Specifically Picked And Selectively Chosen
There will always be the ones,
Specifically picked and selectively chosen...
To voice their opinion about the comparisons between,
Plums and pears or grapes and lemons...
In timely debates with attention given,
To get many to see the similarities.
There will always be the ones,
Specifically picked and selectively chosen to do this...
As long as it is known those listening will become outraged,
With their tempers raised to boil...
As they demand why they had not been told,
There was never any difference in presentation or taste.
There will always be the ones,
Followed by those with an absence of thinking done.
And believing anything they eat to digest,
Will benefit their best interest.
Caring less if the design of it,
Is to get their minds whipped into a frenzy.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Flight Instructor
Why are some of those jumpers,
Plummeting to the ground?
'I told them all specifically,
What they had to do...
To execute a successful jump,
By counting to ten.
Then with a pulling of the cord,
Their 'chutes' would open.'
Why do you suppose,
The others have chosen to plummet?
Their outcome does not look favorable.
'One of them told me,
They did not like my tone of voice.
And 'flight' instructor or not...
Did not have to pay attention to me.
And will do what it is they choose.'
Well...
How do you explain so many of them,
Not opening their parachutes?
'Hey...
For some apparent reason,
They also chose to do the same thing.'
You know what this means?
'Yes I do.
There will be fewer for me to feed,
At my house warming party.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Aint It Spooky?
Does it ever seem when listening,
To those chosen to respond to questions asked...
That task becomes robotic?
And the answers to those questions,
Take on a mechanical reaction fast?
The eyes are fixed,
With an absence of warmth.
The voice is monotoned.
As if an intelligence has been programmed.
Specifically to flaunt undaunted.
An empathy is missing.
And a connection with it dismissed.
Not a hair on their heads is out of place.
And nowhere is there a wrinkle,
In their appearance that exists.
'Whoa!
I know!
Aint it spooky? '
Yes.
We continue to be tricked.
'And for them that's the treat.
Leaving us to eat every bit of it! '
Whoa.
I know.
That IS spooky!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To Pay Particular Attention
A spoiled mixed up brew.
Left to sit to boil hot!
That's what I thought,
Of myself...
A lot!
A life I randomly got.
And not selected.
Not one that was picked,
To witness experiences...
In time I would digest.
And as I grow older,
I am coming to grips with this...
On being 'picked' and 'selected' business.
Realizing a 'randomness' is not the lives we live.
And I am not going to lie...
I do often wonder 'why'?
Since I will admit,
I do test and try my Creator's patience.
In the hopes to be punished...
To pay particular attention,
As to how the Creator goes about...
Inflicting this,
Upon my more aware consciousness!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Factor No Longer Hidden
I would not advise or recommend to anyone,
Who has grown accustomed to portraying themselves...
As innocent victims with no acknowledgement as to 'why',
They have been selectively picked.
I would not suggestion to anyone a continuance done of it.
Not in the application of the same direction...
For the sake of soliciting a quickened empathy needed.
Once maybe twice this tactic will work to suffice,
In a gathering of others to run to one's defense.
But using the same device to attract attention,
Will eventually get others to look precisely...
For evidence of a mental illness emerging,
Making to them more sense.
And it will be noticed as a factor no longer hidden.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Just The Way It Is
'What makes a town,
Some would call...small? '
The minds of the people.
'Well...
If that is known,
Why do they continue to choose
To prove their ignorance? '
Maybe they are not doing that for you.
You see the others?
They are doing that with them too!
And since you are observing this,
To bring it to my attention...
Perhaps if you do not mention it again,
No one will know that you are the one out of place.
The one who criticizes their lives and the pace.
Look around...
See the blank look on their faces?
An absence of thinking,
Connecting together the process of thoughts!
Do you think what they and I have chosen to do...
Will make a difference to the very few,
Who have chosen to live peacefully...
Amongst those who have been blinded,
By a lack of identity?
When invited to a bar-be-cue,
The best thing to do...
Especially if you accept,
Is not to profess to be a vegetarian!
Or begin to sermonize about the eating of cows...
And the drinking of milk.
Who do you 'think' would be considered the fool?
So maybe they are not out to prove anything...
To you or to me or to anyone else!
That's just the way it is here!
Just like some places have Palm Trees.
And here you will find Maple and Pine!
Now...
If you chose to move away from all of this.
My guess is that no one here would mind...
Or notice.
That's just the way it is,
Here!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Opponent Chosen
It has to come as a disappointment,
To carefully pick an opponent...
Who is perceived to be unaware of it.
But proves more than worthy,
For any challenge presented.
To then expose capabilities unknown.
And...
Without hesitation,
The opponent chosen...
Reveals with acknowledgement,
Of having a desire to be the one picked.
This has to come as a disappointment?
'For who?
The opponent chosen,
Who sat and waited patiently?
Or the one believing the task to be easy? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Nit and Picked Too Long
My love for you is gone.
You nit and picked too long.
Your criticisms wrong.
I did not feel belonged.
My love for you is gone!
You nit and picked too long.
Your criticisms wrong.
I did not feel belonged.
Absent was a benefit.
Every time you threw a fit.
And your tongue was acid lit.
Driving me to split,
And seek calm.
You nit and picked too long.
Your criticisms wrong.
I did not feel belonged.
Driving me to split,
And seek calm.
I'm done with it and gone.
You nit and picked too long.
You nit and picked too long
I'm done with you and it,
And now I'm gone.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wished In Retrospect
How legitimate can contributions,
Of a poet made can be?
If comparisons are made to another poet,
Who spoke from a time...
When poets expressed themselves,
From a different philosophy...
That occurred in a past be gone history.
I always accepted poetry to be commentaries,
Of that which depicted activities existing.
But there are those who today compare,
A cobbledstoned road of yesteryear...
To a highway today needing constant updating.
Since those who travel on it...
Have mentioned little interest,
Of using a covered horsedrawn wagon!
And most people afraid,
Will always attempt to validate nonsense.
Since this nonsense becomes romanticized...
As a time when exquisite etiquette was expressed,
As wished in retrospect...
By those whose ancestors were highly illiterate.
And lived amongst themselves in a welcomed ignorance.
And some like me are today told...
Our poetry is not European,
Therefore the quality of it...
Will never achieve exquisiteness.
And I sit to compose caring less,
About comments made by those...
Who have chosen themselves,
As images of correctness...
When generations of them,
Have chosen to digress!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In Between Breaths I Take
You are not specifically on my mind,
When I write.
Nor are you far away,
From impressions that seem to linger.
You have been a part of my life for too long.
And you sit among my favorite experiences.
With the image of your face...
Clinging as a craving,
I could not or would not ever replace.
But you are not specifically on my mind,
When I write.
And I do make attempts,
To do that 'all' the time!
Convinced the act of it,
Keeps me disciplined...
And making good use,
Of that time!
Nor are you far away,
From impressions that seem to linger.
Your eyes.
Your voice.
And the soothness of it,
That haunts the emptiness of my heart.
The only time you seem to be there constantly...
Is when I am not writing at all.
Or sleeping!
Or eating!
Or in between breaths I take!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Picked the Right Day for Torture
You picked the right day for torture.
It was too quiet and serene,
To be left untampered.
You wanted your presence felt...
And it was.
You picked the right day for torture
With or without a diet regimen
Or implementation of facts.
What you do behind one's back...
Is left to your interpretation.
Your rules and dispositions are taught!
Although not followed,
And neither held in high esteem.
You picked the right day for torture...
Perhaps now you can see in bright daylight,
The victims you continue to abuse
Are of your own kind.
And of them none can say you frighten.
Yet all have been too quick to say you are crazed!
And today you are here believing you will be praised,
And honored?
You picked the right day for torture!
And how much of it you take...
Will not leave a witness to feel remorse,
Or show heartbreak!
They have come to watch you exploit,
Your own pain!
You have picked the right day for torture!
Everyone came to give you the limelight,
And the fame you claim!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What Is It Now Are You Left To Believe?
What sense is it to hold grudges against,
The one who comes to warn?
To then have them depicted as negative,
With a dismissing of the warning?
Only to wonder when alone and reminiscing,
Why were you picked to be chosen to warn?
By and 'angel' who came but was not adorned,
To address you enough to impress with a message.
What is it now are you left to believe?
A listening to comprehend?
When you could have prevented,
An agony suffered with much regret?
And the one who warned you bitterly scorned.
Believing them evil and full of devil-ment?
What is it now are you left to believe?
Only those dressed to impress,
Have your best interests?
With deceptions you'd rather receive?
Or do you find more time to reflect,
Who comes delivering messages...
You should consider and accept.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Deserving To Be Touted
Deserving to be touted?
Some are.
And have become legends,
In their own right!
And without doubt.
Although some may deny,
A wish they could figure it all out.
Others believe a taking of praise,
Is something easily given to them...
Without experiencing,
A stress that strains emotional drought.
But those who have obtained a fame,
Aren't the ones to toss it about.
Usually those deserving to be touted,
Are mystified themselves.
And would like to know specifically,
What they've done unlike anyone else?
Especially those chosen to receive attention.
'What have you done,
That is different from what I do? '
~I have no clue.
Maybe it is my stubbornness,
To remain true to myself...
With nothing else to prove.~
'But you are moody.
Sometimes anti-social.
And you are moody with a giving,
Of much attitude.'
~I agree.
But...
I don't know why you are questioning me.
Like you I am a witness to all of this too! ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Outdated And Sidetracked
Why is it,
That those who have chosen to avoid other people...
Are now for some reason,
Believing those very same people 'they' avoided,
Have now chosen to play hide and seek with them?
This is the madness that traps,
Those with minds dysfunctional.
And unable to face the facts...'that',
Have left them outdated and sidetracked...
To live with the playing of childish games.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Preference They Have Chosen
The absence of focus,
Of that which approaches others...
Leads them to paying consequences,
An undivided attention could avoid.
Many hurry themselves to conclusions,
To then exclaim...
No one is concerned or shows they do,
Regarding their wellbeing.
Yet the act of that shown to them,
Goes unnoticed...
When their minds are somewhere else.
And that is a preference they have chosen.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Get Up Off Your Pity Pot To Stop It
To wiggle out from under all doubts,
With a hanging them out to dry...
In front of passersby to eye,
Is intended to get attention.
Give those petty bits of pity,
To solicit empathy...
Away.
Today.
And...
Throw those doubts you've picked to pity,
With that selfishness that doesn't pay...
To get attention to gain.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
And...
Get up off your pity pot to drop.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
'Cause,
Believe this or not...
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.
Fight those doubts to stop and dropp them.
'Cause no pity benefits.
Fight those doubts to stop and dropp them.
'Cause no pity benefits.
And...
Believe this or not,
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
'Cause,
Believe this or not...
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.
Give those petty bits of pity,
To solicit empathy...
Away.
Today.
And...
Throw those doubts you've picked to pity,
With that selfishness that doesn't pay...
To get attention to gain.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
'Cause,
Believe this or not...
Very few are into pity.
And believe this or not...
Pity does not benefit.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
And...
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it quick!
Get up off your pity pot to stop this quick.
'Cause believe this or not...
Your pity does not benefit.
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it.
And...
Just get up off your pity pot to stop it quick!
'Cause believe this or not...
Your pity does not benefit,
One bit.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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So I went for engineering, specifically product design, which I enjoyed.
quote by Debi Thomas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those Who Value the Emptiness of 'Things
They were raised with beliefs,
They should compete.
Brothers and sisters...
Separated by jealousies,
And envy condoned.
They speak of favorites...
Picked and solicited,
By parents who thought of them
As part of a litter.
Not one of them knew love...
Since this was not shown.
And that which is not known,
Is reflected by shallow misgivings.
And in an environment
That offers deception to shine
Behind the minds of those
Who value the emptiness of 'things'...
Over a missing self worth!
Flourishes in deceit.
Diminished in those,
Still holding onto its existence!
Is an encouragement self contained.
Yet showing an absence that craves,
An attention too long ignored!
But then again...
Truth has not been welcomed,
As a friend either!
And this is widely reflected,
From generation to generation
Of those obsessed to possess...
Costly sensations,
To appease a loss unprevented!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Whether Or Not You Are Honest With Me Now
You have allowed me to question your honesty,
For too long.
And for too long,
You have chosen to deceive.
Whether or not you are honest with me now,
Is not of an importance.
Not to me.
Nor will erase my apathy.
Or a priority that has increased,
To please my own needs.
With a total unconcerned,
About what it is you do.
Or caring less,
About what it is that is in the best of 'your' interest.
This is a fact.
Not an attitude.
For too long you have ignored my wellbeing.
With activities done by you to prove to me,
Your main objective,
Has been yourself.
And...
As times do change,
I have welcomed them.
You have allowed me to question your honesty,
For too long.
And for too long,
You have chosen to deceive.
Whether or not you are honest with me now,
Is not of an importance.
Not to me.
Nor will erase my apathy.
Or a priority that has increased,
To please my own needs.
I simply can not be stirred to excitement,
Over something that could have been shared...
By the both of us.
If you cared.
But you didn't.
And that...
You have made known as shown.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Memory Loss
There are those who eventually...
Come to despise and hate,
That which initiates and creates...
A feeding enjoyed.
With a memory loss...selectively.
To leave minds detached,
And convinced...
They would have found their own way,
Independently.
Without a guide to lead them.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Odd One Out
Bittersweet is the life lived,
By that one depicted to be...
The odd one out.
The one picked as a child,
To be the one most unusual.
Bittersweet is the taste,
Of being determined to succeed...
Against opposition,
Standing on the sidelines...
And betting one this different will bleed.
Bittersweet is the one that experiences,
Observing other fall to their knees...
With qualifications that guarantees,
Them success.
But no happiness from them is expressed.
Bittersweet is the life lived,
By that one depicted to be...
The odd one out.
The one picked as a child,
To be the one most unusual.
'He is so unlike the others.'
~Yeah.
Despite his appearance,
He is determined, motivated and devoted.~
'What does his appearance have to do with anything? '
~You must be from out of town?
That's how people who live here are judged.~
'Maybe with that already known,
That's why he has chosen to live here.
And has succeeded inspite of attemtps to stop him.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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