Stale and Cussed Filled Basements
There are those who had been nourished,
Based upon the looks of 'things'.
And not on quality or valued substance!
Familiar faces of those are compared to others.
Leaving deeds done ignored and undiscovered!
And as time goes by...
So comes with it the fading of 'things'!
An aging brings with it,
A change of outlook and accustomed habits!
And those who chose not to relate to 'this'...
Find the substance in their own lives,
Below an expected standard that exists.
Time does not address...
Who is or who is not,
Prepared for it to shift!
And those they thought they knew,
Go unknown to hide in shadows accepted.
And the saddest part of this revelation?
Most of them are related by blood.
In relationships gifted yet dismissed,
With an absence of kinship understood...
Or shared!
Or the caring of anyone aware of it!
No one seems to be at 'home'...
In their minds or anywhere!
And the few discovered that are?
Have never adventured into the attic.
To explore what maybe a treasure up 'there'!
Preferring to sit rusting with visions dusted...
In stale and cussed filled basements!
Expressing agitation.
And waiting to be rescued from darkened corners.
Insisting what they have chosen has not been welcomed!
With an ignorance applied that had once satisfied!
In denial!
Until sunlight comes with someone who knocks,
To crack open an unlocked door...
To expose them to one with wrinkled skin!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Suspicions Existing Unresisted
There is nothing in the shadows,
Yet they run to them and hide.
Nothing there subsisting with substance...
A suspicion fits in this existence...
And no one in this exposed enclosure confides.
Quick is shared philosophies,
Of how their plight began!
Sunlight has chased away curiosity,
As a 'dawning' meets an assisted dead end.
This has been accepted.
And approved by ignorance.
No one sheltered kept in darkness...
Can find themselves trusting from within.
All respect has found neglect.
Their faith has gone.
There is nothing in the shadows,
Yet they run to them and hide.
Nothing there subsisting with substance.
Suspicious in existence...
No one in this enclosure confides.
And snatching satisfactions...
From distractions they regret.
No one has found true comfort where they are...
But continue to project,
An incorrectness they protect!
A faith professed has certainly gone...
And no one takes the time to reverse these minds,
That are wrong!
As they spin delighted on this carousel,
Caring less they have spun around too long!
Heated by a living hell...
They've become accustomed to live too well!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Just Haven't Discovered That Yet
'Mommie?
What is substance and quality?
We've been given an assigment,
To describe what it is in an essay.'
Substance is something one wishes to have,
When a missing of a quality has been overpriced.
'I see.
So...
In other words,
You're telling me...
You have no clue either.'
What did your father say about it?
'He said,
Substance is something sacrificed...
When the quality of it has been diminished,
To the getting of it only lasting for two minutes.'
Go tell your father,
He need not worry about the quality of the substance,
Any longer.
'Why is it,
When I ask you two a question...
The answers have nothing to do,
With my assignment.'
They do.
And they will.
You just haven't discovered that yet.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Nearly None of It Has Been Applied
They were the ones who did not want to know anything.
They chose to be down to Earth.
Not trying to be too involved...
Or considered too concerned.
Not about 'worldly' things,
That is.
There is a comfort supplied in the not knowing of things!
Now they want to know what is going on?
And why things are the way they are.
And when are 'they' going to correct 'their' problems! ?
For them!
The ones who are satisfied in the not knowing of things!
You try to find answers for people like this!
But how can that be done...
When they've dismissed,
All opportunity...
To see things from an adult point of view!
But who knew they had no examples?
And they can not be criticized,
For quoting scriptures they've learned.
But like most things that they have learned...
Nearly none of it has been applied to their lives.
'Those people do that!
We don't do that.'
And all remain as ignorant as possible.
Since that is where they find their comforts!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Very Difficult to Achieve
Some folks achieve notoriety,
Based upon the quantity of their work.
Not as a result of the quality...
That can be observed.
However,
With a touch of therefore.
It is very difficult to achieve,
A sustained quality!
Well...
For some!
But after a while it really doesn't matter.
Folks will diminish one's ability,
To sustain a quality with quanity.
It happens.
Since the familiarity of it being delivered,
Becomes taken for granted.
Try maintaining substance over time.
It can be done.
But not recommended.
Folks don't associate work with it!
And sooner or later...
Whatever it is becomes disrespected.
For the uniqueness of its delivery.
And deduced as something that was done too easy.
And sleazing it becomes even easier.
Especially by those who rise in the morning...
Prepared to critique,
As part of what it is done they do...
To participate in this experience called life.
We all have a need to fulfill something we regard,
As valued by somebody, somewhere.
And so we do it.
Most times without thought at all.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Found To Find More Capable
If one has to be kept reminded,
Of what another has prioritized not to forget...
Perhaps the importance of what is shared,
Should be discussed with a caring done...
To determine which one,
Has enough of that left to spare.
Some people just nod their heads in agreement,
With other things on their minds...
Found to find more capable to entertain,
At selected chosen times.
And have grown accustomed to listening,
To what they regard as insignificant yet familiar noise.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Beauty
Will you stop it and go away! ?
I can't get anything done!
In my eyes you seem to stay.
'Well...
Look the other way!
I can't change what it is you see! '
That's my point, Beauty!
I'm just recognizing,
You are all over the place!
You've been here all the time?
Everywhere in my face?
And now that I've awakened...
I'd rather admire your grace.
Forgiving and forgetting,
My disgraceful attitudes
Accompanied by my bad taste!
'I thought you said,
You couldn't get 'anything' done? '
Those selfish things I was accustomed to do.
Believing I alone had something to prove.
But now that I've discovered you...
And in everything you are...
Even things once ugly,
You are there in all things and in everyone!
I am aware of exactly what you are!
I'm sure what I've done can be quickly overcomed!
Now that you've shown me,
The quality of what 'you've' done!
Beauty I am nothing!
I 'see' you...and I am stunned!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If It's In Their Blood
Rushed justifications,
Are outdated applications...
Applied today.
By those who enforce and try to endorse them.
Using techniques that never worked...
But incompetence does not offer that,
As an assessment tool for fools to use.
The obviousness of dismissed discipline,
Has fallen on the shoulders...
Of those who are older.
And...
Quick to use excuses,
To warrant their denials.
They would rather find others guilty
And put them on trial.
Folks are still looking,
For a way to toast their ill gotten gains.
Even still they are on the prowl,
To boost and boast their bloated egos.
To show themselves above and 'beyond'.
Although most are just filled with hot air.
Unaware no one cares...
If they should stay 'beyond'
And untouchable!
As long as they do not leave behind,
Their ignorance.
And a lot of that they do leave behind.
To circumvent any progress intended.
Or contemplated and meant.
With few wishing to be in the same space,
To hobnob with those of such mindlessness.
To hear nonsense spilling from the mouths,
Of the ones choosing to hide insecurities...
Behind plastic faces!
Trying to fake remnants of honesty.
Truth and honesty?
Integrity with a dignity...
Expressed with identity?
Are you kidding me?
Seriously...
Are you?
Those days are evaporating...
Faster than water can be found in Death Valley.
And all you will see in Death Valley are vulchers,
Picking over skeletal remains.
Or something that looks as if it had been alive.
Or wished that it could have been.
And did just that...
With an avoidance to pretensions.
It looks as if reality for some is here to stay.
For others...?
They will never know what it is to address it.
Or become satisfied...
If and when it ever should become acknowledged!
They will still charade.
It is in their blood to do so!
Yes! It is.
It is not hidden.
It is in their blood...
Or DNA
If one chooses to say it that way!
To dip in sin,
To tease like demons...
And solicit the weak to be wicked!
As if that is their mission.
To fulfill demented ambitions.
If it wasn't...
Why does so much of it exist?
The evil and the wickedness.
And depicted on TV.
As is preached from pulpits.
Their quality of life they now find rotten...
Has been based upon all of it!
How can that be corrected?
When not one bit of it has been created from truth!
How can anyone correct minds,
Accustomed to being used and abused!
And encouraged to uncover similarities like these...
To keep a disturbance nurtured in this diminishment!
If it's in their blood.
And that's where the conflict is!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Separated
In the early hours of this morning
I was wakened by a raging storm.
It was at this time that I discovered
I’d been separated from my form.
My substance had passed away
leaving me to carry on alone.
I don’t know why I’ve been forsaken
I’m now a shadow without a home.
The consequences are yet unknown,
but I have to try and carry on.
I don’t know how I’m going to do it
without my companion.
It’s time to venture out into the street
it appears to be a lovely day.
The sky is cloudless the sun is warm,
but no one can hear a word I say.
The other shadows are ignoring me
because I’m not being cast.
What does that mean to an un-cast shadow?
Are they inferring that I won’t last?
I’m beginning to get really anxious now,
the sun is bright, but I’m fading away.
Maybe I’m going and won’t be back,
and my departure was just a delay.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Substance
It's okay if some have none.
Or know what it means to have it.
Some live their entire lives,
Having no clue what it means.
While others believe it is a collection of things.
That sit around waiting to be polished or dusted...
Until the importance of that act,
Bores!
That which has substance also has quality.
Even if ignored,
It will maintain its intent and integrity of content.
Its purpose has been defined.
And there is a reliability that is consistent.
And it is not surprising at all,
That many people have never come in contact with it!
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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Home By The Sea
Creeping up the blind side, shinning up the wall
Stealing thru the dark of night
Climbing thru a window, stepping to the floor
Checking to the left and the right
Picking up the pieces, putting them away
Something doesnt feel quite right
Help me someone, let me out of here
Then out of the dark was suddenly heard
Welcome to the home by the sea
Coming out the woodwork, thru the open door
Pushing from above and below
Shadows but no substance, in the shape of men
Round and down and sideways they go
Adrift without direction, eyes that hold despair
Then as one they sign and they moan
Help us someone, let us out of here
Living here so long undisturbed
Dreaming of the time we were free
So many years ago
Before the time when we first heard
Welcome to the home by the sea
Sit down sit down
Sit down sit down sit down
As we relive our lives in what we tell you
Images of sorrow, pictures of delight
Things that go to make up a life
Endless days of summer longer nights of gloom
Waiting for the morning light
Scenes of unimportance, photos in a frame
Things that go to make up a life
Help us someone, let us out of here
Cos living here so long undisturbed
Dreaming of the time we were free
So many years ago
Before the time when we first heard
Welcome to the home by the sea
Sit down sit down
Sit down sit down sit down sit down
As we relive out lives in what we tell you
Let us relive out lives in what we tell you
Sit down sit down sit down
Cos you wont get away
No with us you will stay
For the rest of your days - sit down
As we relive our lives in what we tell you
Let us relive our lives in what we tell you
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Qualified As Ascertained
Time has a way of shifting around,
That which had seemed to be grounded.
And found to be significant with influence.
Once upon a time,
When a climbing above others...
Was a focus and priority on many minds.
To suddenly change direction,
With a spotlighting of that which had been dismissed.
To allow that to become,
Declared more precious than gold.
Leaving those to flaunt a uselessness held,
That seemed just moments ago...
Qualified as ascertained,
To have impeccable credentials...
That only a few chosen to be interviewed,
Had obtained.
To be made to feel there was an achievement,
Reached.
With a leaving of that which had been dismissed.
Now sought after as if their lives depended on it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Letting Things Be As They Should
Why can't people just know things?
Without the need,
To have others explore...
The depths of their experiences.
With proof that they too,
Have chanced upon such revelations.
If shared inducements have come to seduce,
Those of like minds.
It should be received without preconceptions.
Or applied digressive tests...
Empty of benefit.
And manifesting nothing given.
To lay at rest,
Profess confessions.
As defensive mechanisms.
With pretensions,
Eventually...
To be excused and withdrawn.
Knowing a hunger stays craved.
Time wasted moves on.
And does not linger for them,
Who lay awaiting in shadows...
For a piece to complete,
Desires yearned to be touched!
Wanted much but left to discretion.
To become repeated in a self deception.
Why can't people just know things?
Express them...
To find they are not alone.
Letting go.
Allowing someone to know...
What flows within,
Can and will be condoned.
If they left things to be shown.
To manifest connections on their own.
And be accepted...
In the reception of blessings.
To let things be as they should.
Without the interference of enticements...
Misunderstood by mixed signals sent!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Absence of Passion
There is an absence of passion.
Gone it is.
And a caring once felt...
Replaced.
Priorities have changed.
And so have those faces.
There is an absence of passion.
And not one excuse is presented or made.
A switch in devotion has moved in to stay.
Within one's heart.
With a protection of it that is defended.
When a passion known has become absent...
An explanation of its leaving,
Is the least thing on anyone's mind.
With time to give it in attempts to find.
And not to be discovered on a top ten list...
Of those things one wishes to pursue or renew.
And for some who had it...
Not a thing admitted to be missed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Stranger
Raindrops falling
Winter feels so gloomy
Hear the knock upon my door
Stranger calling
Eyes that look like mine
Said you know Ive called before
What is veiled now soon will be shown
Come walk with me through the unknown
Familiar stranger
Should I know your name
Did we meet some time ago
I feel uncertain
Shadows whisper to me now
Sudden wind begins to blow
What is veiled now soon will be shown
Come walk with me through the unknown
Darkened doorways
Strangest things can happen
Dont know who youre talking to
Find yourself
When lightning strikes you now
You could be looking back at you
What is veiled now soon will be shown
Come walk with me through the unknown
What is veiled now soon will be shown
Come walk with me through the unknown
Stranger
Familiar stranger
Should I know your name
Did we meet some time ago
Are you someone I should know
Did we meet sometime ago
song performed by by Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twice Becomes a Habit
Doing what we please.
With the selling of our embellishments.
Has come under much scrutiny.
And a call to be precise...
Does not sit too comfortably,
With those irresponsible.
And others n'er do well.
Seeking a laziness to entice.
To abuse this twice becomes a habit.
To keep it fed becomes routine.
Some may see this as discrimination.
Not a justification...
To do away with incompetence.
And those who half accomplish...
What their intentions find difficult to finish.
These days a mediocrity,
Is being ushered from the spotlight.
Success comes with applied effort.
Not from those accepted as nice.
But aren't up to the challenge...
To get things done,
With sacrifice.
To abuse this twice becomes a habit.
To keep it fed becomes routine.
Gone are those days of going through the motions.
And adopting the notion,
Procrastination fascinates those with patience waiting.
Time is not a blind date...
Hoping to approve who shows and comes,
Out of breath with expressed excuses.
And annoying the diligent ones.
That tick-tocking on those clocks have stopped!
To abuse this twice becomes a habit.
To keep it fed becomes routine.
And refusing people like this,
From addressed strict agendas...
Keeps a purpose with direction flourished.
As long as it is understood...
They will always be kept in minds respected.
But their absence is welcomed,
When they are far away from strategic scenes.
Not to demean.
But to accomplish.
'No offense.
But we are here to get things done.
You understand that,
Don't you? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Haunted By Their Own Misdeeds
One should never base their opinion given,
Received from another...
To judge someone else with purposes to defame.
The outcome to them delivered by such actions...
May not return the same to shame.
However...
The chances that the consequences faced,
Seldom embraces them to favor.
Since most people are often haunted,
By their own misdeeds.
Squeezing from their minds,
A comforting of rational sensibilities.
Left to themselves they are.
And abandoned.
To convalesce on their own alone.
And a wish to sleep peacefully at night,
Is rare.
As unfamiliar sounds come to creep in the silent air.
'Who's there? '
They are haunted by their misdeeds.
'I can hear your footsteps.'
They are haunted by their misdeeds.
'Slowly...as a stalking panther,
I can hear you coming up the stairs.'
They are haunted by their misdeeds.
And when the dawn comes to find them shaking,
Crotched in the corners to hide from darkened shadows...
Lifted.
It is soon discovered,
A door thought locked and bolted had been left open.
Leaving them to wonder...
How many visits like this will be repeated?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Hebrews 11: 1
Faith is the substance of things hoped for
the light of the Lord that opens the door
Reveling the light of heaven serene
the evidence of things not seen
My God has revealed the evidence
His glorious power with consequence
Healing me and making me clean
the evidence of things not seen
Faith in Christ without reservation
releaved the pain of my aberration
So open His book to see what I mean
the evidence of things not seen
Faith is the substance of things hoped for
the evidence of things not seen
poem by Amera Andersen
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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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Speculation
The right things done by some...
Does not right things done,
By everyone.
Rituals performed...
May leave a feeling of forlorn,
Adorned by those addicted to agitation.
Especially In situations accepted as an adulation!
'Adulation?
What is there to admire,
In this mental infestation?
This dismiss of motivation...
Should have long expired.
Examined for its faults and left retired!
Many see this as a manifestation!
A certain suffering,
That brings 'closure' to most things.
It's the opposite of expecting blessings and gifts!
To be denied in some eyes...
Brings about a restoration,
And leaves one rejuvenized!
'Like a holding onto a stubborness...
By someone who knows this isn't the best,
Yet sits unresisting
In some kind of personal conquest? '
The right things done by some...
Does not right things done,
By everyone.
Rituals performed...
May leave a feeling of forlorn,
Adorned by those addicted to agitation.
Especially In situations accepted as an adulation!
In speculation this will solve all situations!
And a praise will be bestowed,
Since this disposition is the one they chose!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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