So Accustomed To This
Accustomed we are,
To cheapness.
With a fakeness that glistens.
And being on knees to plead,
For a decent existence.
Accustomed we are,
To reach with a seeking.
Although deceived by theories idealized,
To keep our delusions fresh...
And kept alive as standards long rusted.
So accustomed to this,
We are...
Caught up in despising any realist,
Found to be painting scenes...
Pictured as observed.
And yet seen but felt demeans,
With exaggerated caricatures...
Depicting realities lived as they are.
But denied.
With a feeling that leaves those believing,
How appalled they are to be this openly offended.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Slipping of Meet Notes
Accustomed to lies.
What does the truth really mean?
Accustomed to lies laying low on the scene!
Accustomed to tell them...
And protect when told.
Accustomed to lies,
Whether fresh released or old held on hold!
Accustomed to lies...
Without a bat of an eyelash moving!
Accustomed to lies.
Dishonesty is accepted and shown.
At the work place
Where the slipping of meet notes,
Does not provoke disdain.
Accustomed to lies...
And that's how our lives remain!
In heated sex away from home!
Regardless of who spies on another,
Both buffer their suffering by what's condoned.
Accustomed to lies...
And what is taught is always known!
Accustomed to lies.
Accustomed to holding on to them,
Until time flys!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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With Hopes of Romanticizing a Condition
They have become accustomed to failure...
They can not let it go.
They've become identified with it.
And that is wished to be bestowed.
They dig through archives,
Seeking that which worked.
Something from the past...
They believe is everlasting.
Something done by someone then,
To bring their current frustrations to an end.
With hopes of romanticizing a condition...
That will lift them out of the doldrums they are in!
Complete with nostalgic delusions.
But they have become accustomed to failure...
They can not let it go.
They want someone with experience,
To show them the way.
And has it not been those with experience...
That has led them to despair?
Although they wish another point of view...
They want to chose one that will keep them there.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sent the Same Gift
They all were sent the same gift.
Very few of them recognized it...
For what it was!
Since they were accustomed,
To entertain their limitations.
Some took the gift and respected it.
And they became lifted...
By the feeling they got from it.
And they knew it for what it was.
Becoming grateful it had been given!
Others dismissed it with disrespect.
And lived lives beset by conflicts and regret.
As the gift just sat.
Gleaming in the midst...
Of an environment rusting.
Surrounded,
By a distrusting and weakened people.
Taught they were...
To pray and receive on their knees.
And there they stayed,
Seeking!
As the gift observed this,
And laughed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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We're both accustomed to being the center of attention. We're both accustomed to being spoiled by the people around us. And we don't expect to have to compete with somebody for all of that.
quote by Jim Lampley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Understood To Exclude Them From Truths
When one gets too accustomed,
To embellishing what they've done...
Partial truths are told.
To bestow as shown to everyone.
Quick to betray,
If their insecurities are threatened.
But yet to display,
Are their excuses made with few exceptions.
Associations with people like this,
Over time decreases in respect.
Explanations of their neglect...
Eventually from them some should expect.
When one gets too accustomed,
To embellishing what they've done...
Partial truths are told.
To bestow as shown to everyone.
Maturity is dismissed,
In the minds of people with this addiction.
And it is unfortunate they allow themselves...
To be chased away by delusions.
With a praying done their delusions will stay,
To be understood to exclude them...
From truths they painfully detest.
And hate to face from day to day.
As a life lived in reality eventually fades.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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She went as quiet as the Dew
149
She went as quiet as the Dew
From an Accustomed flower.
Not like the Dew, did she return
At the Accustomed hour!
She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's Eve—
Less skillful than Le Verriere
It's sorer to believe!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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With A Seeking To Be Encouraged
I've grown accustomed to view walls,
As a creative opportunity.
I see space with a wanting to use it.
As if to be inspired by what it isn't.
Others have come to sit behind walls,
Feeling blocked and locked in.
With a seeking to be encouraged,
To get up off their asses!
And I have always found time to busy mine,
With a seeking to be encouraged...
Not to sit too long in a comfort to feel,
Temporarily safe.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Yours!
Before you get a housemate,
To double up.
To pay the expenses made,
That double without inviting trouble.
Think about,
Your peace of mind.
Think about...
Losing quality time,
Most times found alone...
When one is accustomed to it like that.
Before you get a housemate,
To double up.
To pay the expenses made,
That double without inviting trouble.
Would the space to be shared,
Be worth the loss of fresh air...
For a few more cents to spend senselessly.
Just to keep a lifestyle pretended.
That may invite friction not intended.
Think about,
Your peace of mind.
Think about...
Losing quality time,
Most times found alone...
When one...
That would be 'you'
Is accustomed to it like that.
With a wish to be able to keep it like it is.
Without self inflicting unwanted agony?
Or...
One,
Still 'you'...
Can choose to unload what was.
And move on to keep a mind at rest,
Untested for many happy tomorrows to come.
Think about,
Your peace of mind.
Think about...
Losing quality time,
Most times found alone...
When one...
That would be 'you'
Is accustomed to it like that.
Keeping your peace kept intact exactly the way it is.
YOURS!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The prison accustomed
I came out of prison
After twelve year term
To find the world a prison.
The hell accustomed
Is preferred to the heaven
Yet to be accustomed.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Stress and ease do not last.
Suffering, once accustomed to, is no longer so.
Beauty, once accustomed to, is no longer so.
Both yield the contrary in due course.
18.02.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Accustomed To Opposition
I've grown accustomed to opposition.
As well as foolish maneuvers.
And those who object to those positions I have taken.
Nor will I apologize with regrets for those forward steps,
I chose to make that tested my faith.
And admit I do,
To the making of mistakes!
But obstacles and the fear of them,
I could not allow to slow my pace.
And those who choose to procrastinate,
With a hesitating done?
Well...
I perceive as being committed to wasting time.
And time as we live it as lived is not guaranteed to anyone,
To just sit back to see it come to leave.
I've grown accustomed to opposition.
But you know what?
I am here to participate and experience my life.
What others choose with a priority to do with their own,
I refuse to let their choices made get in my way.
I am not prone to the seeking of acceptance.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Crowded With Lies
Why are some stunned by truth?
It is not something taught,
One gets accustomed to.
Billions are spent to fantasize.
There is no room for truth,
In a mind crowded with lies.
A progressive mindset,
Has been stunted because of this.
Dismissed are those who wish for reality.
And often they are labelled mavericks.
Or something less flattering,
To ensure their influence has no chance to exist.
Why are some stunned by truth?
It is not something taught,
One gets accustomed to.
Billions are spent to fantasize.
There is no room for truth,
In a mind bombarded and crowded with lies.
And yet those disillusioned,
Pray on Sunday...
To have their lives fixed.
While listening to sermons,
As to how sins and evil have them bewitched.
Their very lives lived are confused in conflicts.
Although truth for many has become feared,
And resisted.
Observed they are...
Bewildered, bothered and betwixted.
Why are some stunned by truth?
It is not something taught,
One gets accustomed to.
Billions are spent to fantasize.
And there is no room for truth,
In a mind bombarded and crowded with lies.
And the marketing of fresh lies...
Is a mainstay in most societies,
That has thrived and survived successfully!
But a continuation of a success like this,
Does not sustain its permanence.
Eventually a strain draining the brain prevents it.
People everywhere and everyday,
Reflect their lack of consciousness.
And revealing a 'craze' that has become accepted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Implies Not Looking Back
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
So many have been comforted,
By schedules made and keeping set dates.
With a scratching off from a menu decided,
To replace or hesitate to eventually procrastinate.
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
Even Mother Nature comes to assist with this movement.
With a shifting of Earth and turbulent winds.
Spinning storms called hurricanes,
From the shores of Africa that begin...
In vast waters referred to as the Atlantic Ocean.
And still there are those demanding entitlements,
With preferences prayed in a daily devotion.
As if they have rights to insist a life liked to live.
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
But...
Unfortunate are those who believe,
A moving back in time...
Is a choice to make as to who will lead,
Them away from truth...
To produce more delusions and fantasies!
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
And leaving behind many detached,
Who will never become attached to reality.
Moving forward is the change everyone will believe in,
Whether to embrace, accept or not.
We live to experience, grow to then distance,
From aged beliefs to advance to other adventures.
With a wisdom kept to keep to be reminisced but not lived,
Repeatedly to comfort our insecurities.
'I hate change.'
Me too.
I wish I had more dollars.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Accustomed
Sometimes we see things
day in and day out
that we get so accustomed
to them always being there,
that when they go missing
we still think they are there.
It is only when something else happens,
that we suddenly realise,
that it is not there,
leaving us scratching our heads
wondering where and when
it had disappeared.
Our brain gets accustomed to seeing things
and it takes a while for it to register
when some things have gone.
poem by David Harris
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Their Closest Relatives
People hypnotized and transfixed,
Have grown more accustomed
To their movie productions.
And those creative emotional TV shows.
So accustomed to myths,
People are.
And the praying to what is believed,
To what has been embedded
In their minds,
Exists.
People do not wish to be told,
About the thought process of Nature.
And how that goes.
Or about Earth and Mother Nature.
The relationship between them.
How that works and what they know.
People wish and desire to accept,
They are more powerful
Than that which 'allowed' them life,
And gave to them breath.
People reject with a dismissing of this,
That which gifted them and permitted their lives.
People have grown more accustomed,
To their movie productions.
And those creative emotional TV shows.
Yet,
Give zero respect to their closest relatives.
The Sun, The Moon
And how together,
They affect their lives lived here on Earth.
People have chosen to become accustomed,
To ignoring as if they do not hear or listen.
Or are aware of them with comprehension.
People choose not to accept this as is.
People choose to believe from that which exist,
They are not born from it.
People choose for themselves to believe,
For them
There is no connection to perceive.
Even though what is they can not conceive,
Flows through their veins and bleeds!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This Comes to Those Who Loved to Pose Near Ghettos
An accustomed greed
Did not allow them to consolidate,
With those in need.
Those homeless without shelter.
And being depleted
As the greedy fed...
To feed and tease.
And they teased.
Requesting qualifications,
And deciding which among them
Would be pleased to be in their presence.
Instituting...
An awareness that divides,
By racist lines an intelligence may hide.
Groomed by standards that have been subpar...
Below that in some places.
And getting caught by the trappings,
Of low gutter bars.
'Are they the ones...
Experiencing a reversal that's begun? '
Dripping wet and running fast...
To escape a nightmare born on 'crack'.
This comes to those who loved to pose near ghettos.
In pictures to depict themselves above others.
And now they find themselves so below,
Feeling an absence of a glow once flaunted.
They can not be driven away from their pretensions.
Clutching the air for something to grasp.
And it hurts to know...
Someone wishes suicide,
Than to be by the side...
Of another human being.
One who has lived honestly.
And that fact in comparison demeans,
It seems.
And dreams lifted,
From behind the backs of those attacked...
Those who have been left...
Without possessions.
Medicate.
To keep a feeling of a worthless hollowness,
Defended to protect nonexisting interests owned.
Or turf to settle 'beefs' on streets...
Where they did not invest sense or time!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Marriages stay
His wife cooks for him.
He is accustomed to it.
His wife sleeps with him.
He is accustomed to it.
Replacement is not easy.
Replacement is costly too.
Children are the bolts.
Thus marriages manage to stay.
29.01.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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He who is accustomed to evil is offended by good.
Wobble To A Waddle
Decisions?
When making them,
Be firm.
And if you are not accustomed,
To doing this...
A familiar inconsistency,
Will someday teach you a lesson to learn.
Get off that fence as quick as you can.
Wobble to a waddle...
Until the shaking in your knees,
Free you to stand.
And in the doing of this,
You will get use to it.
With the expectation of comments made,
That something you said or did...
Chased another false friend away.
Get off that fence as quick as you can.
Wobble to a waddle...
Until the shaking in your knees,
Free you to stand.
And when you begin,
To stop seeking approval.
You will never again be afraid...
To move forward with a life,
God gave to you to be brave.
Decisions?
When making them,
Be firm.
And if you are not accustomed,
To doing this...
A familiar inconsistency,
Will someday teach you a lesson to learn.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Good Morning Dear
Mickey newbury
Were the nights any sweeter
The mornings any cooler, when she was here?
Or was the mind grown accustomed to hearing good morning dear?
Should I still feel all the sunshine
That remembering brings to mind with my thoughts of her?
Lord, we both know things could never be the way they were
Her little girl illusions
Built the wall of confusion between right and wrong
That stands between her and the dream I had cherished so long
Now faded and tattered, once all that mattered when she was here
And a mind grown accustomed to hearing good morning dear
Were the nights any sweeter
The mornings any cooler, when she was here?
Or was the mind grown accustomed to hearing good morning dear?
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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