The Slipping of Meet Notes
Accustomed to lies.
What does the truth really mean?
Accustomed to lies laying low on the scene!
Accustomed to tell them...
And protect when told.
Accustomed to lies,
Whether fresh released or old held on hold!
Accustomed to lies...
Without a bat of an eyelash moving!
Accustomed to lies.
Dishonesty is accepted and shown.
At the work place
Where the slipping of meet notes,
Does not provoke disdain.
Accustomed to lies...
And that's how our lives remain!
In heated sex away from home!
Regardless of who spies on another,
Both buffer their suffering by what's condoned.
Accustomed to lies...
And what is taught is always known!
Accustomed to lies.
Accustomed to holding on to them,
Until time flys!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Crowded With Lies
Why are some stunned by truth?
It is not something taught,
One gets accustomed to.
Billions are spent to fantasize.
There is no room for truth,
In a mind crowded with lies.
A progressive mindset,
Has been stunted because of this.
Dismissed are those who wish for reality.
And often they are labelled mavericks.
Or something less flattering,
To ensure their influence has no chance to exist.
Why are some stunned by truth?
It is not something taught,
One gets accustomed to.
Billions are spent to fantasize.
There is no room for truth,
In a mind bombarded and crowded with lies.
And yet those disillusioned,
Pray on Sunday...
To have their lives fixed.
While listening to sermons,
As to how sins and evil have them bewitched.
Their very lives lived are confused in conflicts.
Although truth for many has become feared,
And resisted.
Observed they are...
Bewildered, bothered and betwixted.
Why are some stunned by truth?
It is not something taught,
One gets accustomed to.
Billions are spent to fantasize.
And there is no room for truth,
In a mind bombarded and crowded with lies.
And the marketing of fresh lies...
Is a mainstay in most societies,
That has thrived and survived successfully!
But a continuation of a success like this,
Does not sustain its permanence.
Eventually a strain draining the brain prevents it.
People everywhere and everyday,
Reflect their lack of consciousness.
And revealing a 'craze' that has become accepted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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We're both accustomed to being the center of attention. We're both accustomed to being spoiled by the people around us. And we don't expect to have to compete with somebody for all of that.
quote by Jim Lampley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Accustomed To This
Accustomed we are,
To cheapness.
With a fakeness that glistens.
And being on knees to plead,
For a decent existence.
Accustomed we are,
To reach with a seeking.
Although deceived by theories idealized,
To keep our delusions fresh...
And kept alive as standards long rusted.
So accustomed to this,
We are...
Caught up in despising any realist,
Found to be painting scenes...
Pictured as observed.
And yet seen but felt demeans,
With exaggerated caricatures...
Depicting realities lived as they are.
But denied.
With a feeling that leaves those believing,
How appalled they are to be this openly offended.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Stress and ease do not last.
Suffering, once accustomed to, is no longer so.
Beauty, once accustomed to, is no longer so.
Both yield the contrary in due course.
18.02.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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She went as quiet as the Dew
149
She went as quiet as the Dew
From an Accustomed flower.
Not like the Dew, did she return
At the Accustomed hour!
She dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's Eve—
Less skillful than Le Verriere
It's sorer to believe!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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The prison accustomed
I came out of prison
After twelve year term
To find the world a prison.
The hell accustomed
Is preferred to the heaven
Yet to be accustomed.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Accustomed
Sometimes we see things
day in and day out
that we get so accustomed
to them always being there,
that when they go missing
we still think they are there.
It is only when something else happens,
that we suddenly realise,
that it is not there,
leaving us scratching our heads
wondering where and when
it had disappeared.
Our brain gets accustomed to seeing things
and it takes a while for it to register
when some things have gone.
poem by David Harris
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Unsuccessful Attempts
It would be great if we could create,
Anything to have others believe.
And magically it comes true.
Like lies many are accustomed to tell,
On others.
To then embellish them to exaggerate,
Their version of truth.
With unsuccessful attempts,
To undo someone's integrity...
So others can see them not shining as bright.
Only to attract darkness upon the paths,
Of those tellers of lies hiding in disguise!
And...
It doesn't matter how many people evil,
Can gather under one steeple.
To camouflage whatever that is believed they save.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Marriages stay
His wife cooks for him.
He is accustomed to it.
His wife sleeps with him.
He is accustomed to it.
Replacement is not easy.
Replacement is costly too.
Children are the bolts.
Thus marriages manage to stay.
29.01.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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Eyes Once Clouded Clear to Brightness
Hussshhh...
The presence of truth,
Is amongst us on the scene.
Ssshhh,
A silence invited...
Stills the air,
Of chirping birds.
And frantic human beings.
The rustling leaves on trees slowly blow.
It is as though,
A divinity has arrived.
Eyes once clouded clear to brightness.
Those accustomed to disguises,
Stop charades paraded with lies.
And...
Hussshhh...
The presence of truth,
Is amongst us on the scene.
Ssshhh,
A silence invited...
Stills the air,
Of chirping birds.
And frantic human beings.
The rustling leaves on trees slowly blow.
It is as though,
A divinity has arrived.
Eyes once clouded clear to brightness.
Those accustomed to disguises,
Stop charades paraded with lies.
And to everyone's surprise,
Truth does not victimize...
As rumored.
And that which had been disrespected,
Is now observed.
As those things nature protects.
With a consciousness of this as it is.
To expose regret for all the neglect done and shown.
Awakening sensitivities dismissed...
And many to experience tears of happiness.
And...
This is good.
Hussshhh...
Let the presence of truth,
Amongst us on the scene...
Prevail.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Take
Take.
To leave nothing...
If you will.
I am not afraid to go without.
I am not in doubt,
I can create more.
Take.
That's what you do.
That's how it has been,
Between me and you.
I am accustomed to it!
Going through that before.
Each time you call.
Or knock on my door.
I know what your presence means.
I know what you've come for.
It is a familiar scene done you do too well.
Take.
No need to tell me to go to hell.
Each time you come,
You bring it with you.
And leave.
Take.
That's what you do.
That's how it has been,
Between me and you.
I am accustomed to it!
Going through that before.
Each time you call.
Or knock on my door...
I hide my peace.
That's mine.
I'm not ready to give that away.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Telling Lies
You tell your lies unto your daughters
You told those lies unto their fathers
You tell them lies, in such a disguise
So later in years them you could deny.
You tell your lies unto your friends
You told those lies to all your men
You make up an excuse, just to confuse
So no one knows what you put them through.
You tell your lies unto your teacher
You told your lies unto your preacher
You then shed a tear, so with pity they'd hear
And also when no one else is ever near.
You tell your lies to any caller
You told your lies unto your lawyer
You say any word, though may be absurd
Even though from someone else you heard.
You tell your lies in your prayer
You told those lies to the choir
But you still will be blamed, for all the pain
As sadly you and your lying will remain.
You will tell your lies each and everyday
You will tell those lies when you get old and gray
Sadly you will tell them till, your heart beats still
But then hearing those lies no one else ever will.
You will tell your lies when you meet GOD
You will tell those lies with a pitiful nod
You will beg him again, that you did no sin
But GOD will know where you have been.
You will tell your lies when you meet the Devil
You will tell those lies as as you are at the same level
But at you he will grin, as he knows all your sin
As with you all those times he too has been.
Your daughters will sin and tell their lies
As to anyone that will listen they will also cry
As you taught them not the truth, but only how to use
So also their destiny from lies they did choose.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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With Hopes of Romanticizing a Condition
They have become accustomed to failure...
They can not let it go.
They've become identified with it.
And that is wished to be bestowed.
They dig through archives,
Seeking that which worked.
Something from the past...
They believe is everlasting.
Something done by someone then,
To bring their current frustrations to an end.
With hopes of romanticizing a condition...
That will lift them out of the doldrums they are in!
Complete with nostalgic delusions.
But they have become accustomed to failure...
They can not let it go.
They want someone with experience,
To show them the way.
And has it not been those with experience...
That has led them to despair?
Although they wish another point of view...
They want to chose one that will keep them there.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Shells Cracked
So accustomed to opposing,
That which is formally addressed...
And yet,
Nothing from those who do this is proposed...
To compare or express with submitted suggestions.
So accustomed to opposing,
That which is formally addressed...
And yet,
Nothing from those who do this is proposed...
Except,
More nuts they show with their shells cracked.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Implies Not Looking Back
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
So many have been comforted,
By schedules made and keeping set dates.
With a scratching off from a menu decided,
To replace or hesitate to eventually procrastinate.
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
Even Mother Nature comes to assist with this movement.
With a shifting of Earth and turbulent winds.
Spinning storms called hurricanes,
From the shores of Africa that begin...
In vast waters referred to as the Atlantic Ocean.
And still there are those demanding entitlements,
With preferences prayed in a daily devotion.
As if they have rights to insist a life liked to live.
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
But...
Unfortunate are those who believe,
A moving back in time...
Is a choice to make as to who will lead,
Them away from truth...
To produce more delusions and fantasies!
What a word...
Forward.
It implies not looking back.
Or getting too accustomed,
To that which is familiar and intact.
And leaving behind many detached,
Who will never become attached to reality.
Moving forward is the change everyone will believe in,
Whether to embrace, accept or not.
We live to experience, grow to then distance,
From aged beliefs to advance to other adventures.
With a wisdom kept to keep to be reminisced but not lived,
Repeatedly to comfort our insecurities.
'I hate change.'
Me too.
I wish I had more dollars.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Good Morning Dear
Mickey newbury
Were the nights any sweeter
The mornings any cooler, when she was here?
Or was the mind grown accustomed to hearing good morning dear?
Should I still feel all the sunshine
That remembering brings to mind with my thoughts of her?
Lord, we both know things could never be the way they were
Her little girl illusions
Built the wall of confusion between right and wrong
That stands between her and the dream I had cherished so long
Now faded and tattered, once all that mattered when she was here
And a mind grown accustomed to hearing good morning dear
Were the nights any sweeter
The mornings any cooler, when she was here?
Or was the mind grown accustomed to hearing good morning dear?
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yours!
Before you get a housemate,
To double up.
To pay the expenses made,
That double without inviting trouble.
Think about,
Your peace of mind.
Think about...
Losing quality time,
Most times found alone...
When one is accustomed to it like that.
Before you get a housemate,
To double up.
To pay the expenses made,
That double without inviting trouble.
Would the space to be shared,
Be worth the loss of fresh air...
For a few more cents to spend senselessly.
Just to keep a lifestyle pretended.
That may invite friction not intended.
Think about,
Your peace of mind.
Think about...
Losing quality time,
Most times found alone...
When one...
That would be 'you'
Is accustomed to it like that.
With a wish to be able to keep it like it is.
Without self inflicting unwanted agony?
Or...
One,
Still 'you'...
Can choose to unload what was.
And move on to keep a mind at rest,
Untested for many happy tomorrows to come.
Think about,
Your peace of mind.
Think about...
Losing quality time,
Most times found alone...
When one...
That would be 'you'
Is accustomed to it like that.
Keeping your peace kept intact exactly the way it is.
YOURS!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ending Of The Feast
How can one tell a people,
Accustomed to feasting...
The ending of the feast,
Approaches with the upcoming dawn?
And a living done 'within' their means,
Is in their future.
With no credit cards to own.
With a parking of their cars.
And a healthier way of life...
Showing a more discipline with fitness,
Shown.
Because all of their loan days,
With debits will be gone.
How can one tell a people,
Accustomed to feasting...
The ending of the feast,
Approaches with the upcoming dawn?
And they,
Will live on!
Or wont.
A change they can believe in.
With a reality to clearly breathe,
Comes.
And the singing of 'We Shall Overcome'
Will just be another song to sing.
As a process begins...
To fulfill a communal socialism,
On the horizon.
On the scene.
How can one tell a people,
Accustomed to feasting...
The ending of the feast,
Approaches with the upcoming dawn?
And they,
Will live on!
Or wont.
Leaving those humble and meek,
To inherit the Earth.
'Why so evil, dark and gloomy?
You're evil to wish that upon us! '
SNAP out of it!
The amusement park is closed!
I reference the Bible!
What...
Or should I say,
'WHO' supplies your observations?
And...
I'm evil?
Why?
Would it be because I do not cling,
Onto 'your' delusions?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Understood To Exclude Them From Truths
When one gets too accustomed,
To embellishing what they've done...
Partial truths are told.
To bestow as shown to everyone.
Quick to betray,
If their insecurities are threatened.
But yet to display,
Are their excuses made with few exceptions.
Associations with people like this,
Over time decreases in respect.
Explanations of their neglect...
Eventually from them some should expect.
When one gets too accustomed,
To embellishing what they've done...
Partial truths are told.
To bestow as shown to everyone.
Maturity is dismissed,
In the minds of people with this addiction.
And it is unfortunate they allow themselves...
To be chased away by delusions.
With a praying done their delusions will stay,
To be understood to exclude them...
From truths they painfully detest.
And hate to face from day to day.
As a life lived in reality eventually fades.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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