The Authority of Self Expression
Who are you to choose what I do is not suitable?
And...
Who made you the authority of self expression?
Who fell ill and was left crazed?
Who announced you a scholar of prim and proper ways?
Chill that lip around me, please.
My days weren't hand fed by a highly paid nanny.
Nor did I grow to know life through chit chat and gossip.
However...
I have experienced 'intelligent ignorance'.
You know...
The kind that is confined to reading books,
To uncover an interpretation of correctness and etiquette.
Written by someone who deplores common sense.
And suffocates from a corked behind.
That is the way from here it looks.
As if someone is walking,
Trying their best to hold tightly onto a thin dime.
Who are you to choose what I do is not suitable?
And...
Who made you the authority of self expression?
And...
Who announced you a scholar of prim and proper ways?
Who fell ill and was left crazed?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
We'll Meet Again
We’ll meet again she said
but you never did
at least not
as she had meant
as once before
but through a window
of a florist shop
where you were buying flowers
for some other woman
whom you thought
you loved
with passions hot
and thoughts crazed
and there she stood
gazing in
not seeing you
and you looking at her
standing there
remembered the time
when you and she
had almost made it
to her bed for hottest sex
when you heard
her parent’s car
pull up in the drive
and car doors slam
and feet on gravel
and rushing
to put tidy clothes
in disarray or half removed
and she blushing red
like a bottom spanked
made haste to button
undone buttons
and zip up zips unzipped
and all before the key
undid the lock
and both of you in shock
made fast
your footsteps down
the stairs with faces flushed
and unbrushed hairs
and looking at her then
in the florist shop window
all proper and prim
you wondered
what it was
that made hot fires glow
then in short time
burn out or sadly dim.
poem by Terry Collett
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Freed From Quantitative Measures
Too many traditions have been enriched,
By proper etiquette.
And what is deemed as political correctness.
An evaluation taking place,
Have many coming face to face...
With what makes them happy.
Some are finding happiness,
Is not being self absorbed with the wishes of others.
And a desire to return to a quality of life,
Freed from quantitative measures...
Pressured by the onslaught,
Of egotistical impressions to make...
For the sake of being accepted,
Has increased in the exchange...
Of what is more valued.
Too many traditions have been enriched,
By proper etiquette.
And what is deemed as political correctness.
These depictions have been subjected to rapid change.
With a simple hug from someone touched,
The only desire sought these days.
And a sincerity felt has become more precious.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pay Up
So pathetically crazed.
From day to day they contradict their ways.
They wish their safety,
As long as someone else is delayed.
And when a perception their security is weak...
Immediately they accuse the government,
Of not doing its best to protect their manicured...
And suburban profiled streets.
So pathetically crazed,
They accuse the current administration...
Of being too much in their lives.
And these same people have claimed recently,
The government should spend more...
To ensure their interests are not terrorized.
So sick with thick self righteousness,
These same folks wish for economic bliss to exist.
While living lives indebted...
To unpaid loans,
And fantasies charged to overwhelming credit.
So pathetically crazed.
From day to day they contradict their ways.
And they just don't get it!
No one is left who is willing to hold their breath...
For repayment or an extension to prolong delusions.
And those in control of those foreign banks,
Are simply saying, 'Pay up! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Development Of One's Patience
Going out of one's way to discredit another,
To depict that other as a fool and crazed...
Doesn't return good dividends,
With those kinds of investments made.
Especially when time does a flip flop,
And the development of one's patience...
Crops to expose those who are totally crazed,
In more ways than one to be seen as shown.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Eminent Scholar
Creaking crushed me when I spoke,
A civil chain chased my law of beliefs.
The eminence of a scholar spoke one day,
This denouement from a man was outspoken.
Daily, we are in the book of his writing,
This academic has authority of life;
His debut worked on my time as a day
That warned as a fitness, as a legality.
He is a daydreamer, a worker of books
And life, that worked one day like a book
Hazy and obscure, like one of the laziest
Volumes, yet the eminence of a scholar
Is accused when we begin, when we say.
poem by Naveed Akram
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When 'They' Choose
No one,
Can turn a fool into a scholar.
With one on one instruction is refused.
And everything one can do has been done...
No one can turn a fool into a scholar.
Because a fool,
Will always claim something they know...
Gives them reason,
To not comprehend with an understanding...
The purpose to pay attention is in the moment.
Not when a fool decides,
They will do what they please...
When 'they' choose!
To do a nothing but make excuses,
With a blaming someone else...
For not having the patience to make them learn...
When 'they' choose!
And 'they' will always choose to be fools.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Authority Song
They like to get you in a compromising position
They like to get you there and smille in your face
They think, theyre so cute when they got you in that condition
Well I think, its a total disgrace
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
So I call up my preacher
I say: gimme strenght for round 5
He said: you dont need no strength, you need to grow up, son
I said: growing up leads to growing old and then to dying,
And dying to me dont sound like all that much fun
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
Oh no
Oh no
I fight authority, authority always wins
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Recipients
They choose to be about nothing.
That's why they are about it!
It takes all their effort,
To get clothed to gossip.
With rollers in their hair,
And pushing strollers!
They choose to be recipients,
Of anything handed out and free.
For generations...
That's all they know their lives to be!
And the men?
Very few of them.
They never grow from being boys.
And become overjoyed...
To be sentenced to prison!
'There' everything is done for them!
Pawns belonging to an eroding society.
They choose to be about nothing.
And that is why they are about it!
And those who have kept them there,
To entertain their demented egos...
Get paid to display their own ignorance!
And the affect of this,
Has detrimental benefits!
Leaving them all to fight for their rights.
Even over blighted sites,
They fight without a hint of insight!
And it is all a struggle over nothing.
Since that is the kind of life 'dished'
That has been accepted!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Deluded By Images Of Correct Values
Feeling imprisoned,
With a mate sharing space...
And growing to hate,
Isn't a relationship...
That is blessed to discover,
Eventual bliss...
Interpretated as proper social etiquette.
However...
There are still many left,
Hanging onto idealistic visions.
Aging faster than dust can collect on typewriters.
And a gallon of gas remembered purchased,
At less than a buck.
With that dollar spent returning some cents.
And common sense?
Well...
Staying together for the sake of children,
Is not only a mistake.
It is a catastrophe that promises the function,
Of a long lasting life of dysfunction...
For any 'kid' enforced to live through this,
Without being emotionally affected.
And convinced to be of good behavior,
Means to be totally crazed...
These days!
Removed yourself from these situations,
For the sake of sanity.
Whatever to anyone 'that' should mean.
Perhaps being less obvious...
One drives a 'vehicle' without a full tank.
And getting home before being pushed,
To one's limit starts.
Whatever it takes,
To keep from being charged for domestic abuse...
Becomes an added issue to face disgracefully.
Dysfunctions of all kinds already represent,
A tolerance for ignorance.
And hypocrites deluded by images of correct values...
Seem to be behind the marketing to sell this sickness,
At higher the price we all eventually are 'taxed' to pay!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Mystery Remains story poem
By my lanthorn dimly burning.
I have trouble in discerning
the faint words scrawled upon the page
By the hand of a long dead sage.
What I study is forbidden
a secret I must keep hidden.
I dare not study it by day
and that is why I hide away.
In the dark hours of the night.
I study by a lanthorns light.
Lest the priesthood should suspect.
For they would kill me to protect
from what they see as wizardry
although it’s only chemistry.
The shaveling priests of Mother Church
have full authority to search.
As and when and where they choose
.a power open to abuse
And they abuse it readily
in their search for men like me.
Men who defy authority,
pursue their studies secretly.
The church pretends to safeguard souls
but aims to keep in place controls.
Which keep the people ignorant
so that they will accept the cant.
The falsehoods and hypocrisy
of the priests more easily.
The common man must never know.
Because the church will have it so.
That education is the key
to knowledge which will set them free.
From religious domination.
To me a foul abomination.
The Holy Book from which they preach
written in a language will do not teach
To any but the favoured few
Who think the same way that they do.
Which will maintain the Status Quo
beneath the piety they show.
I am convinced that in due course
The population will enforce
the will of the majority
And strip them of authority.
Award all men the liberty
to study what they want to openly.
I know too well if I am caught
my labours will have been for naught
Though I must study secretly
I hide my records carefully.
Perhaps one day someone will find
the writings which I leave behind.
I was betrayed so I must die
but I will die with head held high.
Accused of practising magic
they’ll burn me as a heretic.
The papers I hid secretly
lie waiting for discovery.
By some scholar of a future time
When learning is not seen as crime.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx.
I found this manuscript by chance
and thought it worth a second glance.
My hobby is church history.
I can’t resist a mystery.
Although the parchment was fragile
and written in an archaic style.
Some parts of it I could translate
sufficient to appreciate..
This document deserved to be
translated more efficiently.
By someone who could understand
old manuscripts written by hand.
So I enlisted expert aid.
A scholar of the highest grade
from Oxford university
to solve the mystery for me.
It caught the scholar’s interest
and easily passed every test.
To prove it was no forgery.
Which was of little help to me.
Although the scholar could translate
there was no way that he could state.
The dead authors identity
which must remain a mystery.
A fact which disappointed me.
Alhough I gladly paid his fee.
I would much rather that I knew
who we could ascribe it to.
I must accept we’ll never know
who wrote these word so long ago.
Because he failed to sign his name.
He is denied his well earned fame.
His careful notes on alchemy
though hidden from his enemy.
Have formed the basis of research
which can’t be repressed by the church.
As it was in the distant past
before the people over cast
the dead hand of the Holy See
and achieved their liberty
15/04/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
15/04/2009
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Until Suitable Rescue Has Been Achieved
Okay!
So it is 'not' quicksand!
'No.
And this is my interpretation...
It is a de-elevation,
Of a resettling horizon.
And the vertical descending,
Is to keep one's faith...
In the restoration of hope.
And any observation to the contrary...
Is to be ignored until suitable rescue has been achieved.'
Should I make that announcement 'now'?
Or when suitable rescue has been achieved?
'It is still too premature to assess the situation.
Let's get to the bottom of this first,
Before any decision is made that may be cause for alarm.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Prim and proper white women, I like what I see.
quote by Guy Madison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 39
The son of a faqih said to his father: ‘These heart-ravishing words of moralists make no impression upon me because I do not see that their actions are in conformity with their speeches.’
They teach people to abandon the world
But themselves accumulate silver and corn.
A scholar who only preaches and nothing more
Will not impress anyone when he speaks.
He is a scholar who commits no evil,
Not he who speaks to men but acts not himself.
Will you enjoin virtue to mankind and forget your own souls?
A scholar who follows his lusts and panders to his body
Is himself lost although he may show the way.
The father replied: ‘My son, it is not proper merely on account of this vain fancy to turn away the face from the instruction of advisers, to travel on the road of vanity, to accuse the ullemma of aberration, and whilst searching for an immaculate scholar, to remain excluded from the benefits of knowledge, like a blind man who one night fell into the mud and shouted: “O Musalmans, hold a lamp on my path.” Whereon a courtesan who heard him asked: “As thou canst not see the lamp, what wilt thou see with the lamp?” In the same way the preaching assembly is like the shop of a dealer in linen because if thou bringest no money thou canst obtain no wares and if thou bringest no inclination to the assembly thou wilt not get any felicity.’
He said: ‘Listen with thy soul’s ear to a scholar Although his actions may not be like his doctrines.’
In vain does the gainsayer ask:
‘How can a sleeper awaken a sleeper?
A man must receive into his ears
The advice although it be written on a wall.’
A pious man came to the door of a college from a monastery. He broke the covenant of the company of those of the Tariq. I asked him what the difference between a scholar and a monk amounts to? He replied: ‘The former saves his blanket from the waves Whilst the latter strives to save the drowning man.’
Test My Appetite
Some prefer and choose perfection,
To convey ideals...
Promoted to instill.
With a showing of a knowledge...
In a hope that this appeals.
And then there are those,
Who have chosen to be real.
Grounded and solid of sound minds.
To find they are critiqued...
By those of the pretentious kind.
'It is not proper etiquette,
To dip biscuits in stew.'
~Hey...
I am here to eat.
Not to see what others do.
And IF you're looking for a silver spoon.
To eat your stew?
You go and do that.
And my biscuits will be in your stew too!
In these times,
I will nourish first...
Before rehearsing any refinement,
I've learned from the past.
But today does not work.~
'It is not proper etiquette,
To dip biscuits in stew.'
~Hey...
I am here to eat.
Not to see what others do.
And IF you're looking for a silver spoon.
To eat your stew?
You go and do that.
And my biscuits will be in your stew too!
Go ahead!
Test my appetite!
I dare you.
Leave that stew.
And I'll show you what can be done with it.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Up Hill Both Ways
Everytime I try to read between the lines
I'm left wondering that I did so wrong
Everytime I try, try to rationalize
When everyone went wrong why didn't we die?
Everytime I think about what it would be like
without all the things you give to me
All these thoughts keep runnning thru my head
Nothing to beleive
Look back find the things I lost
There's nothing left there so it seems
Up hill both ways
Nothing left to say
I don't know how I made it this far
I don't know how I made it last this long
I don't know why I try
All these things keeps going thru my head
Don't know which way to turn
Each path goes up hill both ways
Nothing but dust
Since I learned, up hill both ways
Nothing left to say
I don't know how I made it this far
I don't know how I made it last this long
I don't know why I try
Up hill both ways
Nothing left to do now
I don't want nothing today
song performed by by Yellowcard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Up Hill Both Ways
Everytime I try to read between the lines
I'm left wondering that I did so wrong
Everytime I try, try to rationalize
When everyone went wrong why didn't we die?
Everytime I think about what it would be like
without all the things you give to me
All these thoughts keep runnning thru my head
Nothing to beleive
Look back find the things I lost
There's nothing left there so it seems
Up hill both ways
Nothing left to say
I don't know how I made it this far
I don't know how I made it last this long
I don't know why I try
All these things keeps going thru my head
Don't know which way to turn
Each path goes up hill both ways
Nothing but dust
Since I learned, up hill both ways
Nothing left to say
I don't know how I made it this far
I don't know how I made it last this long
I don't know why I try
Up hill both ways
Nothing left to do now
I don't want nothing today
song performed by by Yellowcard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uphill Both Ways Lyrics
Everytime I try to read between the lines
I'm left wondering that I did so wrong
Everytime I try, try to rationalize
When everyone went wrong why didn't we die?
Everytime I think about what it would be like
without all the things you give to me
All these thoughts keep runnning thru my head
Nothing to beleive
Look back find the things I lost
There's nothing left there so it seems
Up hill both ways
Nothing left to say
I don't know how I made it this far
I don't know how I made it last this long
I don't know why I try
All these things keeps going thru my head
Don't know which way to turn
Each path goes up hill both ways
Nothing but dust
Since I learned, up hill both ways
Nothing left to say
I don't know how I made it this far
I don't know how I made it last this long
I don't know why I try
Up hill both ways
Nothing left to do now
I don't want nothing today
song performed by by Yellowcard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Back To The Old Ways
Back to the old ways
It's been days
Since pen has tasted paper
Days since soul and heart thought together
Mind on fire
Situation dire
So much falling
I hear her voice calling
Just some light
Coming from both sides... how might
I choose where to go?
I honestly don't know
Yet I do
I know which ways, but by nature and my will
I wish to go toward the false light which could kill
Me, though it's wrong I still wish to pursue
The girl who
I claim to love... yes it's her yet what do I do?
To not go after her I must against my nature
To go after her I must subvert my faith.. all for her
It's back to my old ways
It's been days
Crying
Trying to decide
I know if I choose wrong the punishment then a chide
I think I choose the pure light
Did I choose right?
poem by David Knox
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Of Non-ness
But at this time...
On these non-days,
When a sense of non-ness is existing.
I try to find in my mind,
A reason and a rhyme...
To define what it is I choose to decline.
And it is at this time,
I'm feeling quite fine.
And those non-days existing,
With a non-ness to grind...
To upset my mind,
I can't allow...
Myself to be twisted in the mix of it!
I once participated in heated debates.
About the absence of the right,
To enjoy the life I've made.
Without feeling I should trade away...
This happiness I feel and have,
I just can't walk away from to see betrayed.
And it is because at this time,
On these non-days...
Whether they come to others to keep and stay,
I wish agitation begin from me to fade.
Because at this time I made up my mind,
On those non-days bringing all that non-ness to find...
I,
Choose peace...
Over being demeaned.
Because at this time I made up my mind,
On those non-days bringing all that non-ness to find...
I,
Choose peace...
Over being demeaned.
And when that non-ness is there to share,
Because at this time I made up my mind to care...
I,
Have chosen peace...
And I've left the scene.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Eager to Learn
On many levels you were told and shown.
In many ways,
The questions you now ask were raised,
And answered.
But the times were too early.
And in those days you shoveled away,
The best advice...
Like snow and ice on your path!
You wanted your outlook to be the one,
With stubbornness to last.
On many occasions you were there in debate.
Waiting to win,
An opinion given.
And even then you made decisions,
You often would regret.
Listening to comprehend,
Some folks like you have never learned to do!
And a suffering for them like yours,
Begins to sink through.
I was a victim myself...
Of a thick skull,
Protecting hard headedness.
Restricted by an ego I would not let go!
And lessons taught I ignored,
To do those things I thought were best.
Until I got tired,
Of blocking my own happiness.
On many levels you were told and shown.
In many ways,
The questions you now ask were raised,
And answered.
Perhaps in these days...
You now feel you are crazed.
And your ways like others you have followed...
Have left you dazed in sorrow.
But tomorrow,
If you let it...
Will come to please with teachings.
And you will be eager to learn...
How to patch those bridges burned.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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