Stubborn Poses
Holding a firm grip,
Onto bitterness and anguish...
From times now that do not exist.
Is something people do!
Why do you choose that to be you?
Schoolyard games and childish antics...
Have many still inviting,
These conflicts in their minds...
To persist and rewind.
Hoping to find themselves validated...
By anyone who has replaced,
A forward movement...
With a backward pace.
Just to appease a waste to accomodate.
Regardless of the foolishness this creates.
And there are those
Who choose to stay in their ruts...
Stuck!
In such outdated...
Mindless stubborn poses!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Too Many Gifted Drift On 'Ifs
Too many gifted drift on 'ifs'.
Unsatisfied with a life that's missed.
And this is what is reminisced...
When giving up on rhythm and reason!
To stay stuck in ruts they choose to live in.
Too many want to give up just lip.
Sitting to dwell in aging sentiments.
To waste every second someone gives them.
And puffing hot air about nothing!
A swift kick in the rear will motivate.
Rotating stale debates don't renovate.
Procrastinators hesitate in waste.
Initiating simulated movement faked.
Eliminating anything that takes...
Removal of excuses that create headaches.
With a towing of their moans they own!
Too many gifted drift on 'ifs'.
Unsatisfied with a life that's missed.
And this is what is reminisced...
When giving up on rhythm and reason!
To stay stuck in ruts they choose to live in.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Keep Moving Forward
Returning attention given to those seeking it,
By telling you what you are not...
And what you could do to improve your status,
For their approval and acceptance...
Should give you a clue as to what it is they do.
And have done with the time to them given.
However...
IF you return back to them nothing to work with,
By giving them closed lips and forward movement...
Something done in the doing of that,
Will be more than enough than they have done...
Most of their lives they themselves have validated.
You need not to say or do a thing to bring yourself,
Down to a level to appease people like this.
Since it should be obvious to you as this is viewed,
They have yet to find themselves...
To stop a wasting of their time to find others,
Willing to waste their minds and time collectively.
With no improvement or a wish to seek progress.
The only thing done one can do for people like this,
Is to keep moving forward.
With a leaving behind with them a hint as to your abilities.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Donald and Rosie
Give it up!
You have both been trained,
And housebroken.
Brats who receive attention...
Like excrement unflushed,
Offer selfishness a feast
Maturity will never recognize
When two like you
Defend and persist in childish displays!
Give it up!
Your rants do not heighten your influence,
That frightens and stinks at the core!
Your use of media does nothing
To excite, uplift or enlighten those poor!
Or those who choose to ignore schoolyard antics!
There are children younger than you...
Losing their lives to defend what you do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Kept Boys
Kept boys,
Refusing to step...
Even for a few seconds away,
From playgrounds and corners...
Where they would mingle to stay.
On an everyday basis for years...
As time from them passed,
To leave their minds uncleared.
Kept boys,
Never growing to become men...
To begin that journey.
But instead taught to dropp their seed,
To impregnate from a selection of silly girls...
To pick and choose from whom they please.
Believing themselves then accepted...
And seen as men and women.
But men and women they will never be.
Kept boys,
Prison inmates and leeches...
Many down low and weak.
And impressed to follow images,
Gives them bragging rights to keep.
These kept boys are on a mission,
To remain in stuck manifested positions...
Cemented in stereotypes.
And validated by an environment,
That makes this decay alright to condone...
Mindless appetites in and outside broken homes.
Kept boys,
Refusing to step...
Even for a few seconds away,
From playgrounds and corners...
Where they would mingle to stay.
On an everyday basis for years...
As time from them passed,
To leave their minds uncleared.
And...
Reflects a tragicness permitted to exist.
With hopes if kept illuminated in deceptions cheered,
This will eventually portray generations of strength.
Representing a heritage of fools used,
To exist only to play upon themselves games and pranks.
As kept boys!
Never to be ranked with strength as men.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When The Daylight Comes
They wish to stay sophisticated,
But afraid of taking risks.
And,
Choose to bicker over petty conflicts that exist.
They wish to want what they can get,
But not retrict their nonsense.
And,
Choose to bicker over petty conflicts that exist.
Grow old,
They do...
With a purpose that molds.
And...
When the daylight comes,
They run away from the Sun.
Grow old,
They do...
With a purpose that molds.
These people do their screw ups,
In the corners of the dark.
And...
When the daylight comes,
They run away from the Sun.
Grow old,
They do...
With a purpose that molds.
Grow old,
They do...
With a purpose that molds.
They wish to stay sophisticated,
But afraid of taking risks.
And,
Choose to bicker over petty conflicts that exist.
Grow old,
They do...
With a purpose that molds.
When the daylight comes,
They run away from the Sun.
Grow old,
They do...
With a purpose that molds.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Life Lived Moves On
People can choose to stay stuck in them,
If they want to.
But life lived moves on!
For those who prove they can,
And do!
Move.
On!
People can choose to stay stuck in them,
If they want to.
But life lived moves on!
For those who prove they can,
And do!
Move.
On!
People can choose to stay stuck in them,
If they want to.
But life lived moves on!
For those who prove they can,
And do!
Move.
On!
Bouldering that overflowing dike of tears,
They may cry.
Heal.
And let those emotions subside!
But do not collect over the years,
As souvenirs awarded for their sorrows.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In Fear to Live Without An Approval Given
Comatosed,
And going through programmed motions.
A life grossed out,
With overdosed imposed notions.
And under hypnosis,
As neurotics sometimes appear.
Stuck!
In ruts.
And too addicted to give them up!
In fear to live without an approval given.
Lives becoming too corrupt!
For those who've been fed...
Their lives lived,
Are headed towards bad luck!
Stuck!
In ruts.
And too addicted to give them up!
In fear to live without an approval given.
While some on the other hand,
Wearing shoes spit shined...
Reflecting all for them is going grand.
All is fine.
With seats sitting on top of the World.
Are never seen behind the scenes...
Throwing their temper tantrums,
As if spoiled boys and girls.
Screaming from inside their soundproof cells.
No one hears them screaming!
Not the ones who believe them to be living well.
Not from the hell they've made!
Fresh pressed dresses.
And suits with no hints of lint.
Often send wrong messages...
To those impressed!
Expressing their bittersweet and sour laments.
Stuck!
In ruts.
And too addicted to give them up!
In fear to live without an approval given.
The ones deluded by the giving of false presentations,
Waste too much time...
Finding excuses to make!
And hoping no one passes judgements on them,
In acceptable discussions in those social circles wished...
To be invited to participate because of their exquisite tastes.
And not for the bad impressions rejected.
Or an image dismissed,
By those who choose to keep their images faked!
Stuck!
In ruts.
And too addicted to give them up!
In fear to live without an approval given.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sonnet: Choose The Things in Your Life
0 choose your friend who must be good as you;
And choose your spouse better than you; make sure;
And choose the one best as your Teacher too;
And choose ambitions that suit your nature.
0 choose the profession thats truly best;
And choose the hobbies that ne'er interfere;
And choose your Time to begin work, take rest;
And choose your enemies, you surely fear.
0 choose your food that gives extended health;
And choose your garments -comfortable wear;
And choose the honest way to added wealth;
And choose the burden right, body can bear.
0 choose the people who deserve help most;
And choose good principles, yet never boast.
poem by John Celes
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Grim and Stuck On Their Knees
Grim and stuck on their knees.
Too many people with weak souls.
They are the ones claiming to know...
How others should go about their days,
And pray.
Grim...
And stuck on their knees.
Seekers wishing to be equal.
But complain about their troubles,
And evils they face all day.
Seen running to be hidden in shadows.
Running from realities they choose not to believe.
Desperate are the lives of these people.
Sharing as seen their half filled cups...
With others they seek,
Like them who have given up!
Grim...
And stuck on their knees.
They see themselves with bad luck.
Grim and stuck on their knees.
Afraid to get out of ruts.
They want their boats re-ruddered.
Grim and stuck on their knees.
They want them sugar buttered.
Grim and stuck on their knees...
They seek a life that's other than the one 'not' cookie cutter.
Grim...
And stuck on their knees.
They see themselves with bad luck.
Grim and stuck on their knees.
Afraid to get out of ruts.
They want their boats re-ruddered.
Grim and stuck on their knees.
They want them sugar buttered.
Grim and stuck on their knees...
They seek a life that's other than the one 'not' cookie cutter.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Surfacing From Their Narrow Crevices
Now surfacing from their narrow crevices...
Most are surprised,
There is a truth that thrives.
Eyes squenched from darkness,
As sunlight hits.
They become witnesses of others...
Living their lives as if those coming out,
Had not and do not for them exist.
Doing their best to catch up with the times,
They find themselves lost...
With minds left behind.
And holding onto values oxidized from rust...
They are thrusted into a world,
Unknown to them and they do not trust.
As they try to solicit others to acknowledge,
Their attempts to awaken and catch up!
They slowly become aware,
They are the ones who chose to hide in crevices.
Worshipping their gluttony...
With a lust that kept them stuck in ruts!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Believe So...
does the wind choose to blow?
do rivers choose to run?
does your heart choose to beat?
i believe so...
does the earth choose to turn,
in perfect rhythm, year by year?
do the tides choose to come and go,
in cadence with the moon?
i believe so...
does society choose to be oppressed,
if only by apathy's inaction?
do we choose to let people starve
when we turn the other head?
i believe so...
do we choose war over peace,
to feed the need of greed?
do we choose to destroy nature
by our very lifestyles?
i believe so....
but can we change destiny,
and avert the final blow?
can we open our minds and hearts,
and reclaim life for the living?
i believe so...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Traffic Jam
Which side do you choose?
To the left, or to the right
Don't say you're still in your place
We should solve this problem
Or stuck in this bloody road
Do you think I want surrender?
Or you plea me for forgiveness
Don't underestimate me
Because I still have the power to control
Where are you going?
Should I step first,
Or you gonna move forward
We are facing each other like mirror
And second later it will be shattered
I can escape from you
But I need to surpass and see if I could
So let's break the ice and fight
Which side do you want to move?
We are two stubborn people
I live in my world, you live in your world
Our meeting is an irony
Go get out from my way
Or should I push you from this game
We running out the time in this passageway
Where are you going to choose?
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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They Live In Division
People of ignorance take no time to learn,
But rush to judgement to incite a fighting done...
Dawn after dawn and after many midnights.
They live in division.
People.
People of ignorance initiate hate.
With a wasting of time to find themselves,
Replaced.
By the acts of Mother Nature.
And the reality of this no one claims is faked.
Then people in this condition expect overnight,
Their self-centered appetites...
To be restored as they would like.
Even when the winds have broken tree limbs.
They live in division.
Even when God wants division to end,
They live in division.
People...
To even ignore every message sent,
They live in division.
People...
Stuck in ruts like nuts cracked up,
They live in division.
People...
Even when the winds have broken tree limbs.
They live in division.
People of ignorance initiate hate.
With a wasting of time to find themselves,
Replaced.
By the acts of Mother Nature.
And the reality of this no one claims is faked.
But...
Even when the winds have broken tree limbs.
They live in division.
People...
To even ignore every message sent,
They live in division.
People...
Stuck in ruts like nuts cracked up,
They live in division.
People...
Stuck in ruts like nuts cracked up,
They live in division.
People...
They live in division.
People...
They live in division.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To Agitate A Childish Game
Sometimes I am tempted,
To agitate a childish game...
That has been played.
Just to feel and see it done...
To throw it back in someone's face.
But games played like that,
Have long passed their attraction.
Although so many are caught up in them...
With an immaturity that seeks as shown,
An act played like that would offer a satisfaction.
Sometimes I am tempted,
To agitate a childish game...
That has been played.
Just to feel and see it done...
To throw it back in someone's face.
And everyday I witness,
Immature adults with childish minds.
Complaining to others about who they don't like.
With a waste of time whining,
Hoping to 'hook up' with a like mind.
Everyday I seem to witness,
More children who should be adults.
More who have not discovered responsibility.
Or an accountability that brings to them concrete results.
And everyday I witness,
Immature adults with childish minds.
Complaining to others about who they don't like.
With a waste of time whining,
Hoping to 'hook up' with a like mind.
Sometimes I am tempted,
To agitate a childish game...
That has been played.
Just to feel and see it done...
To throw it back in someone's face.
But games played like that,
Have long passed their attraction.
Although so many are caught up in them...
With an immaturity that seeks as shown,
An act played like that would offer a satisfaction.
And as I pass such activities,
I feel blessed to have aged gracefully.
Although I grit my teeth...
Wanting to find a reason and purpose,
To respond to an ignorance...
I do my best,
Not to acknowledge...
With a reaction given that would please.
Thank You, Thank You, Thank You...
Farther.
For the gritting of my teeth,
And the keeping of my peace!
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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In The World Of Adulthood
Those remaining,
In the playing of their silly games...
In a sustained immaturity,
Find themselves wishing to undo...
What it is they have done they do,
Once to them it has been acknowledged...
Those remaining,
In the playing of their silly games...
In a sustained immaturity,
Have lost all credibility...
In the world of adulthood,
Where children dressed 'as' adults...
Are not allowed to impress,
With a childish foolishness to be accepted.
'Comeon!
You can't take a joke? '
~I use to accept fools with a suffering done...
Of their antics too.
At one time.
But a seriousness of my life,
And in my mind...
Seemed to have overnight,
Risen to the top of my priority list.
And adults who are mature,
Are the only folks I wish to deal with.
And they today appear difficult to find.
Call it...
A plateau of maturity reached.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Edible?
You may choose to fool yourself,
With overused semantics.
To recreate definitions as you wish.
With an appeal to appease.
Philosophies are just what they are...
Subjected to limitations.
Edible?
They are not!
But they can feed,
The minds of those...
Who choose to gather,
In preparation to debate.
And some may not have a taste for that.
To leave just as pleased.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Now
Those things I do not understand,
Are not left in my mind misunderstood.
It is not my time to understand.
And when that happens...
I will do what I should.
And that is ask for clarity.
When that moment arrives for that need in me.
Hesitating in waste,
Provokes no ambition or ignites productivity.
Not when I choose to exist in the 'now'...
I am never outdated or late.
And living in the 'now' is good enough for me be!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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People Choose To Die
People choose to die
He smokes even though he knows each smoke he takes kills him
People choose to die
She stays with him even though he beats her every night
People choose to die
He continues to be a prostitute even though he's been living with HIV for the last 3 years.
People choose to die
She drinks and drives even though she's been in 15 drunk driving accidents. Even hit a little girl.
People choose to die.
Thats what we fail to realize.
(6-23-09)
poem by London Turner
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Without a Cycle Rinse
So addicted they are to playing childish games.
They believe their afflictions...
Are widespread.
And others who live have the same goals and aims.
With nothing more to live for...
But to play cat and mouse,
To entrap themselves.
They can not envision this as a poisoning done inside.
Their heads have been programmed to endorse denial.
And they teach these games without a cycle rinse.
Convinced they are above a rebirth of a cleansing.
They struggle to keep themselves dense...
In times reminisced when they did foolishness.
And make attempts to keep these cycles repreated.
And in these times...
What they present from stunted minds,
Does not wash with a preset that advances.
But leave behind in a grime undefined...
And confined!
That entwines to squeeze and keep them bundled.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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