Too Much Is Expected
No one...
Given life to breathe,
Is born with a cold heart.
Beating with a rhythm,
That is ready to freeze.
No one...
Should be expected,
To show warmth and love.
If none has been surrounding one...
Being expressed.
Or shown to one how that's addressed.
No child learning to crawl, walk and talk.
Grows into an adult...
Prepared with maturity.
Or an accountability.
If no examples of that were ever there!
How is one expected to become aware?
Too much is expected.
From those who have been neglected.
And too much for too long goes undenied...
By one feeling insecure and desperate inside.
With no one to confide in...
From a shattering that goes on alone.
And kept condoned to grow unknown outside.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Selfish Contradictions
If people are not able to 'see' things
From an expected adult point of view...
Who is responsible for that?
Who held them back from this process?
And why in adulthood...
Their childishness reacts.
It is clearly not attractive.
And those who allowed this lack,
To appear in childish ways.
Did not teach them to reach comprehension...
With a complete understanding,
As immaturity was displayed.
Many will never wake up to 'see'.
No matter who shouts.
Or points this ignorance out.
And others who have been awakened so long,
Have felt the obligation,
To state what they felt to them was then wrong.
And brought that to someone's attention.
They made it a need for it to be mentioned.
A self centeredness was condoned.
In and outside the home.
And this did not end for them.
Resulting in selfish contradictions...
Of what is expected.
Yet reflects upon that,
Which has been neglected!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Expecting
Your mouth said this never
but your fingers have shown me
that your head is so clever
you claim that you own me
forever
You have the right to conduct me
in whatever fashion
your attempt construct me
in the interest of passion
you sent me
to toledo
I came back with handfulls
I did what you asked me
but after the thank yous
that you quickly got passed me
Im expected
youre expecting
Im expected
expected
song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am o.k. you are o.k.
‘I lost my pen’
‘Don’t worry, I shall get you one’
A child like question
And an expected parental reply.
I am o.k., you are o.k.
‘I lost my pen’
‘I know you will do only that’
Parent reply belied the question.
I am o.k. You are not o.k.
‘I lost my pen’
‘You can borrow from me’
A child-like question.
An adult like answer.
I am o.k. You are o.k.
‘Is the bus late?
‘Which bus comes in time?
An adult seeking an adult
But received a parent reply.
I am o.k. You are not.
‘Is the bus late? ’
‘Yes, heard only ten minutes’
Both responded as adults.
I am o.k. You are o.k.
‘Let us play hide and seek’
‘Yes, let me hide first’
A child sought from a child
And received it.
I am o.k. You are o.k.
‘Let us play hide and seek’
‘No, this is not the time’
The reply is parental
And belied the question.
I am o.k. You are not.
‘Let us play hide and seek’
‘Yes. Then we should read’
A child and an adult reaction
I am o.k. You are o.k.
‘You should not smoke’
‘Yes. I shall cut it’
A parental question.
An adult reply.
I am o.k. You are o.k.
‘You should not smoke’
‘First, you cut your chewing’
A parental question
Seeking a child answer
But was belied.
I am o.k. You are not.
‘She should be taught a lesson’
‘ Yes, otherwise she will worsen’
A parent seeking a parent and got.
I am o.k. You are o.k.
‘I love you.’
‘I can’t forget you.’
Both are adult,
Expecting and receiving
As adults. I and you are o.k.
‘I love you’
‘Shh.. Others may watch”
A child’s reply to a child
Both are o.k.
‘I love you’
‘Bitch! Go to hell; I’ll report’
A parental reply, instead.
I am o.k. You are not.
‘I love you.’
‘I think you misunderstood.’
Both behaved as adults.
I am o.k. You are o.k.
You be the way you are expected.
You are then o.k. to others.
When others fail to be the way
You expected, you reason for it.
Others will be o.k. to you.
Then where is the individuality?
27.01.2000, Kottayam
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Born To Fail
I was born to fail.
I was told that I would never make it.
I was told that I would end up in jail and within a cell,
Or a woman of the night and loving it.
I was counted as the least to succeed.
My story was that I'll be the girl that would walk across the stage
With a baby on her side.
I was never challenged, not even a plea.
I was labeled as easy, just offer a ride.
I was never expected to be successful.
I was never expected to graduate with any honor.
I was told that I was everything less than grateful.
I was told that I'll never have the brain power,
But look at me now
As I stand tall and very bold.
As I walk with pride repping that purple and gold.
C.O.G.I.C is where it's at.
Don't get me wrong I love where I came from,
But could never go back.
It made me who I am today,
A woman that's very strong.
Now that I made it through,
Some may expect me to be boasting,
But I'm not because I wouldn't be me if it wasn't for you.
You were the one that declared I was destined to fall,
But I am more than what you expected.
My destiny is mine to call,
And for you to accept it.
So you see, I wasn't born to fail.
I was born to be me and that's all to tell.
poem by Shukiera Johnson
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Is There a Right Time
Is there a 'right' time,
For you to know my love?
Midnight reaches only please you,
When there is a need
I am expected to feed!
But my love isn't there,
Just to fake the making.
Or waiting in a place,
For you to embrace and take it!
Inside I am dieing,
Feeling someone else
May have you elsewhere sighing!
And I will not guess...
As I choose to lay my suspicions to rest!
Give me reason to leave.
Give me something that says...
Your love for me is dead!
Instead of cold shoulders,
And a heart that doesn't touch!
Is there a 'right' time?
Turn on the light,
And express how you feel.
I don't want to have to shut down.
But I am prepared to show my back...
Before I turn you off!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Less Eccentric But Thoughtfully Provocative
Remembering those first decisions,
I had made for myself...
I can now admit to feeling awkward then.
I had no elder sibling to follow.
I was the oldest child in my clan.
And I noticed with me several experiments began.
I was expected to 'know' before I knew a thing.
I was expected to 'grow'...
To show my sister, Mimmie 'everything'.
And she knew she got the short end of the stick.
'You don't know what your're doing!
Do you? '
~Shut up! I'm two years older than you...
LITTLE girl.~
She hated me for that.
And I didn't care.
I hated we both were in that trap!
Of that I was young and too aware.
I made many mistakes!
I didn't know what I was doing.
The first born of a crew,
Is often blamed for what the other kids do!
And when I knew this was going to be my fate,
I flew!
Or I thought I could...
By taking a swan drive from the nest!
I had just turned 18...
When I joined the military.
Never again to say I was bored to death.
It took me years to land on my feet.
Since I kept knocking my head,
Against many tests I objected to in protest.
Remembering those first decisions,
I had made for myself...
I can now admit to feeling awkward then.
I had no elder sibling to follow.
I was the oldest child in my clan.
And I noticed with me several experiments began.
Even to this day I look for ways,
To be daring and more outrageous.
Although I like to perceive my actions to be,
Less eccentric but thoughtfully provocative!
And proud to say I am courageous.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Writer's Ink
I am the writer's ink,
So just write with me without any fear;
I will move more than expected,
I will write more than expected,
I am the writer's ink.
Use me slowly or even faster,
I will talk more than expected;
I do have the message to teach everyone.
Of the beauty of communication,
I am used by everyone;
I am the writer's ink,
I do make people sad or glad;
My ink makes rulers sad,
My ink makes personalities sad,
My ink makes the common man sad,
The way i am used matters.
I am the writer's ink,
I am not expensive;
Buy me and use me always.
How can a country like Ghana be poor? !
Ghana has gold, oil, cocoa and timber;
There are also diamond, bauxite and other minerals;
How then can Ghana be poor? !
The writer's ink should tell us more.
Mismanagement is the food in the country,
Ghana has really more than it needs;
This country shouldn't be poor.
What the leaders say on air is not,
What we see on the ground;
I am the talkative ready to talk.
I am the writer's ink,
I will always speak the truth!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Last Embrace
You walked as fast as you could
Bringing with you some food to partake
Life is difficult, you have to make do
With the provisions the nuns have provided
For you and your husband to keep afloat each day
Keeping him company
Dependent, relying upon him
Feeling alone, lonely and neglected
Never the love and affection you expected
For many years your hidden heart embedded
He comfortably provided you
With a home you call your own
Tried working night and day
His illness had to wait, he must save
For rainy days, the future has to stay
In the dimly lit room he slept in peace
Never waking to see the dawn
Holding his hands, so frail and cold
You were alone — again, lonely and neglected
You breathe as deeply as you can
You have the last embrace …
thank you for dropping by and leaving your heart print. I will always treasure it...God bless you
A tribute to Elsa, our caretaker in the convent where i stayed
poem by Meggie Gultiano
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So I did.
I kissed her child as she expected.
I praised my host as he expected.
I praised his work as I am supposed.
They wanted to be fooled so I did.
26.11.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Double Talking
Be careful of those who show,
They can be decivious.
Witness what is delivered,
From the side of their mouths.
A double talking through twisted lips...
Can be expected to come out.
Eyes may glaze with lies prepared.
Rehearsed and staged,
To make an appearance...
If one is not aware,
A presentation is all that is there.
With a hope to see the receptive in belief.
And a mind that exposes,
An absence of an occupant.
Ready to be sold on anything.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Procrastinations Created to Make An Erasing
No excuses are better made,
Than those insecure that make them.
A beating around the bush,
Whether conscious or not.
Is not done quite as well...
As those who attempt to escape,
From hesitated procrastinations.
Created to make,
An erasing of their accountability!
People like this are easily offended.
Believing their disrespect for others,
Should be condoned.
People like this,
Anticipate being appreciated!
For making mediocrity enforced upon others.
With a downgrading of their expectations.
And communicating that,
To entrap as this is shown!
No excuses are better made,
Than those insecure that make them.
A beating around the bush,
Whether conscious or not.
Is not done quite as well...
As those who attempt to escape,
From hesitated procrastinations.
Created to make,
An erasing of their accountability!
And as incredible as this may be...
People extend to them patience,
With comprehension.
Instead of giving them a boot to the curb!
Asked for and deserved!
A lack of discipline should never be rewarded.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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There! Because That Is What People Naturally Do
On what scale can one rate hatred.
To what temperature can heat rise...
From those despising themselves and others?
How long can tolerance be expected to prevail?
To calm those tensions with attempts,
That a peacefulness...
Will ease the minds of those who vent.
On what graph can an explanation,
Describe one's pain?
In what debates...
Can a surprising happiness,
Be concluded as shown on one's face.
Will those times ever return,
When it becomes apparent...
Lessons have been learned?
And respect that is given,
Isn't stubbornly expected to be earned.
But is there!
Because that is what people naturally do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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One should expect that the expected can be prevented, but the unexpected should have been expected.
quote by Norman Ralph Augustine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is an endless procession of surprises. The expected rarely occurs and never in the expected manner.
quote by Vernon A. Walters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Certainly my parents were a huge influence. They always expected the most out of all of us. And expected us to do our very best. I'm thankful to them for allowing me to do what I wanted to do.
quote by Laurel Clark
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song on The End of The World
On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A Fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it it should always be.
On the day the world ends
Women walk through fields under their umbrellas
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.
And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangels' trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes it is happening now.
Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet,
Yet is not a prophet, for he's much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
No other end of the world there will be,
No other end of the world there will be.
poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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A Song On The End Of The World
On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.
On the day the world ends
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.
And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangels’ trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose,
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes it is happening now.
Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet
Yet is not a prophet, for he’s much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
There will be no other end of the world,
There will be no other end of the world.
poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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Love is elusive.
Love – we don’t give
In expected measure
Nor do we get
In expected measure.
The world has never been happy.
13.02.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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How Beautiful Is Pregnancy
A man is so glad to know- that inside you
His child grows.
The most beautiful thing on this earth
Is a woman giving birth.
As her stomach starts to grow
And her soft caressing hands begin to show
You'll see her face take on a radiating glow.
She will see life in a different way
As her motherly instincts come into play.
her body which she had taken for granted before
Is about to open a new door.
This is the door to life
and as you do the pushing pains
From this moment on your life will change.
And when you feel that child stretching
Those walls of life
You'll know it was worth the pains and sacrifice.
You may see its head and then its face
Searching this unfamiliar place.
Looking for the warmth that it knew
When it was inside of you.
It will take some time for the child to adjust
But it'll recall your gentle touch
Now the first step comes into place
When you look at each others face.
An indefinable feeling that you can't put into words
But for nine months this child has heard.
The beating of its mothers heart
Had become as one
And a new life had begun.
Now you have become what GOD intended
A mother of life - of hopes and dreams
And all that is seen and unseen.
Look deeply into that child s eyes
And it will take you where you've
Never been before - as it opens
Up its souls door.
This is what - 'as a man'- I see
And you can't take that away from me.
poem by Louis Rams
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Such Our Love
It was a bus by the corner,
I looked around and found no wheels,
Where are the seats, empty bus
The engine so inimical to locomotion,
Yet we expected it to move,
So was the bus, such our love
It was a clear blue sky,
The sun rays passing through earth,
Where are the clouds, empty sky
The sky so inimical to condensation,
Yet we expected it to rain,
So was the sky, such our love
It was a dead dodo,
So pityful in its dying minutes,
Where is life, dead dodo,
The dodo is inimical to its survival,
Yet we expected it to live and fly,
So was the dodo, such our love
You and I were a shadow,
An empty and stagnant bus,
A clear blue sky,
A lifeless dodo,
Planning was alien to us,
So was opportunism, such our love
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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