Waiting For Them to Come to Life
I agree with you.
However...
What is recognized that 'should' happen,
At this hour...
Had been just as recognizable,
In those hours past.
And that 'urgency' has been smothered,
By a coating of denial.
Sautéed in BS.
And trimmed with a taste to bait delusions.
For the purposes to maintain our appetites,
Kept in sweetened ignorance.
It is recommended we establish patience,
For those hypnotized by incompetency.
And on all levels,
Allow a degrading that has taken place...
To consume any decency that is left.
Now we live in the midst of dwindling stages,
Of pretensions meant!
And waiting for them to come to life.
With the utmost expected tolerance.
Because we are who we say we are.
And not what it is that is reflected.
Since those images we refuse to accept.
And we bet against their existence.
Inspired by:
J.B Poet
Atlanta
'Thank you J.B Poet.
Keep your 'spirit' honest.
And your 'vision' fresh with expectation.'
~LSP~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
The life of a Poet
The poet listens
the poet hears
he writes down
all his fears.
He observes things
that others don't
going to places
that others won't.
Inspired by simple things
like a sound or smell
the poet has lots
of stories to tell.
Even when asleep
his mind isn't at rest
in fact this is the time
it's at it's creative best.
The poet can be a restless soul
his life reflected on the page
some verse can be sweet and mild
then full of anger and rage.
The poet can be mysterious
and write in a strange way
he will say Black is White
and that night is day.
The poet is an artist
but instead of paint it's the word
painters want their work to be seen
but poets just need to be heard.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Before a Poetry Reading
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I'm feeling nervous but I mustn't show it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I hope to heaven that I won't blow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
I mustn't reveal that I'm a second-rate poet!
I'm only a rhymer, but they don't know it!
If you've got no talent you'll have to grow it!
'Poet! Poet! Poet! Poet! '
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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The Poet I Am', And 'The Poet I Am Not
The poet I am, and the poet I am not
‘The poet I am’ says
To ‘the poet I am not’,
‘Why can’t I be more like you? ’
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Because you are not good enough’
And ‘the poet I am’ begins to cry,
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Real poets cry for more meaningful things’
And ‘the poet I am’ says ‘I am who I am and what I will be means so much to me. But still I am not the poet I wanted to be’.
And ‘the poet I am not’ says
‘Exactly. Were you less concerned with who you are and more concerned with others you might be a bit more of a poet than you are now.’
And ‘the poet I am’ is silent.
And ‘the poet I am not’is somewhere else being someone else
That ‘the poet I am and the poet I am not’ cannot see or dream.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Anger Behind The Swing Of This Axe
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting..
I did everything right and it still went so wrong.
Perfection in the moment and now its gone.
If I only knew what I know now.
I would have ran for the hills.
Never looked back.
Like a ghost completely disappeared.
Across the hemisphere.
Above the highest atmosphere.
Mind you they are limitation I grant you.
But still I don't think it's that far of an exaggeration.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
A broken heart I'm not debating.
For I know at one time I did love you.
But it faded as you became so god damn jaded.
Nothing I did was ever quite good enough.
With love their should never be any expectation.
Except not too stray or put yourself a abusive situation.
Support and do the best you can for your family and friends.
But in this case you didn't allow that to happen.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
I want to blame you for my unhappiness.
But I can not.
For I'm better off now then I ever have been.
In my eyes you have already been forgiven.
For your road was rockier then mine has ever been.
I will never forget the kids they will always be in my heart as if they were my own.
One autistic, the other blind.
You don't even acknowledge I ever existed.
Even as I ask how they are.
So I will never know.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
With every swing of this well worn axe.
I'm thinking of you.
The anger burns right through.
Images flash across my brain.
It's like I'm watching the most hated reruns on television.
And no matter what I do they just keep playing.
I wish I never meant you.
I wish for something sweet instead of something so bitter.
I've been told the taste will fade.
Well I'm still waiting.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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World view
Come to poet
And enjoy life.
Come to poet
And see beauty.
Come to poet
And know truth.
Come to poet
And have patience.
No non-sense can
Disturb you
And you have
At your hand
World view.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Give Me Image
Enough!
Enough of this...
Self righteous ambiguity!
Fed by those seeking consciousness.
Give me image.
I have yet to have enough,
Of this 'truth-as-I-see-it-life-I-live'.'.
Give me image.
How else can it be expected,
I keep my pretensions alive and thriving?
Do not rid from me my freedom,
To exist living for images I see fit to project.
I can not bare the acceptance of the reality...
Thrown in my face I am suppose to respect!
Give me image!
Do not strip me of my need,
To seek quality delusions to please, eat and feed.
Give me image.
So that I may feel free,
To live in the midst of unending fantasies.
And aspects of threatening truth...
Disturbs my mentality!
As I witness it pursue the awakening of masses.
Pass me my rose colored glasses, please!
Enough!
Enough of this...
Self righteous ambiguity!
Give me image.
I have yet to have enough,
Of this 'truth-as-I-see-it-life-I-live'.'.
Give me image.
Let those images forever in my mind,
Find within me reason to exist!
Give me image.
And enough...
Enough of this,
Self righteous ambiguity.
Fed by those seeking consciousness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fresh Voices Heard
Do the fresh voices heard,
Enhance to inspire...
The encouragement of higher consciousness?
Deceit can not seem to smother.
Or have they too been sold,
To silence the old insights.
The ones that frighten sweetened appetites.
With beliefs a release from the past,
Will undo delusions praised to last.
And a comforting with a replacement of truth,
Those with old insights,
Were too quick to strip away...
The selling of misconceptions fresh voices heard,
Will keep pursued.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Morning Sunshine
This poet is so seductive
This poet is now strange to me
This poet is so bold
This little girl doesn't want to see
The little girl has known this poet
ever since
But the little girl is already
tired of this poet
She just wants to play.
Not any passing minute
She hasn't have
any word of
allegory
metonymy and
simile
Take me away from this poet yet
the little girl must empty first
the words of this poet
Before she is free to play
in the morning sunshine
and go away from this busy poet
Do you think I'm too young to see?
Do you agree?
This poet won't let me
play out in the middle of the rain
This poet won't let me
see the afternoon sway
This poet won't let me
see the morning gay
Let me see the Morning Sunshine
Let me see!
But this poet
Won't let me
I'll just watch t.v
and sing
her poetry
poem by Mary Jesusa Villegas
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On Whatever The Level An Eye Contact
With a stroke of unexpected fortune,
Those in possession of tremendous egos...
And can realistically assess the times like these,
Will find that a climbing down...
From their high horses,
Is not yet enforced.
And this can still be done with ease.
If it is recognizable...
And those sympathetic to delusions...
May still believe it is.
That those holding tightly to pretensions kept,
Will recognize those delusions of grandeur...
Are no longer for them affordable.
On whatever the level an eye contact is met!
'What is going to be done with the horse I treasured? '
~Today?
That should be the least of your concern! ~
A dismounting is no longer an option for them.
A dismantling of pretensions,
Come to many as cold hard to face facts!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Clear Vision
O poet have a clear vision
Sooner or later you are dying
O poet have a participation
In this vibrant poetry community
Sooner or later you are dying
O poet you do not know minus
And you know only plus plus
Sooner or later you are dying
Here is your eyes here is sun
Here is bird here is song
O poet you are here with butterflies
You are here with the whirlwind
Sooner or later you are dying
O poet you are above you are below
You are behind you are a head
O poet this world is your garden
And you are blossoming here in passion
And you are making a story
O poet you have a clear vision
And you are here at this moment.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Poem about Poetry - Real poets
a real poet
who harbours
a message
takes his glory
from the sun
shines day in
and day out
lighting up
the graces of the world
his own dignified way
come rain,
come thunder,
come lightning
he never lets go
of his vision
lighting up the world
with triumph
enthusiasm
uplifted spirit
a real poet
helps others
find a path
with life
helps the
world realise
the power
of verses
- in realising
life
in so many levels
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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This Poet Is Always Beside You
You are reading my poem but,
This poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
I am on your lips and,
I am in your mouth;
I am in your heart and,
I am in your mind;
Because, this poet is always beisde you.
This poet writes and others read,
This poet speaks and others listen,
And this poet is always beside you;
But, this poet is never known.
The works of this poet are on the internet,
And, they are being read by many! !
But, this poet is never known;
However, this poet is always beside you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Am Not The Poet's Poet But Perhaps The Would- Be- Poet's Would-Be Poet
I AM NOT THE POET’S POET BUT PERHAPS THE WOULD- BE- POETS WOULD – BE –POET
I am not the poet’s poet-
The one poets of name and fame admire-
But perhaps the would- be- poets would be – poet-
Who tries to be a poet
And tries to understand what it means
To love poetry and live by writing it
Even when the world does not recognize me..
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poet is free
Poet is free
No grammarian can guide the poet
Do not tell before a poet you are dare
And I know there are so many grammarians
With so many grammars
The poet is one with truth with love
All the grammars old middle modern
Are of no use for a poet
At the time of poet's thought
Poet's love poet's poetry
Nobody can search research poet's history
Nobody can dare to described poet
Poet can create his own language
His own grammar and it does not bother the poet
Whether you like it or not
Leave the poet on his own way
It is better you to read him love him
If you are alive.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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An Opportunity to Leave You Alone
Why didn't I tell you before?
I did.
But I was not dressed the part.
I was not the vision you expected.
And your listening ended quickly.
I've been telling you.
But the familiarity of my voice...
Had not sweetened with deception.
And you became impressed,
By those who were at their best,
Expressing a falseness.
I addressed...
To your vacant eyes!
Now you find yourself completely duped.
And I don't understand that.
Since you were the one,
Who chose that life to live.
Did you not tell me,
To 'keep the faith? '
And maintain my realities?
I have.
Thanks for the advice.
And an opportunity to leave you alone.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Poet's Life
A Poet's life is:
A whole day of inspiration,
Coupled with a lot of observation,
A poet is not right,
And not wrong,
They have foresight and don't prolong,
A poet is neutral at all times,
They are the past, present and future,
Possess knowledge of culture,
And in a way is a teacher,
So there you have it,
All summed up as one,
A Poet's Life. My work here is done!
The crazy Poet!
The crazy Poet
did a crazy poem
when I asked the hours to him
he replied that his watch
was not right!
It had a headache
And his time was converted into 22 tears hours
I, no longer understand anything,
said to him
- Why Poet speaks the language unrepaired -
Forget the hours Poet, and their rhymes?
He said, Ah! , galvanize, crystallize and agonize
And I ask you again
And your love?
And Him to me: Broken, breaking
and enveloping
Now, try understand a Poet! ! !
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Quatrain #292 - A poet is an artist who..........
A poet is an artist who paints images with words cast on the canvas of our mind
and uses expressions to make a point or evoke feelings of some particular kind.
A poem then is the handiwork of a poet who is usually inspired or otherwise,
being the medium through which he or she reveal themselves to peoples eyes.
poem by George Krokos
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Misguided Misdemeanors
Even though the rush of ongoing tragedies,
Seem to be the result of accusations,
We are a people in denial.
Let us not abandon the strength we maintain,
In keeping our delusions.
To leave and ignore those insisting,
There is a need to examine our way of life,
With a proclaiming of our relentless stubbornness...
To drastically change our ways of doing things,
Midstream.
It would be pointless to adopt to adapt,
To such needless measures.
We can always rename these 'common' incidents,
We seem to daily face with such frequency these days...
As misguided misdemeanors.
Remember this...
We are not here to validate,
The painful affects and presence of our ignorance.
Let us ensure that all pretentions we keep,
Are safely kept protected to guarantee...
Our insecurities will never be revealed,
To be interpreted as admissions of weakness.
'But how can we explain the increase of insanity? '
We will continue to label these mavericks misfits.
'An entire population of people? '
There is no need to sensationalize.
These isolated incidents stirring in the minds,
Of a few disgruntled people.
There is no need to exaggerate the mundane.
Remember...
We are in the midst of an election year.
And all of us should be focused on the economy.
With the acknowledgement,
Of who we have chosen to place blame.
'All of this is becoming quite disturbing.'
Remember...
We are in the midst of an election year.
And it is extremely important,
We do our utmost best to keep medicated...
Through this strenuous and gut wrenching process.
Knowing...
Our values and standards are being attacked and tested.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Being A Poet
being a poet
is not an ambition
it is ironic
that i do poetry and
yet i do not want
to be called a poet
nor be identified with
any movement in poetry
nor take the challenge and opportunity
of being crowned by laurel leaves
and be dragged on the stage of
an island of light focusing my head and body
and they shall all clap and say
this is the poet, this is our poet
not in the figment of my imagination
not an ambition not a profession not a career in the field of literature
to be a poet on a certain degree
you see, i live in a crowded universe
i am a fish in the sea of people
and i, never imagine once in my whole life
that i will be swimming so meaninglessly in the corridors
of this vast ocean of men and mice and snakes
and goats and pigs and eagles
poetry is what i do but i am not a poet
this poet, that poet
their poet
the reason is here inside my heart
this is my place &
this is my only chance to be alone
to be myself to be human again for out there
i, we, you have become pillars
and dams.and walls and continental shelves
it is only here in this spot
that i become my island
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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