Proving The Power Of Hype
Justified will be their own misdeeds,
Again!
And again...
Their pretensions will be sought,
As those to be...
The most admired that reflects,
A certain standard and valued qualities.
Yet again...
Blinded by flaws and blemishes unseen,
Proving the power of hype reigns supreme...
Will be those returning back on the scene,
Demeaning...
With their separatist ideals and hypocritical ways.
Dictating about their self righteous interests.
And who threatens to terrorize,
A lifestyle that must be protected as it stays.
Hoping that images with marketing efforts are praised!
And everyone,
Again...
Will continue to seek,
A slipping away of a diminishing greatness...
That is achievable IF believed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Diminishing In Effect
Isn't it odd,
That those losing jobs...
And valued things once possessed.
Are those more stressed,
About keeping up their appearances.
And pretensions that are diminishing in effect.
Few are concerned about realities to embrace.
Than they are about those impressions made.
And how to keep them in place.
And for many,
This is a traumatic undertaking.
That threatens their affectations.
'What am I going to do now?
Even the 'Joneses' next door have been foreclosed.
And my entire life,
Depended on their approval.'
Isn't it odd,
That those losing jobs...
And valued things once possessed.
Are those more stressed,
About keeping up their appearances.
And pretensions that are diminishing in effect.
And the only response one can expect from them to get,
Is a wish for an economic turn around...
To repeat those steps that got them into debt.
With a protection of those pretensions,
That are diminishing in effect.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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That Is Not Positive Feedback
We've been extremely successful,
In isolating ourselves...
With a creation of a lifestyle,
That best reflects 'our' values and traditions.
AND...
Returning back to standards 'we' believe in!
Ensuring that it stays and remains that way.
Now that we have been undoubtedly successful,
In removing certain elements...
From our interpretation of 'success'.
With a separatist menatality!
Can anyone here 'volunteer'...
WHY does there seem to remain with us,
Conflict and undenied confusion? !
'Yes...
I would like to respond.'
That's great.
Someone with positive feedback.
By all means...
Let us hear your recommendations and suggestions.
'Perhaps...
And I say this only because I want us 'all' to comprehend.'
Yes, yes, yes.
Take your time...
It is wonderful to have the young participating,
In our decision making process for a change.
I apologize...
Continue.
'Perhaps...
T he real reason 'why' we are still bombarded,
With an affliction of chaos, conflict and indifference...
Is,
Just 'maybe' WE are the cause of it!
With our unreasonable stubbornness.
And a total lack of a willingness to listen! '
Young man...
That is 'not' positive feedback at all!
And...
Let me make this very clear.
Only those caring to share POSITIVE feedback,
Will be given the floor.
Sit down
Anyone else?
With 'positive' feedback?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Sober, Grave, And Staid
Sober, grave, and staid...
To highlight one's prim and proper,
Self restraint.
Often impairs one's vigor and effectiveness,
To react spontaneously...
That allows the naturalness of the order of things,
To flourish to become what they are intended.
And unfortunately reflects,
A stagnation of beliefs with those standards valued...
Unable to compete with an existing reality.
'We will continue to seek leadership,
Which represents 'our' interests.'
~And those interests are? ~
'Whatever has worked for our ancestors.'
~Even though times have drastically changed? ~
'We are not going to allow times to change.
We prefer to keep our beliefs outdated.
And we are entitled to do just that.'
~But what is the advantage? ~
'We do not concern ourselves with benefits,
Or advantages.
Logic or common sense.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Effective Is This Inflicting
Mindsets have been selected.
Images have been perfected.
Impressions have been made.
And represented symbolically,
As a lifestyle to seek and embrace!
While pleasing a diminishing done.
And so effective is this inflicting...
In those minds that come to be stung.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What For Them Will Be Their Just Reward
Beginning to grieve their own imperfections,
They seek 'immediate' relief...
From the sight of their flaws and blemishes,
They have begun to witness.
Yet for years by others seen,
Even though those same 'flaws' and 'blemishes',
Now declared too painful...
Have agonized others who have suffered...
With a tolerance,
Of sacrificing all of their lifes...
Enduring being afflicted by them.
With no one attempting to heal or mend,
The scars they have had to pretend were not felt.
Or for 'them' and those before them,
Carried.
But did dare not to say,
Existed!
What for them and those before them,
Will be their just reward?
Apologies?
Ointments?
Bandages to mask their wounds?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Of Course. Yes
I love how decadence is praised,
At such raised marketing levels.
I can understand those disgusted,
And offended by having their values...
Held to untouchable standards,
Disgraced and humiliated...
By an affected younger generation,
Unaware that these conflicting contradictions...
Are not so much hypocrisies,
As much as they are separate ways...
To earn those disgusted a fast buck.
And allow their impressive pretentions to thrive.
'But...
Isn't this hypocritical? '
No.
Not necessarily.
You see...
When obtaining money is involved,
It does not matter how one gets it.
How one charades in the masquerading,
Is more important in appearance...
Than what is in one's mind to go unseen.
'Oh.
So it's all about the image of things?
The physical and not the mental? '
Of course.
Yes.
Don't leave here to trip.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Picked to Pluck
I'm fed up!
Got it?
Good.
Everyday there is a revelation,
About the infestation of your misdeeds.
The depthness of your deceit...
Has a bottomless stopping.
This I can see.
I'm fed up!
Got it?
Good.
I can't believed you smiled in my face.
And planning in the back of your mind,
What from me you could take.
And you had me suspicious of my neighbors and friends!
You had my ear and fed it with an ease so sweet.
Just to empty my pockets.
While you preached wholesomeness and values...
You yourself did not into to keep!
I'm fed up!
Got it?
Good.
You make your steps in shallowness.
Professing with your self righteousness...
As you campaign to protect,
The diminishing standards
Of a quality of life.
Qualities you left long ago,
When you began to live...
A double standard corrupted life.
I'm fed up!
Got it?
Good.
You get no sympathy here from me.
If I should see the authorities...
Dragging you publicly down the street.
After what you've done,
To me and others...
And thousands of those in communities,
Wherever they are to feel the affects of your 'disease'.
Whoever is suffering from a wake up call they can not believe...
I hope some see you for who you are now.
Since I can not be the only one,
You have...
Picked to pluck,
To live together like gutter butts!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Popularity
Popularity is great...
For those on missions to seek it.
For those conditioned to live to be liked,
Inspite of how one inside truthfully feels.
For those running for an office,
With blemishes and flaws...
They will not escape a scrutiny,
Until they are left wishing...
They did not do this!
There are those who use looks,
To flaunt about.
Hoping this attention...
Separates them and stands them out!
And then there are those,
Who do not seek popularity at all.
It is just something about what they do...
That make some folks believe,
They are seeking ahs and ooo's.
While the opposite of that,
Is where their minds are at.
And this is true.
If you asked those who are more popular,
Than me and you.
And I wish I had time to do that.
Signing autographs prevents that task.
And the paparazzi stays on my path.
And all I'm wishing for on days like this...
Is just some privacy,
While I eat my tuna sandwich!
Oooohhh...
The anguish one suffers,
When something done meets approval...
That separates them from so many others!
'hehe...'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Flaws
Blemishes are like opinions given.
They are exposed for what they are.
To either accept or reject them.
Something eventually is corrected.
Someone with flaws has to be convinced.
Some flaw bearers are nauseating...
And sometimes over compensate what is done,
For approval sake that comes close to being disgusting
However...
Few with blemishes AND flaws,
Have the ability to capture the imagination of anyone.
Unless they are comedians laughing sadly at themselves.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Disgust With Rust Ignored
Removing tarnish from symbolic images,
Takes an effort motivated by discipline.
And beliefs a quality within them exists.
To demand this be done,
Without benefit to everyone.
Heightens disgust with rust ignored.
And invites a crushing done...
By those who no longer adore,
Being treated as if...
Their efforts can be dismissed.
And the gleam on symbolic images...
Can show they have a glow all their own.
When the proof of that has not been shown,
To those who once had pride...
Believing their ambitions and lives,
Had meaning more than the gleaming of things!
And those valued 'things'
Come crumbling down to the ground.
With no one around expressing concern.
Except those left with unimpressive pretensions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The 'Potential' For Greatness IS There
If a greatness is indeed appreciated,
Wouldn't it take more than one to satiate the taste?
It would lessen the propaganda.
And the hype of it would not be faked.
'Well...
Okay.
Let me say...
The 'potential' for greatness is there.'
mmm...
That makes the taste of it easier to take,
Somehow.
That way,
My expectations aren't set so high.
And I can determine what is given,
More delicious than it is!
You get my point?
'I think so.
YOU want to determine,
The 'greatness'.
And when and 'if' that should be labelled as such!
Giving 'you' a purpose to encourage and spread the word.'
Of course.
I don't want to have it enforced.
I would think you would want my expectations to rise!
To declare something 'great'...
Leaves it to be criticized and opened to be downsized.
'Maybe we should hire you to do our marketing? '
Well...
As you yourself stated,
The 'potential' for greatness is there.
'I now can see,
The point you are making.
The potential for greatness 'IS' there.'
Exactly!
There is no need to overwhelm the message.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Knowing With Valued Lessons Taught
Why are there those now in opposition,
Towards the very ideals...
They themselves have implemented.
And claim to have wished protected,
From others threatening...
With extremist attitudes,
To take away their prized interests.
And why should their protests be off limits,
To children?
Aren't they the ones,
Whose futures depend on...
Knowing with valued lessons taught,
Who to despise and criticize...
Those who envy their fortunate lives.
No one seems to protest,
Against excuses used to deceive.
Or fight for an honesty that should exist,
But doesn't.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Qualified To Do
The only thing that qualifies most who are not scutinized,
Are looks of images created to project and portray...
What is wished to be perceived and believed.
And unfortunately for others who are microscoped,
Competence, looks and intelligence together,
Are rarely in the mix when images are created...
To meet expectations that rely on accountability.
This just doesn't happen when folks seek mediocrity.
Since it isn't publicly revealed,
Only images are sought to appeal.
People of intelligence present threats to the status quo!
And although those who prefer to go unchallenged,
Are often the ones selecting image over substance...
To address their standards that are valued,
They are often given an attention to debate...
Without reason,
Why their insults placed upon responsible folks...
Should merit a listening to their fault finding.
The only real thing image seekers are qualified to do!
And insist with persistence their 'senses' are common.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To See a Doing of what Was Due to Come
I have never sought to share with anyone,
In the fighting of my own battles.
Nor have I ever sought to defend myself.
Against deceivers who pack their tongue with lies.
I don't even make attempts to try!
Why?
My back is protected and watched,
With a faith I trust too much.
And 'if' I am destined to face a fate,
I myself did not create.
That which has continued to protect me,
Would have long ago proven.
A faith I will never forsake,
Has been faking a power that I hallucinate.
And what I have witnessed most of my life.
Is just circumstantial evidence,
Of a doing thought achieved.
By those of misdeeds done.
With an affliction upon them of punishments,
Because to them they were due!
And I just happened along for no reason at all,
To see a doing of what was due to come.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Turning Backs Away With Shut Lips
There is a campaign that permits,
Denying truth an existence.
And if allowed to continue...
Threatens a valued humanness.
Blinded in stubbornness,
Our very presence will become dismissed.
Finding no refuge in silence...
Nor an ignorance lifted into eternal bliss.
And turning backs away with shut lips,
Has created today's array of conflicts.
In a convenience so many have come to enjoy...
Unapposed and unrestricted!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Created To Be Implemented
Inconsistencies,
And those 'fronting'...
With a smothering up,
Of their hypocrisies...
Are all over the place!
Try avoiding them without being affected.
And the ones self righteous,
Declaring themselves 'normal'?
The 'standard' bearers?
Need not go too far from any mirror,
To do an honest self evaluation.
Conflicts, turmoil...
And other problems today that exist?
Have been created to be implemented,
By those refusing...
To zero in on their own flaws and blemishes.
Try avoiding them without being affected.
Or attempt to exit from a baiting into a debate.
To leave unscathed and rated to feel depreciated.
And if one can do this to feel an accomplishment?
A miracle has been witnessed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Existing As Ideals
Dreams need no corporeality, a
dream fulfilled becomes one-
dimensional reality without
power to draw desire and
passion through us
I love dreams as ideas, romance
as mirage, an image in the mind:
therein lies its power, a vision to
be filed for later use when it fails
to entice
Materialisation shrinks infinite
dimensions of enchanting
vision, I cherish dreams
until threadbare,
I love
Ethereal ideals as Quixotic
schemes fighting windmills:
idea reigns supreme, reality
is but weak reflection of
grand ideals
Lamenting impossibility of love
means we miss the joy of
illusion and dreams
inspirational only
if unexplained
We live life in little routines
while existing as ideals
within a holographic
universe…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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I
I descend from prime loins of the Earth,
Heir to sublime perceptions of glory,
Not one creature supersedes my worth,
Though greatness may have been illusory;
Failures and flaws peppered my existence,
As shortcomings became norms of my days,
Regrets hounded me with marked persistence,
Peace and love, rarely in my dwelling stays;
As matters stood, will there be a future,
With no past worthy of retrospection,
Evil had sought my ways to indenture,
A far cry from my goal of perfection;
……Of whose image had emulated, I?
……And to what glory could I aspire by?
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Crisis Intervention
If it was never what it was.
Quilled in ink,
To seep in sacred parchment.
Or upheld as it should have been,
With ideals to reach.
And keep as an objective...
As a mindset for all to respect.
Why are those now saying...
A way of life victimized,
By their own blindness...
Has been threatened.
To become a socialistic one.
From a 'republic'!
No one stood to honor.
And striking within those...
Stunned by the prospects of change.
When the opportunists have been few...
To totally abuse a concept defaced.
And depleted the many into an economic abyss.
To leave them screaming about the advantages,
Of a democracy envisioned to entertain...
That has outsourced their way of life.
Every aspect of it!
With goods they use,
Produced on foreign soil.
And manufactured to their specifications!
For many generations kept spoiled...
By the imports of cheap oil.
The luxuries of pomp and gluttony,
Heads into tempestuous winds!
The only thing left that seems to have existing value,
And praised as a badge of courage...
Is the respect they maintain for what remains,
Of a much hyped propaganda.
And the successive use of hypocritical rhetoric.
Pledged and obeyed.
Now promoted as crisis intervention!
In an effort to save a self serving...
Conservative greed.
Never mentioned as a format for success.
But is worshipped on every college campus.
Yet masked by theft, corruption and deceit!
A path paved by materialistic meanderings.
Polished by qualities they fed to bleed others.
With a blatant silkened fist.
Although to their neglect and misfortunes...
Coming for them to an end,
With embarrassments attached.
Without matched pretensions to introduce,
Such a swift unexpected death...
Of those 'capitalistic' rights believed,
And studied with self righteousness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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