To Pay Particular Attention
A spoiled mixed up brew.
Left to sit to boil hot!
That's what I thought,
Of myself...
A lot!
A life I randomly got.
And not selected.
Not one that was picked,
To witness experiences...
In time I would digest.
And as I grow older,
I am coming to grips with this...
On being 'picked' and 'selected' business.
Realizing a 'randomness' is not the lives we live.
And I am not going to lie...
I do often wonder 'why'?
Since I will admit,
I do test and try my Creator's patience.
In the hopes to be punished...
To pay particular attention,
As to how the Creator goes about...
Inflicting this,
Upon my more aware consciousness!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Who Selected What It Was To Be Picked?
The one thing I dislike,
About those who say...
They don't have what they want.
Or have things their way!
When they always seem to be surrounded,
By what exists as they sit to complain about it!
These are my questions...
Who selected what it was to be picked?
And in the picking done...
How many were witnessed,
To be unconscious of this?
And no one wants to admit...
They chose with eyes opened,
The path selected and the consequences.
Unless that too was done,
With an overdoing of pretentiousness.
Many love in the doing but can't remember it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Creator Is My Manager
I admit...
There are gifts and talents,
I was born with.
I never had desires to 'be'.
I just 'was'.
And took what I had for granted.
At one time I really did this.
I've been asked where I've studied.
And who has mentored me.
My response has always been The Creator.
To which then I get looks of disbelief.
And as I age and 'try' to mellow,
Others suggest I could be rich...
If I did 'this' and 'that' with my talents and gifts.
But things and bling and money it seems...
Has never attracted my consciousness.
If this happens to come to me as my Creator's wish,
Then by all means...
Those things will come to pay me a visit.
But thankful I am and tremendously blessed.
My Creator is my manager.
And I know what for me is best.
Perhaps my Creator,
Believes what I've been given is priceless.
And I have been nourishing myself,
With the feeding on delusions.
Whatever my Creator proposes,
Is the path I follow not to oppose.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Proclaiming Preferences
Feeling a bit threatened,
By those proclaiming preferences?
Only to then become offended,
When you have been omitted...
From being a preference one admits.
How traumatic?
And why is this?
One at first feeling threatened,
Should now feel relieved.
But noooo!
They decide they would like,
To taunt those proclaiming them.
Especially if those preferences,
Has anything to do with sex.
And those choices that have been expressed...
Does not include them as addressed.
It was only when those preferences were announced,
Did those previously minding their own business...
Went about doing what they normally would do.
Snooping between gossip hops.
With an attempt to acquire details...
About who does what with what they've got.
Then one day those with preferences,
Unlocked their doors and came out of closets.
And caring less who passed judgement on them.
They sought a happiness.
From lifestyles that had one time or another,
Had them feel both closed and trapped in.
Now today...
Those with old gossip,
Have nothing to say.
If fact they seem embittered...
To stay in relationships,
Daring to admit...
Their own activities,
Have long skipped over...
And beyond a 'curiousness'.
'What's the matter?
You look upset.'
~That 'misfit' told me,
I was not desirable...
On a kept preference list.
Can you believe this?
And I 'know' I am desirable...
IF I decided to choose to be!
And IF I wanted to be selected and picked.~
'Selected and picked?
For what? '
~You know.
For 'whatever' it is...
Those two over there are doing.~
'What are they doing? '
~You can not see what they are doing?
Look at them...
Closely.
And how they are looking at each other,
With 'those'...eyes.
And...
Out in public.
I am highly offended AND appalled.~
'What are you talking about? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Else Have You Selected?
Who else will I face,
To come into my life...
My Father?
Who else have You selected?
For me to share,
As we together...
Within Your vision please.
Who else comes to teach...
Lessons taught to instill,
For me to learn?
Who will You deem to be qualified...
To ignite that spark I yearn?
Who comes to confess,
The void in my emptiness they can fulfill.
Who will that be coming not to exhaust,
My patience
To recognize from my eyes...
They have come with God given skills.
Who else will I face,
To come into my life...
My Father?
Who else have You selected?
For me to share,
As we together...
Within Your vision please.
Others have come for shortened visits.
Will You pick someone admired for Yourself?
To have me grieve upon their leaving...
As it seems You have done,
With everyone else.
To see how quickly I can heal...
With just You to turn to,
For a comforting you know appeals!
And after testing my loyalty...
Will You again,
Introduce another someone...
You will have me meet,
Just for me?
Or will You throw upon my path another test?
Just to tease to see if I love You best?
Who else have You selected?
For me to share,
As we together...
Within Your vision please?
And 'why' do You do this,
To me My Father?
Don't You believe,
I'm deserving of someone...
Not for You to scrutinize.
But a companion who is special...
To meet and satisfy our human needs.
Before You put me through another test,
Who else have You detected...
That I might select,
Just for me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Unmistaken Consciousness
The last of many tears came to fall.
To undo acknowledged sorrows...
Selected and picked,
To wallow away in self pity.
And this discovery was a relief...
For one who thought of tomorrow,
As a connection of borrowed miseries.
Until the stopping of this,
Revealed a life unlived!
Ignored!
And driven to please...
Others.
And the doing of this is done,
By the one giving too much attention...
To self addictions.
Like a habit introduced by another,
To leave one hooked...
Seeking an acceptance.
And those afflictions are difficult to identify...
When the crying of sighs,
Feel so good with a foolishness felt!
Until that day eventually comes...
That awakens one with an unmistaken consciousness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Older They Grow But Not Up
Older they grow,
But not up!
Many never experience a maturity.
Raised on entertaining limited thoughts.
And few have abilities,
To comprehend little of what they read.
Or take the responsibility,
To hold themselves accountable...
For actions begun and those they leave.
Older they grow,
But not up!
And demands they make,
To satisfy their spoiled ways.
Since no one around them wants to hear them fuss.
Realizing not one of those fussers who also cuss,
Wants to take a position,
To make a decisive decision.
Since accusations are prioritized in their lives lived,
As a must.
And expectations are less for them.
For those exposed to them growing older...
Knowing these minds have no time left.
For them to show a growing up,
With a thoughtfulness.
Older they may grow...
But for them it sure is not up!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Specifically Picked And Selectively Chosen
There will always be the ones,
Specifically picked and selectively chosen...
To voice their opinion about the comparisons between,
Plums and pears or grapes and lemons...
In timely debates with attention given,
To get many to see the similarities.
There will always be the ones,
Specifically picked and selectively chosen to do this...
As long as it is known those listening will become outraged,
With their tempers raised to boil...
As they demand why they had not been told,
There was never any difference in presentation or taste.
There will always be the ones,
Followed by those with an absence of thinking done.
And believing anything they eat to digest,
Will benefit their best interest.
Caring less if the design of it,
Is to get their minds whipped into a frenzy.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Forgiveness They Seek
After decades of declaring created enemies,
They wanted others to believe...
Were full of jealousy and envy.
With a doing of awful things to themselves,
To gain and plot the getting of attention...
From those willing to give them empathy.
And empathy to them had been given.
They now wish to call a truce.
But with who or whom will they truce with a doing?
Those whose lives they have ruined to defame?
Or the ones they deceived into believing,
Those enemies selected and picked...
Would have never thought of them existing,
If they had initially minded their own business.
What is the purpose of forgiving anyone,
Who spends their time...
Proving to others they've been out of their minds.
And that forgiveness they seek,
Should be of themselves with lessons taught to teach.
Since they chose to reek their own havoc,
Blamed to have been done by someone else.
And...
Successful in the doing of it they had been.
Until it was exposed...
They chose their own descent.
Without comprehending...
Those of substance and integrity are not shallow.
Nor corrupted by limited mentalities deluded.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eye Witness
With faith I am committed to fulfill one wish!
To keep my blessings recognized.
With a focus on The Creator...
As an eye witness to be commanded.
And that is it.
With an attempt to keep this acknowledged.
Leaving the frills and temptations to tease,
To taste as I have done at times without hesitation.
And in prayer...
Discuss my mistakes made with The Creator.
Hoping my 'humanness' will be forgiven.
Since totally pious I am not!
I witness, I fumble and to this I admit!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Look Around Up And Then Down
Sad? Feeling bad?
Why?
Who picked and selected,
All that you now have?
Look around.
Up and then down.
Look inside.
And then out.
What is it about your life...
You did not approve?
And then ask yourself this...
Who did?
And,
Where were you?
In a state of unconsciousness,
Accusing?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Picked the Right Day for Torture
You picked the right day for torture.
It was too quiet and serene,
To be left untampered.
You wanted your presence felt...
And it was.
You picked the right day for torture
With or without a diet regimen
Or implementation of facts.
What you do behind one's back...
Is left to your interpretation.
Your rules and dispositions are taught!
Although not followed,
And neither held in high esteem.
You picked the right day for torture...
Perhaps now you can see in bright daylight,
The victims you continue to abuse
Are of your own kind.
And of them none can say you frighten.
Yet all have been too quick to say you are crazed!
And today you are here believing you will be praised,
And honored?
You picked the right day for torture!
And how much of it you take...
Will not leave a witness to feel remorse,
Or show heartbreak!
They have come to watch you exploit,
Your own pain!
You have picked the right day for torture!
Everyone came to give you the limelight,
And the fame you claim!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Creator And A Barren Woman
A barren woman had been praying for a child for long,
Then after many years without hope the Creator heard her prayers;
Then the Creator said to her: 'A year today you will give birth'.
This is the story of the Creator and a barren woman:
A year after the barren woman gave birth to a child.
Now, she started to complain again to the Creator;
Because, she has no time to take care of the child.
'Oh, i am too tired of taking care of this child';
And the Creator was very patience.
'Oh, i cannot take care of this child any longer';
And the Creator was very patience again.
'Oh, i have given my husband a child but i cannot take care of him';
This child was a son and then, the Creator said to the woman:
'When you were baren you did cried out for a child but,
Now that you've got one you also crying daily for his upkeep';
'Well, the wants of mankind are many and mankind is NOT satisfied'.
Yes, we are all living on this earth;
With stories and the things that we see around us;
But mankind is really NOT satisfied, whether barren or with a child.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Without Knowledge Or Skills To Address
Would others judge so quickly,
If they were selected and picked...
To be gifted with intelligence?
And expected to provide evidence of it.
On a regular basis.
With nothing else to do,
But to prove it and not disappoint.
And those who are depicted that way,
Seem only motivated to a comprehending of life.
With a listening to achieve understanding.
Hoping that a discipline to accomplish dreams...
Does not continue to depict them,
As lucky when something done that they do...
Is given an attention.
While others seek with a hoping,
That their physical attributes warrants...
A getting of some attention that is mentioned too!
Afterall...
Isn't it how one looks and not what one does,
That achieves everlasting success...
Without knowledge or skills to address?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Go Cut Creator Go
[LL Cool J]
1, 2, 3 'o' clock 4 'o' clock ROCK
5, 6, 7 'o' clock 8 'o' clock ROCK
9, 10, 11 'o' clock 12 'o' clock ROCK
Gonna ROCK (What?) ROCK, ROCK around the clock
Three years ago in St. Albans, Queens
I was rockin at a park called one eighteen
Little kids stood and watched as I rocked the spot
Didn't know that years later I'll be standin on top
Livin near Farmers Boulevard I was born and base-shaw
Stopped the rich and shaked hands with the poor
And this is a story about a brother I know
Cut Creator on the fader no watch him go
[Chorus]
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
[LL Cool J]
When back in the days before I clocked some dough
I used to go to the show and sit in the front row
Hopin and prayin one day I'll get on the road
So I had a feeler and a summer and I meet when I'm stoned
Not fearin a thought, got stung like a horse
Don't make fun of my posse, cause each man is a boss
When his only damn way to pull a jam out the crate
One time for your mind
Check out the guitar break
[Chorus]
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
[LL Cool J]
This jam just wasn't enough for Jimmy Hendrix to see
He could do lessons of mixin take you under his wing
Straight from the heart cause it ain't the money that we came here for
Ain't no thoughts in the room ain't breakin no roles
And in the Rock 'n' Roll land, a big strivin plan
Just my posse learn the vocals what little they had
It's all about us three: Eve, Phil & Jay
He heard Cut Creator cut now check it out to play
[Chorus]
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
[LL Cool J]
Rock, rock y'all check out the funky cut
It's like travellin through time to the straight cats strut
Cuts are slicker than Grease needle as sharp as a knife
We'll be do doin the doo for the rest of the lines
Wanna piece of the action, it's time to party, get up
Not a subway bummy singer puttin change in a cup
Wanna see you boogie, oogie jumpin up and down
Bitin your livin hold your breath until we come to your town
L-L-C-O-O-L-J-I-S-H-A-R-D-A-S
Cut Creator cut the record for me
[Chorus with LL in the background sayin "Cut it"]
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
L-L-C-O-O-L-J-I-S-H-A-R-D-A-S
["Cut it" in background]
Go, go, go, go, ahh, go
[Chorus with LL in the background sayin "Cut it"]
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
L-L-C-O-O-L-J-I-S-H-A-R-D-A-S-H-E-L-L
song performed by by LL Cool J
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wonder.
In Flanders Fields red poppies grow.
But long dead warriors lie below.
Their rotted bodies nourishing
The scarlet poppies flourishing..
As if to draw attention to.
The graves of men who never knew.
That they would not see their homes more
But here they lie for evermore.
In Flanders Fields lost heroes lie.
In unmarked graves beneath the sky.
Far from the which gave them birth
They add their substance to the earth.
Which Belgian farmers cultivate.
Selected randomly by fate.
There can be few survivors left
But those of us who choose to go
To Flanders where the poppies grow.
All make the trip to show respect
Numbers dwindling as you'd expect.
There's very few now left to go.
To see the scarlet poppies glow
The numbers grow less day by day.
When they are called they must obey.
Rejoining those who went before.
The men who fell in the Great War.
I wonder will poppies still grow
When there's no one left to go.
Monday,25 June 2012
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Believe My Own Eyes
As performed in the musical tommy
With alistair robins as mr. walker
Written by pete townsend
Alistair: this cant continue
It makes no sense
Were getting nowhere
Ive lost all my confidence
The boy wants something
Unsatisfied
He needs attention
And care our love cant provide
And then, theres the matter of us
Id like to prove
That I dont think youve seen the best of me
Ive stood up for the boy
And Ive clung to the hopes and the lies
I wished that the pain in your gaze
Could again be a test of me
But when I look in the mirror
I believe my own eyes
I believe my own eyes
Now Ive come to the end
All my patience is gone
When Im doubtful I tend
To believe my own eyes
Kim: Id like to declare
This devotion and care is a life to live
That nothing has changed
And the time isnt passing us by
But I have to say here
That for us there is a clear-cut alternative
When we look at eachother
We believe our own eyes
Both: I believe my own eyes
Now Ive come to the end
All my patience is gone
When Im doubtful I tend
To believe my own eyes
This has gone far enough
After all weve been through
We can be brave
We done all we can humanly do
Its a time to be tough
A time to be wise
We must stop chasing our dreams and recover our lives
I believe my own eyes
Now Ive come to the end
All my patience is gone
When Im doubtful I tend
To believe...
Id like to believe
But I dont think that weve seen the best of us
And a way to believe is to see where the real future lies
I hope that the pain in your gaze can again be a test of me
And when I look in the mirror
I believe my own eyes
Lets believe our own eyes
No weve come to the end
All our patience is gone
Lets admit we intend to believe our own eyes
Kim: ... to believe our own eyes
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Plan of Creation
Life's terms, life's rules.
Rules made up by life,
But not the creator of life.
Life tries to challenge the rules of the creator.
It tries to change the rules of the creator.
But the creator can never be changed.
Nor can His rules.
He should never be challenged.
His wisdom and knowledge is the design.
For I am not the designer.
I am merely a part of the plan.
Of the overall design.
A beautiful creation, by a beautiful creator.
My mind is my cage, my box.
To live outside the box is to be truly free.
The creator's creation is creative.
But I am only a piece of the puzzle.
A puzzle is many pieces, that creates a big picture.
For I am not the big picture,
I am merely just a part of it.
I am not the beginning.
I am not the end.
I am just something in between.
I am stuck in the middle.
And there is no place I would rather be.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do Not Waste Your Patience
What can be said,
About those who make their own decisions?
Those who get upset by them,
And begin to accuse others...
For their brooding self inflicting,
Choices in life they have chosen to choose.
Nor do they appreciate their own lives they hate!
People like this blame others for their failures.
Seek to analyze who lead them into traps.
And jealous of advancements of others they are.
Especially those they use to laugh at behind their backs.
Those that now witness them shuffling along...
With long faces drawn and ambitions distant and gone.
What can be said,
About those who make their own decisions?
Those who get upset by them,
And begin to accuse others...
For their brooding self inflicting,
Choices in life they have chosen to choose.
Hating themselves and everyone around them too!
Nothing!
There is nothing anyone can possibly say or do,
For those who refuse to listen and comprehend...
Any advice that is given to them!
And empathy expressed they also ignore too!
The best decision one in this position can make...
Is to evaluate the situation,
And from this excuse creator...
Move!
Do not apologize when exiting swiftly,
To break quickly away.
Just keep on steppin'.
Move!
Do not waste your patience!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In My Mind! All This Time
Your per-son-ality...
Was not just picked from any litter.
Your dig-ni-ty...
Is of the best I've ever seen.
You are so far from routine,
And it gets so hard to leave...
The matter of affection I feel.
That matter of affection felt.
Your Per,
Son...
Ality!
Was not just picked from any litter.
And your,
Dig...
Ni,
Ty! ?
Is of the best I've ever seen.
Your personality...
Is wha'ts delivered.
From a giver of love and liberty!
Your per-son-ality...
Was not just picked from any litter.
Your dig-ni-ty...
Is of the best I've ever seen.
Your per-son-ality...
Was not just picked from any litter.
Your per-son-ality...
Was selected to give as a gift!
That per-son-ality...
Was not just picked from any litter.
Your per-son-ality...
Is the kind to stay in one's mind!
And you have remained,
In my mind!
All this time!
Because...
The matter of affection I feel.
And,
That matter of affection felt.
And you have remained,
In my mind!
Because...
The matter of affection I feel.
And,
That matter of affection felt.
And you have remained,
In my mind!
All this time.
Because...
The matter of affection I feel.
And,
That matter of affection felt.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From Atop Peaks
The climb to the summit,
With a reaching of it done...
Is anti-climatic.
From atop peaks the valleys below,
Appear lush and beautiful.
And freed of harmful snakes with venom,
Camouflaged and prepared to strike.
The process of falling down on paths,
Picked by one believed are less dangerous...
Than the ones previously experienced.
With a giving to one more endurance to achieve,
Is a myth!
That one path picked is it!
With no guarantee or return of a deposit.
Only those who have accomplished,
With patience...
Realize it was during the journey,
The lessons taught were more appreciated...
Upon reviewing their steps made.
And coming to grips with surviving through fantasies...
Is a raw...'up-in-your-face' undertaking.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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