En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Benefits of Remaining Patient

Accustomed to doing everything at the last minute,
May work for those choosing to make an impression...
Of showing an appearance,
But not necessarily interested in the event...
With a participating effort to promote it from the beginning.
These kinds of people just want to show up and bow.

And the ones approaching a crisis occurring around them,
In the same manner...
May find themselves running from a flashmob,
Of unruly children...
Caring less about the new playground to appease them.
Or the hotdogs and hip hop music,
Thrown together to unify the neighborhood to have that picnic.

They've grown sick of watching the shuffling of feet.
Especially from those with no backbone to lead.
And no minutes left to explain the benefits,
Of remaining patient.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Depression of the 1930's

The depression of the 1930's was the time of my childhood days,
There were a lot of worries and hardships in many ways.
Whatever time people could spare, they would help each other out,
Bad times also came when there was a draught.

The depression of the 1930's our parents would help make quilts of all kinds,
They would work long hours, day and night, it was alot on their minds.
Fathers would work on the W.P.A. just to make ends meet,
Breaking stones was very hard work, some of them fell to their feet.

The depression of the 1930's there were problems about work, severe
winters and war,
People never know from day to day what may be in store,
There were children of all ages, sick with an illness,
Some of them passed away with the long nights of stillness.
The depression of the 1930's made it bad for all ages,
Work was scare, there was pay of low wages.
During the depression, we all learned how to survive,
A lot of people shared the hardships by showing love and being alive.

The depression of the 1930's will be in my heart for the rest of my life,
I, Margaret L. Hockenberry, now Margaret l. Rodkey lived in those hardships
of struggle and strife
My parents were loving and caring in every way,
They taught me to respect people and show them we care.

poem by Margaret Rodkey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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People Claim They Want More Peace

Agonistic balled up fists,
Shown by those too argumentive...
Are accustomed to conflicts,
And...
Should be left alone.

Agonistic balled up fists,
Shown by those too argumentive...
Are accustomed to conflicts,
And...
Should not be condoned.

Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
Or nor are they quick thinkers,
With solutions that resolve...
That will result in benefits.

Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
They're much too use to using fists...
As if to fight will end all riffs!
But escalations aren't dismissed.

More, more, more...
Grief and agony is wished.
More, more, more...
Revenge is sought and with the risks,
Showing and exposing proof...
Just who can be more barbaric!

Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
Or nor are they quick thinkers,
With solutions that resolve...
That will result in benefits.

Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
They're much too use to using fists...
As if to fight will end all riffs!
But escalations aren't dismissed.

More, more, more...
Grief and agony is wished.
More, more, more...
Revenge is sought and with the risks,
Showing and exposing proof...
Just who can be more barbaric!

More, more, more...
Grief and agony is wished.
More, more, more...
Revenge is sought and with the risks,
Showing and exposing proof...
Just who can be more barbaric!

Agonistic balled up fists,
Shown by those too argumentive...
Are accustomed to conflicts,
And...
Should be left alone.

More, more, more...
Grief and agony is wished.
And people can't leave this alone.
More, more, more...
Grief and agony is wished.
And people should not this condone.

More, more, more...
Grief and agony is wished.
More, more, more...
Grief and agony is wished.
People claim they want more peace,
But peace is not what people have known!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Temptations Teased Ruthlessly

Just because one shows promise.
And enjoys participating,
In playing a highly skilled game.
Does not make one qualified,
By the association.
Being patient eventually reigns.
And an attention given is not solicited.

What makes one undeniably qualified?
Realizing a work ethic is applied.
With devotion and sacrifice...
Prepared to put aside a favorite meal.
And remaining focused showing couth.
Despite temptations teased ruthlessly.
This too can be proven to be ignored.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So Sick

im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?

poem by Ricky Baker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Im sick

im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?

poem by Malorie Genoff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Quicker Than Picked Bananas

Aging!
And showing it quicker than picked bananas,
Are those hanging onto their youthful hopes...
With an inability to disperse from an immaturity.
Clinging onto hopes a cuteness shown can be excused...
Isn't as sick as it looks,
By those exposed to it.

And for those choosing to dismiss this as an acceptance...
Can not one of them explain the presence of an ineptness.
With few people left having a capability to express intelligence.
Or can catch up to adulthood to reasonably be respected.
Since a maturity is nonexistent.
And what is left to spoil and rot quicker than picked bananas,
Is what many people possess and is seen quite a lot.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Can One Do Or Say That Doesn't Offend?

Living in an environment,
Where there are disrespectful children...
Being raised by adults stuck in their minds,
That growing up sucks...
Is an added pressure for those who are mature enough,
To throw their hands up...
And walk away!

What can one do or say that doesn't offend?

An influence to include a responsibility that is done...
And shown,
Gets a look of disdain from those choosing to remain...
Hip-hoppers who wish to rap for the rest of their lives.

Try talking to people like this about being accountable.
Go ahead,
I dare you.
They will cuss you out quicker than they will,
The teachers entrusted to babysit their children.
And not necessarily the elementary school aged children.
Those who are confronted in high school!
Running up and down the hallway...
And acting like school is for fools!

Attempting to teach 'these' children 'before' they head to prison,
Is 'not' impossible.
But the likelihood of it becoming a priority,
And seen as an investment to protect one's future is zero!

And there is nowhere to go,
To gain support.
Since people stagnated like this don't know it...
But they are creating their own demise.
And it becomes a sad commentary to make.
So is truth hard to take when face to face.

And when the weekends come...
the only thing that seems to get productively done,
Is a showing of how a detached people...
Can 'still' get down and funky.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Regardless If Being Assessed

I have never been curious of those,
Who have a lot to say about others.
But keep themselves hidden behind masks,
As if afraid to show their own faces.
Or have I been interested at all in those,
Who introduce what they do...
As if to do this puts them high on a judgement list.

I can tell in a minute who is ambitious.
And who lives to experience life without it being a task.
But those who live just to be pretentious,
Aren't as interesting as the ones...
Who seem to be unafraid to walk upon an unchartered path.
To be who they are and say whatever they like.
Regardless if being assessed by others addressing it.

'Did you hear what was said about you? '

~Of course I did.
They are not the only ones here assessing too.
Feeding imaginations I find exciting to do.
I've grown accustomed to being stripped naked,
Without being asked!
Or being in the presence of those disrespecting!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Job

And...
What is it that you are doing?

'My job.'

Your job?
Staring at people?

'No.
You are to be corrected.
I am an admirer of exquisite beauty.
Why?
You don't think I am doing my job well? '

I just think what you are doing is rude.

'Then perhaps you should see to it,
That I get fired.
Or laid,
Off.
Or maybe both.
Send me to your human resources.
If you don't think I am qualified.'

Where on Earth did you come from?

'I feel the same way.'

I really didn't mean it as a question.

'Oh? '

No!
I meant it as a...
Don't you have something else to do?

'You're the boss.
What would you like for me to do for you next? '

You're not doing a thing for me.

'Oh?
So you are saying I'm not doing my job? '

You're doing your job.
But I am not interested.

'So...
You want to get me laid off,
Don't you?
Or fired...
Without benefits.'

In a few minutes I am going to switch from this,
And change my company!

'I see?
That's why so many of us are out of jobs right now.
You use us for what you can get from us...
And then you move!
Taking away with you all the benefits.

I will find another job!
But you?
You are definitely going to miss,
My capable abilities.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There was a sweet lady

There was a sweet lady, named dame Murdoch, so true,
Who took to caring for many children like me and you;
The children's hospital was one of her places she cared about,
One thing was ths lady never got angry, or did shout.

She took the time to sit down, have a nice chat,
About sick children, who needed help, she got to that;
She raised help with money and support in every function,
Dame Murdoch, if you were running for mayor, you'd win the election.

Thank dear lady, you certainly gave in more ways than one,
You never gave in till the work for you was all done,
To live over the century, you've seen things come and go,
From every patient, family, friend, and everyone you did know.
Goodbye sweet lady, We'll see you in heavens hats so.

poem by Margaret Haig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All Kinds Of Time

The clocks running down
the teams losing ground
to the opposing defense
the young quarterback
waits for the snap
when suddenly it all starts to make sense
he's got all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time
he takes a step back
he's under attack
but he knows that no one can touch him now
he seems so at ease
a strange inner peace
its all that he's feeling somehow
he's got all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time
he thinks of his mother
he thinks of his bride to be
he thinks of his father
his two younger brothers
gathered around the wide screen t.v.
he looks to the left
he looks to the right
and there in a golden ray of light
and there his open man
just like he planned
the world is his tonight
he's got all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time
he's got all kinds of time
all kinds of time

song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm sick of you

Can’t you tell I’m sick of you?
If you can’t let me make it straight,
I’m sick of having this debate,
I’m sick of being the friend you come to when you’re bored,
And I’m sick of my words being ignored,
I’m sick of listening to you telling me what to do,
I’m sick of having to do chores for you,
I quit,
I’m sick of hearing you flirt with my brother,
Why don’t you go find another?
I’m sick of hearing what you and your friends are doing,
But never hearing “you’re going”,
I’m sick of not being good enough,
Sorry we don’t like the same stuff,
I sick of you caring what people think of me,
It’s me, and I don’t agree,
I am who I am like it or leave it,
So I will go, but I must admit,
I am a screw up, not the best at being a friend,
But I don’t talk crap, don’t pretend,
I don’t use, lie, or fake,
So as I said, this is me,
Like it or leave it,
I am done.

poem by Courtney Helm
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Work To Do!

i came from a generation
that worked.... was born to
work, daylight to dawn,
for everything we had.
we grew our own food, we
cut firewood, we worked
with our hands.
we were taught to work...
we built houses, bridges,
paved roads... worked on
farms, worked in sawmills,
worked in factories...
whatever it took for food
and shelter...
and if a neighbor got hurt,
or sick, and couldnt work...
we helped him and his family
till he could.

those of us left who can work
are still working, a lot of us are
out of work, and cant find work!

and so the world has changed...
it seems like a lot of people
spend more time avoiding work
than working... a lot of people
look for the easy way out...are
dependent on society...
still a lot of good and willing people
just need help.

they call this progress...based
on technology, and looking out for
number one. seperated, almost islands...
greed has taken the place of the bent back!

so when it all falls apart, and that will
be soon, what happens? who knows how
to survive? who has the backbone?

things to think about, and yes...
work to do!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Show Me The Real You

Hey remember me?
Hard to forget, right?
Insistent, demanding
When we were both sixteen
I remember you in the spotlight
You seemed so in control
Hiding behind your wall
Have you ever met somebody who could
Unmask you
The way you unmask me
Guidelines and sub-routines
You make me forget the things
That I put in place to save my face
But I'm not sure if it's a face worth saving
Show me the real you
And I'll show you the real me
Can we make a second first impression baby
Show me the real you
And I'll show you the real me
Can we make a second first impression, baby
Maybe, maybe, yeah
Seven years have past
Now here I come
I caught the briefest glimpse
I haven't seen it since
When you smile at me
Where'd you smile from
From insecurity
But you're secure with me
Have you never let somebody in to
Unmask you
The way you unmask me
I know it's dangerous
Please don't be afraid because
This is your life I used to live
Now I know It's not a life worth living
Show me the real you
And I'll show you the real me
Can we make a second first impression baby
Show me the real you
And I'll show you the real me
Can we make a second first impression, baby
Maybe, maybe, yeah
I know I'm acting stupid
Can we make a second first impression
I want us to be honest, open
Show your face to me
Show me the real you
And I'll show you the real me
Can we make a second first impression baby
Show me the real you
And I'll show you the real me
Can we make a second first impression, baby
Maybe, maybe, yeah

song performed by by Daniel Bedingfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A January Fear

A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
My class is all here
Down to each little sneer

A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Those cute little creatures
Have nothing to fear

A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Still knowing that teacher's
not entirely all here

A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Each little tear
Makes it perfectly clear

A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
A day off is coming
And hopefully near

a sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
It's harder and harder
Maintaining my leer

A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps my behavior's
becoming quite queer

A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps in the morning
I'll call in and cheer

A SICK DAY A SICK DAY
I GOT A PAIN IN MY EAR

Alas...I can hear my principle sneer
With a resigning smirk easy to hear
NO SICK DAY NO SICK DAY
SORRY MY DEAR

NO SICK DAYS NO SICK DAYS
REMAINING THIS YEAR

poem by Robert John Meehan
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Sick of Being Sick

I’m sick of being rejected;
I’m sick of being emotionally neglected;
I’m sick of crying so many tears;
I’m sick of running away from my fears;
I’m sick of my childhood nightmares;
I’m sick of being told to do those stupid dares;
I’m sick of not having friends;
I’m sick of all these dead ends;
I’m sick of myself for what I’ve become;
I’m sick of feeling oh so numb;
I’m sick of watching myself drown;
I’m sick of my heart falling to the ground;
I’m sick of this life;
I’m sick of this everyday strife;
I’m sick of not having a dad;
I’m sick of getting mad;
I’m sick of my childhood past;
I’m sick of being harassed;
I’m sick of the dread;
I’m sick of wanting to be dead;
I’m sick of being the one who’s always so strong;
I’m sick of being somebody that doesn’t belong! !

poem by Shelby Brockway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Kids Aren't Alright

When we were young the future was so bright
the old neighborhood was so alive
and every kid on the whole damn street
was gonna make it bib and not be beat

now the neighborhood is cracked and torn
the kids are grown up but their lifes are worn
how can one little street
swallow so many lifes?

chances thrown

song performed by by Offspring
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mentally Sick

When imbeciles are encouraged,
They take pride in the mounting of ignorance.
Listening to others is a joke to them.
They have ridiculous actions figured out!
Planning escapades with supporters...
They find a way to make common sense
A challenge to keep afloat!
For those who have long divorced themselves
From nonsense!
Even though they vote...
To discover themselves choking,
On ethnic jokes provoked!
Watching folks accept being duped and doped!

And it is the burden of those with senses left,
To find fresh creative ways to explain
'How' they could allow such bullshit to exist...
To sustain and maintain.
As they become more addicted
To pretending they too...
Aren't mentally sick!
Although they follow fools
Whether poor or rich,
Out of habit!
Showing signs they are clearly insane,
With their empathetic static!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Music is the effort we make to explain to ourselves how our brains work. We listen to Bach transfixed because this is listening to a human mind.

quote by Lewis Thomas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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