Speaking One's Mind
Speaking one's mind,
Has a way of offending those who declare...
That the tone of one's voice,
And not the content...
Is disrespectful.
And if one expects to get a message across,
A sugar coating is suggested.
Since direct approaches negatively effect,
Minds deluded and are not acceptable mixes...
In fantasized environments.
'I am not accustomed to being spoken to like that.
If you jump through hoops and roll over to play dead,
Like the others...
I 'may' pay you some attention.
Until then...
I will ignore your warnings about my house burning down.
It is your attitude I object to.'
~No problem at all.
Forgive me for making an attempt,
To point out facts as they are.
And my voice...
Although to you unfamiliar,
Will be remembered.
I guarantee it.
I'll leave this bucket with you.
However...
I think the flames are out of control now,
So I'll be on my way.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
To Get One's Point Across
It is not easy,
To capture the attention of the minds today.
Whatever the message relayed,
Has to be quick with a meaning attached to it.
With content that is agreed upon,
To leave those listening...
With some comprehension left to discuss.
And...
If delivering the message naked,
There is a benefit of an allowance...
To have what is not heard when first spoken,
Requested to be said over and over again.
From every possible angle to get one's point across.
Ensuring the bare essentials are remembered and understood.
Today...
We must try 'everything' deemed necessary,
To reach the minds of our overexposed children...
With a purpose to prepare them and their minds,
For the world in which we live.
Protecting them from reality is not going to do it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Not To Argue Needlessly
You don't like the tone of my voice.
Or the way in which it is used?
That's unfortunate.
Not for me.
But for you.
Since this is my voice.
You may choose to ignore it.
That's up to you.
You've been planted and fix like a brick wall.
And using my voice to call over it,
I don't have to do at all.
All I have to do to remove you,
Is to discuss this with my Father.
And not a voice between us do we share,
To get what appears to be an obstacle...
Off my path!
And this 'voice' you hear?
He has been given to me,
To deliver and clarify a message.
Not to argue needlessly.
He and I both know that is pointless.
Eventually you will get the message.
Have a good day!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Monolith
First voice:
These symptoms suggested that our evolution, I suppose, from the animal kingdom
Into the human kingdom itself was catalyzed, or triggered by our encounter with
These hallucenogenics, and
Second voice:
Yes, we are an ape with a symbiotic relationship to a mushroom, and that has
Given us self reflection, language, religion and all the spectrum of effects
That flow from these things.
First voice again:
And one can only wonder how these hallucinogens might effect our future
Evolution as well...
Second voice again:
They have brought us to this point, and as we make our relationship to them
Concious, we may be able to take control of our furute evolutionary path.
song performed by by Mudvayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Conditioned To Focus On Limitations
The message that they are getting to hear,
Is not the message heard they wish preferred.
And, coincidentally, it is not the content of the message.
They oppose and object,
It is the messenger who states this message,
With an eloquence delivered to them
They reject.
And 'if' that messenger had represented,
One of them
They'd be more inclined to pay attention.
But of course,
They have been conditioned to focus
On limitations to impress.
And not use their ears for listening
To a message they should address.
The message that they are getting to hear,
Is not the message heard they wish preferred.
And, coincidentally, it is not the content of the message.
They oppose and object,
It is the messenger who states this message,
With an eloquence delivered to them
They reject.
And it is obvious to those who know,
As to why most ears are ignorantly closed.
They want to raise the bar 'their' way.
But not with 'this' one.
Who has come to play,
Hardball with decked cards regardless.
Of what others perceive another should say.
They want to have it their way.
Even though their way betrays and begins to fade,
Those days of one's pigmentation.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Homage to a not unknown poet
Straightway - it's the tone.
Even; quiet but clear; is it writing, or is it talking?
As if to family: you're being filled in
on what happened yesterday or last week;
it's a continuation of what you last spoke of;
so no 'tone' about the tone;
you have a background of a lifetime's love
not to need to talk about;
you're friends even before you are family
if you know what I mean;
no family relationships hovering like ghosts
like your mother never quite stopped
sibling squabbling with your aunt;
it's harmless really - a silly evocation of childhood
and no-one else's concern;
so, good.
The no-tone tone: you're family,
so the voice expects you to be interested
enough to read
even if it's something to tell another family member later
whom it would concern more.
So no elaborations,
no false sentiment,
but a little dry comment
like a dry white wine perhaps,
they'll have the background for
because you're family.
That even tone - dull? No, not dull -
a quirky, individual voice
that tells a story deadpan
that makes you howl with laughter;
no, never dull..
The details: those events,
those small happinesses, small sweetnesses
(it sounds better in French -
petits bonheurs, petites douceurs) ,
the spoken words from open heart to open heart
which are the greatness of our
real, real life;
what's in the tidy drawers of the heart
when the house-clearers finally arrive.
And all around this family message to you who read,
called a poem,
quietly,
love.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Did Anyone Know The Messenger?
What in the world,
Are they doing over there?
'Well...
It's a complicated story.
You see..
The culprit giving mouth to mouth,
Resuscitation to the messenger...
Knocked him out,
Because of a message read.
And...
Before he even began to read,
The people determined...
They didn't particularly care for his attitude.'
What did his attitude have to do,
With a message delivery?
'That's the point the messenger,
Attempted to make.
Then that guy called the messenger,
A bunch of names.
Then knocked him out.'
What was the message?
'Well..
I had to read it,
Because the others refused to get involved.'
What did the message say?
'It said...
Keep your faith, stay strong.
Love one another.
Seek and attempt peace.
And please forgive the messenger,
Delivering this message.
He has been volunteering his time,
Without any pay at all.'
Did anyone know the messenger?
'They all did!
That's what's complicated.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Evening In A Sugar Orchard
From where I lingered in a lull in march
outside the sugar-house one night for choice,
I called the fireman with a careful voice
And bade him leave the pan and stoke the arch:
'O fireman, give the fire another stoke,
And send more sparks up chimney with the smoke.'
I thought a few might tangle, as they did,
Among bare maple boughs, and in the rare
Hill atmosphere not cease to glow,
And so be added to the moon up there.
The moon, though slight, was moon enough to show
On every tree a bucket with a lid,
And on black ground a bear-skin rug of snow.
The sparks made no attempt to be the moon.
They were content to figure in the trees
As Leo, Orion, and the Pleiades.
And that was what the boughs were full of soon.
poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Burning Up
Would you believe me
If I said Id never lie
Though it aint easy
I can tell you I have tried
But I got to say
That it comes those days
That I told something untrue
Would you forgive me
If I said Id lied to you
This is my fear
To tell you what Ive done
As things come clear
Im afraid that youll be gone
But all I know
Is if you go
At least Ive told whats true
Hope youll forgive me
When I say Ive lied to you
Im burning up
Im burning for you
When the truth has been spoken
Theres nothing I can do
Yes Im burning up
Im burning for you
When the truth has been spoken
Theres nothing I can do
How will you kill me
For what Im about to tell
Please do it gently
cause you know Im bound for hell
All I know is
Ive lost my soul
Im burning inside
Hope youll forgive me
Yes I have lied
Oh yes Ive lied
Im burning up
Im burning for you
When the truth has been spoken
Theres nothing I can do
Yes Im burning up
Im burning for you
When the truth has been spoken
Theres nothing I can do
Now you know that Ive gone
And Ive been untrue to you
And once its told
Well you know theres nothing we can do
I regret that I let this get so out of hand
I pray, please stay, that youll understand
Im burning up
Im burning for you
When the truth has been spoken
Theres nothing I can do
Yes Im burning up
Im burning for you
When the truth has been spoken
Theres nothing I can do
Im burning up...
(repeat)
song performed by by Eagle Eye Cherry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Accustomed To An Irrational Way Of Life
A common sense,
Directed to someone accustomed.
To an irrational way of life,
Deluded and fantasized.
By the existence of praising myths,
Will begin unending arguments.
Over expenditures that exist,
On the feeding of a feast on the ability.
To maintain one's credit standing.
Especially when one's standing,
On debts owed.
Requires one to pay up,
For an out of control feasting to be paid.
As a 'sensible' way to pay for it with 'cash'.
Something demanded that one does not have.
And to state with a dignified presence,
That those awaiting to be paid for those losses generated.
Should be the ones already suffering,
From those mistakes made by those who fed at the feast.
To leave it in shambles,
And the ones left starving and homeless.
Are responsible and accountable to pay for a mess,
While those greedy keep.
Not only what they have hoarded,
But also the resources stuffed in their overflowing pockets.
A common sense,
Directed to someone accustomed.
To an irrational way of life,
Deluded and fantasized.
By the existence of praising myths,
Will begin unending arguments.
Over expenditures that exist,
On the feeding of a feast on the ability.
To maintain one's credit standing.
And
They have no intention to pay a cent,
For what has been spent.
To sustain their lofty positions,
Because they have been hypnotized.
On rights of their entitlements.
A common sense,
Directed to someone accustomed.
To an irrational way of life,
Is like introducing a reality never known.
Nor will that reality expressed be accepted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Evil Influence
Hanging on the edge of control and rage,
I am faced with the boiling emotion.
Hostiility silently posseses me,
while my conscious slowly fails.
My heart is burning,
with the flames of hatred.
Voices scream the words murder.
I try not to listen.
Bloody images fill my mind,
as I cry for a voice of reason.
When that voice is not heard,
I break.....
poem by Thomas Biggy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Startling Is The Sharpness Of Its Shocking Knock
Sugar-coating realities,
Has left mentalities...
Desperately searching,
For alternatives to provide...
A familiar taste upon which to feed.
And the high cost in maintaining delusions,
Is getting closer everyday to losing an effectiveness.
A delivery of unwrapped packaged facts comes,
On those doorsteps unfamiliar with truth.
And startling is the sharpness of its shocking knock.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Giving The Attention
If someone finds they are reminding another,
Repeatedly...
Of a disrespect shown and done,
Maybe another approach would be...
Is to not be the one repeatedly,
Giving the attention to remind them.
Sometimes absence delivers a message.
But then again,
Some are so accustomed to being disrespectful...
It has to be part of their D.N.A.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Those Once Outraged Are Amongst Those Crazed
The only time familiar faces become missed,
Is when words spoken thought ridiculous...
Were from them direct and sugar free.
To have outraged those to a frenzy.
And today?
Those once outraged are amongst those crazed.
Now...
Those very same honest and direct people,
Are remembered to be reminisced...
As those who spoke with words wished to hear again.
Since time has past to make what had been said 'then'...
More meaningful than ever to those comprehending.
Compared to the nonsense many accept today...
As a way to communicate their sanity,
From wherever it was purchased...
To label it as such!
The minds today are detached!
And to never come back from where they are.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If Given The Attention
Many regard the hearing of truth,
As offensive.
And those who tell it...
To be evil.
And in some environments,
Those who can not handle the speaking of it...
Are afflicted with all kinds of ailments.
Their minds will not accept the truth.
And institutions to assist them,
'Heal'...
From an assortment of psychological perceptions,
Grow!
And those seeking to campaign against truth,
Often annoy others...
With every complaint imagine.
From not being understood...
To finding someone or 'something' in their neighborhood,
Not meeting the expectations.
AND...
If given the attention,
It is clear they are amongst those living in denial!
AND...
If given the attention,
Mouths are open...
With ears closed and nothing is heard,
Giving anything heard a time to listen!
Unless,
Of course...
The 'word' is spoken in church,
For them to misinterpret.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It's Like That
There were many shadows,
From time to time...
In my mind,
Just hiding there...
In those crevices and cracks.
There were many shadows,
Wearing hats and caps...
And their faked grins...
Following me,
Like that.
There were many shadows,
Seen in my mind.
Shadows I'd see behind,
Other shadows...
Keeping me awake.
I could not shake them.
With messages to deliver.
Messages for me...
To pay attention.
And...
That's a fact.
People get the message,
Just like that.
And berate it with attitude.
People get the message,
Like that.
People get the message,
Like that.
Yet berated it with attitude.
And...
It's like that.
Open your eyes to facts.
And, it's like that.
That's a fact.
Wishing to stay abused and confused...
There are people just like that.
And that's a fact.
People get the message,
Just like that.
But they believe that they can pay...
To have things done their way,
And...
People get the message,
Just like that.
And too late...
That's a fact.
People get the message,
Just like that.
And berate it with attitude.
Wishing to stay abused and confused...
Just like that.
And that's a fact.
There were many shadows,
From time to time...
In my mind,
Just hiding there...
In those crevices and cracks.
There were many shadows,
Wearing hats and caps...
And their faked grins...
Following me,
Like that.
People get the message,
Like that..
But berated it with attitude.
And...
Today we see it living.
With moody blues to choose,
And...
It's a fact.
It's like that.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The havoc of war
a Smoking and burning
enemy battle tank
stands stopped in its tracks,
like a metal coffin
with its occupants
still hatched in.
a BRDM enemy armoured car
is encased by leaping flames
and the phosphoric burning smell
is churning in my guts.
Some dead Cuban soldiers lay
cut from the stem
mangled in blood and guts
and the machinegun is still chattering
and I wish to be,
in another place and time
than to be a part
of this slaughtering.
a Bleating Gemsbok rushes past
trying to outrun the flames,
that leap through the field
while the machines of war
brings death to the living.
Shot after shot is fired
at killing range
and it’s hot and deafening
inside the Ratel,
but the wind
brushes through my hair
where I stand
in the top hatch
and trees and bushes
sweep past
as if screened in a movie house.
Enemy armour keeps exploding
and my voice sounds strange
and unfamiliar to me,
while I give directions
for the next killing.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Practicing Tact
Practicing tact,
May work for those...
Who are expected to control,
Certain environments.
But old fashioned tactics,
To hold one's attention...
Today does not work.
Have you tried to teach,
A classroom of students...
Who have been fast food supplied,
And gone beserk?
Or listened to a parent who cries upon a visit...
Not understanding 'why' their 'babies',
Are locked up in a prison?
To then be told,
They should be held accountable...
For raising irresponsible children.
And when this is tried...
Some authority from the 'outside',
Tells them their methods applied...
Are not acceptable to 'standards'.
And their actions are denied!
Practicing tact,
May work for those...
Who are expected to control,
Certain environments.
However...
Practice does not make perfect,
If those allowing dysfunctions to exist...
Insist ideals more valued,
No one from them should run and hide.
Although laws created,
Protects a downslide!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bucket T
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Bucket bucket t t, bucket t bucket t,
Found her in a barn in tennessee
I paid five bucks for my bucket t
Took me three years of sweat and blood
To clean off all that tennessee mud
Chorus:
My bucket t (bucket t)
Bucket t (bucket t)
My bucket t (bucket t)
My bucket t (bucket t)
T t t... bucket bucket bucket...
Cruise down the street in front of school
I wanna rev it up but I gotta be cool
Drivin down the road Ill get my kicks
Apoppin the clutch and aslippin the sticks
[chorus]
I was right, too, shes first in her class
Theres nothing on the freeway she dont pass
All the girls want to take a ride with me
But theres only one seat in my bucket t
[chorus]
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
As You Look Deep Into The Mirror
the mirror is the echo of the sound you make
inside yourself,
the voice that you utter when nobody watches you
when all of them left to their homes
and you are left alone
talking to yourself, the voice comes out
from your heart
speaking your name, your dreams
you hear the voice that you cannot see
calling you
and so you stand before the mirror
and try once more
to see the face of that voice
fair and square
it tells you who you really are
softer inside
hard on the outside
the exoskeleton that you have been making
breaks down
like flakes of mud drying
the warmth in your eyes is still there
the affection you want to give
the love you want to spread
they are all there
in your eyes
but you cannot help it
seeing something ugly
you have not spoken
the voice hides in the silence
walled by your teeth
your tongue swollen
this discomfort of not saying
anything as everyone you love
leaves the door still opening
to the cold outside
the wind hunting for some stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Transfixed With Beliefs Of Entitlements
They had once hated Shakespeare.
Now they grace his depictions of 'royal' dysfunctions...
As if he is revered.
And he is.
Using men dressed as women,
And poking jokes at the pretentious folks.
A banned Shakespeare...
Stayed committed to what he wrote.
Einstein wasn't embraced as a genius at first.
He was too brilliant, too wise.
And his mind was not limited.
It was in the stars and beyond in this Universe.
And 'whomever' it was to discover the Earth,
Was round and not flat...
Shut a lot of stunned mouths,
Beginning to realize that from undenied facts.
And here we are today,
Minds depleted of truth.
Minds easily deceived...
By appearances and deceit.
Keeping those deluded has begun to fade away.
As those transfixed with beliefs of entitlements...
Are realizing their values and standards,
Have been financed by those who had been patient.
Now that patience has made demands for them to pay.
~May we have your undivided attention, please.
Those who believed what was yours to keep...
They have been on loan just like the land you believe you own.
Scratch your heads or scratch your backs!
However you accept what is stated...
Facts are the facts and there is no erasing that.
We...
Collectively,
Are not here to prolong your perceptions of truth.
Feel free to learn everything and anything about us,
As you wish.
We intend to extend our visit with a smooth transition.
And ensure an enduring working relationship.
THAT we guarantee 'and' promise.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!