abandoning their happiness in 'things'!
Today...
If you are happy within,
With a peace of mind you can display...
Know today you can say,
What you have is completely yours!
And foreclosure or repossession,
Is not coming your way!
Today.
Not for what took you long to pursue.
Nurturing this to have it grow like it grew...
For you,
Today!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Duress

Murdered dreams...
An epidemic.
Promises slain...
To be left,
On abandoned doorsteps...
Unburied and decayed.
The fear of exposing any hope shown,
Has been declared a criminal offense.
Even if a hint of it is known.
Wishes once defined,
Has been handcuffed and dispensed.
Confined it is and dormant.
Leaving visions blurred and unclear!
'Where do we go from here? '
The people wonder!
As they feel their way,
Through darkened shadows.
A bold showing of faith appears.
Yet fear on faces keep faith unembraced.
It disappears into emptiness.
Replaced it is by a nothingness.
It is agonized,
Until it has to hide in disguise.
Knowing it is suspect.
It stresses under duress.
Unbelieving the infliction of suspicion.
A shallowness is felt.
And this they feed and choose!
But a search crew has been assigned,
To find them!
There is 'something' they bring...
That will cure manifestations,
Nibbling on weakened minds...
Addicted to and blinded by poisoned diets!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No Commitment

No commitment
Just purpose.
No faith
Just weak trust.
The life?
Just one more desire.
The love?
Just strange liar.
No surrender
Just false ego.
No care
Just mercy flow.
The respect?
Just identity suspect.
The service?
Just selfishly publish.
No identity
Just unknown entity.
No dependence
Just lonely existence.
The fear
Just inside prayer.
The God?
Just I myself.

Copyright © Shiv Abhishek Pande

poem by Shiv Abhishek Pande
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Sweetness

You want sweetness,
You say I have an ability to ooze?
You want sweetness available,
Anytime you choose?
You want sweetness,
Without any bitterness to taste?
I'm sorry I am not a magician at all.
A reality for you...
I can not pretend or fake!
I can't ignore the pain you caused...
Or sugarcoat you drove me to heartbreak!
I smile because I am over you.
And this happiness shown...
Is to prove to you
We are done! It's over!
We are absolutely through!
You have a nerve to come back,
Expecting a sweetness due!
You are sickened with ego...
And that is 'all' you prove!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Accessories To A Crime

A DISPLAY and PERFORMANCE,
Of a ROUTINE...
May not be as DEEPLY FELT,
As one's pronouncement...
Of a FAITH kept in BELIEFS,
NOT PROVIDING the NEEDS one SAYS is GETTING...
RELIGIOUSLY.

'If' it is OBVIOUS a DICHOTOMY translates DECEPTION.
And has been PUBLICLY allowed to DEMONICLY ravage...
One's SOUL and GIFTS GIVEN.

No matter what the quality of those SYMBOLS,
WORN or CARRIED to DISPLAY one's ASSOCIATION...
Underlined to be QUOTED as if to keep one IMMUNIZED,
From one's BAD HABITS and ADVERSE ADDICTIONS.
SUPPLIED to ENFORCE one's SELF-CENTERED ways,
That SHOWS to ADD to ONE'S own DESTRUCTION...
As well as THOSE ALLOWING that destruction to OCCUR.
AS if to ASSIST as ACCESSORIES to a CRIME one commits.

And those refusing to be accessories,
To one afflicted with demons...
Can not be faulted for their attempts made,
To save a soul to do what it wishes from choices...
ONE should but DOES NOT RESTRICT to be AVOIDED.
With a faith one proclaims is one's strength and salvation.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Perverted Urges

Peruked from a time,
When masquerades were the rage.
And little boys and little girls...
Satisfied their fancies.
The elders curbed their perverted urges.
Under burlap, hopsack and lace...
And replaced later by silk and houndstooth,
To disguise their heated lusts...
And naked tastes for a screw in the hay!
Discreeted with the best of principles projected.

Those perverted and peruked.
Sweat!
With standards of lives...
And an etiquette!
Oh yes.

And today,
As those centuries have long passed away!
Those perverted urges are still there.
But faded are those standards...
Yet
Attempts are made,
By some who try to keep temptations hidden!
While butts and thighs...
With tattoed breasts!
Are clearly exposed and on display!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My identity

What defines my identity?
Being the son of my father and the torchbearer of familial legacy; possibly...
And what does my identity task me with?
To indistinguishably seed the next generation of the genealogy chain; perhaps...

Life is life’s longing for itself,
It may conform not to any preset moulds of traditions and definitions,
In the endgame, my epitaph would only bear testimony to where I ended – not where I started,
And my progeny, when it arrives, may not even tarry with my today; forget my parents’ yesterday...

So, it may be then – no one belongs to any one,
Identities get chiselled by one’s own voluntary doing,
Yet my soul dwells in that house I grew, the hearth and my family,
Publicly – I may be what I am; but privately – I am still my father’s son....

poem by Ram Josyula
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Feather in Universe!

Feathery, feather, feathery
Blowing wind, it twirls and dances
Drenching rain, oh, feather, feathery

Like the Stars, Planets, in their orbit
Mystic and steady they go, no pillar
A distance to cover, energized, re-energized

Hmnn, feather, feather, feathery,
No staking, own, and alone, traversing
A soul in the wind, in Universe, Oh, feather!

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Identity of a person

Identity of a person
Identity signifies complexity
Identity identifies with reality
Identity is the bearer of all vanity
How does a person identify with identity?

You define yourself based on what?
They say, they say
You’re kind or moral based on what?
Or
You’re a genius and shrewd based on what?
Or
You make the perfect lover, look for no other

They say, they say
You’re strong without a thought it may not last long
Or
You’ve skills since with a record you run up high bills
Or
You are shy but no one ever talks to you or says hi
Or
You never give up because right now you are on top

They say, they say
You are generous or gregarious when all you are is conscious
Or
You’re innovative yet not the originator of the idea conceived

What are the facts?
That makes your identity intact
When change on identity has the last impact?

Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Testing Your Faith

I'm not testing your faith, I believe in you, and that my GOD is the truth! I know, sometimes it looks as if I'm testing your faith, when something hits me hard that's too much I begin to give up so easily! When I should know through you everything will be okay! sometimes I gotta cry and naturally wonder WHY? is my life this way! is it because we are humans as much as creatures whom you've made? I have somehow tested my own faith! yet I believe! then something go wrong and my faith has weakened me! then I listen to your words and they shall be all I take, and when I fall I look up to you, and I say this life is a test my GOD! filled with your faith! so after each storm how can I really test your faith...

poem by Tameka Colley
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Sometimes his methods are questionable, and even his morals are questionable, but his intention is always to protect Sydney. So in that way I think he's a good parent.

quote by Victor Garber
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sometimes, his methods and his motives are questionable and even his morals are questionable in the way he does things. But I think his intention is always to protect his daughter.

quote by Victor Garber
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Driven By a 'Drive' Makes Life Worth Living

Each day we live to witness,
Has its own identity.
And each day we see begin,
From Sunrise to Sunset's end...
Has reason to be,
Like none before it...
Gone and experienced.

To live life inspite of what others may say,
In whatever day that is done.
Everyone has a different appreciation for life.
Some choose to limit their existences,
By being busy beavers in other folks' business.
And doing that with a priority.
Since their own lives are empty with purpose.
And no one should live without having an interest.
A hobby or 'something' to call their own....
Makes the sharing of this,
An adventure more condoned

Others are observed enjoying each second,
As if it is their last.
I admire the ones who are obviously in pain.
Walking around with assisted 'walkers'.
Or getting from A to B with the support of a cane.
And driven by a 'drive' makes life worth living.

Each day has its own identity.
As sure as we decide to address and change agendas.
Exhaling what has been inhaled,
With a breath released to push out.
And there are no guarantees that are offered to us.
No matter if we scream and shout.
Or keep it 'twisted' like Chubby Checker.

'Chubby who? '

~Let's keep this moving forward! ~

Thank you!
Although we believe we can adopt certainties.
Like having a 'career' after spending thousands,
On getting a college degree.
Or receiving an award for some display of loyalty.
And many believe they can live each day,
Doing exactly what they please.
WE don't have those opportunities.
Not to do 'exactly' what we please!
I don't care where someone parks their yacht.
Or make claims how many millions it takes,
To keep them from feeling worthless.

But each day that comes to us,
If we are blessed to live it.
Needs from us a committment shown...
We are grateful to participate,
By creating 'something' to give and celebrate.
Not hoard or brag about how we stay entrapped...
By 'things' that can't touch us back.
Like grass and the leaves on trees.
Or watching a river flow...
From atop a hill and 'still' we lookup,
With our eyes opened wide under falling snow.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Perfected and Over-rehearsed

Not a few,
But far too many...
Have become disillusioned and mystified,
By the quickened fast pace of change...
That has taken place.
Leaving those wide eyed quite surprised.

Spoiled and embroiled by choices of isolation.
Believing decisions made would remain sustained.
Creating superstitions within accepted standards,
Of division...
Has weakened values and traditions.

And foundations trembling...
With once tried and true,
Restrictions.
Faltering a quality of life for all,
By hidden agendas and undenied admissions.

Not a few,
But far too many...
Have become disillusioned and mystified,
By the quickened fast pace of change...
That has taken place.
Leaving those wide eyed quite surprised.

With wishes to return to comforts yearned...
To free from the rising of conflicts,
That has today showered many with concern.
Although hoping lessons that seem hard to learn,
Has not come upon them too late to recreate...
What is observed.
When a listening done to comprehend and correct...
Was not prioritized as an objective first.
To protect from a neglect...
Perfected and over-rehearsed.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fueled By Gossip That Initiates Attacks

I'm sure they now feel foolish.
Those who publicly ridiculed.
Those who raised such banners high...
To announced themselves as uninformed,
In a united display...
Of an ignorance done their way.

With an absence of facts.
And fueled by gossip that initiates attacks.
I'm sure they now feel used and foolish.
The ones who have chosen to perform like that.

I'm sure they now feel foolish.
Those who publicly ridiculed.
Those who raised such banners high...
To announced themselves as uninformed,
In a united display...
Of an ignorance done their way.

As they convey...
A love of paraded stupidity!
With a pretense that is charaded.
As if comprehension of facts are made!
And doing this daily with truth in their way...
I'm sure they now feel foolish.
But what can anyone to a fool say?

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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