Watching From Their Windows
A wealth of sensations,
Are presented for many to choose.
And from which to pick.
These sensations exist,
At one's fingertips!
But somehow the action,
Is not allowed to be permitted.
The availability of variety,
Does not explain why some prefer to sit...
In the daily complaining,
How their lives are spent...
Watching from their windows,
As the wind outside whips and shifts...
A boring accumulation of snow drifts.
And 'this' they find in the Wintertime,
To lock their minds upon...
As if guarding.
To ensure someone comes along,
To shovel or plow...
Their fixations away.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
New Sensations
I dont like guilt be it stoned or stupid
Drunk and disorderly I aint no cupid
Two years ago today I was arrested on christmas eve
I dont want pain, I want to walk not be carried
I dont want to give it up, I want to stay married
I aint no dog tied to a parked car
Ooohhh, new sensations
Ooohhh, new sensations
Talkin bout some new sensations
Talkin bout some new sensations
I want the principles of a timeless muse
I want to eradicate my negative views
And get rid of those people who are always on a down
Its easy enough to tell what is wrong
But thats not what I want to hear all night long
Some people are like human toulinols
Ooohhh, new sensations
Ooohhh, ooohhh, new sensations
Talkin bout some new sensations
Talkin a new sensations
I took my gpz out for a ride
The engine felt good between my thighs
The air felt cool, its was forty degrees outside
I rode to pennsylvania near the delaware gap
Sometimes I got lost and had to check the map
I stopped at a roadside diner for a burger and a coke
There were some country folk and some hunters inside
Somebody got themselves married and somebody died
I went to the juke box and played a hillbilly song
They was arguing about football as I waved and went outside
And I headed for the mountains feeling warm inside
I love that gpz so much, you know that I could kiss her
Ooohhh, new sensations
Ooohhh, ooohhh, new sensations
Talkin bout your new sensations
Talkin new sensations
Ooohhh, new sensations
Ooohhh, new sensations
Ooohhh, new sensations
Ooohhh, new sensations
Ooohhh, new sensations
...
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art need no longer be an account of past sensations. It can become the direct organization of more highly evolved sensations. It is a question of producing ourselves, not things that enslave us.
quote by Angela Carter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Plow
Outside my window the snow is white,
a winter mist I see so bright.
I hear through chrystals snow on snow,
a distant engine of a plow.
The chrystals falling from the sky,
in a way which I can’t tell you why
On the ground there is heavy snow
the plow is getting nearer now
The window sticks just like a stamp
against my fingers, cold and damp.
I see the sight of untouched snow,
I see the fountain of the plow.
The plow went by ten minutes ago
back is now a usable road
I hear through chrystals, snow on snow;
the distant engine of the plow
poem by Espen Øye Bjørkvold
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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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Bodies do not produce sensations, but complexes of elements (complexes of sensations) make up bodies.
quote by Ernst Mach
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sensations Invented
It is so clear,
What is here!
What is near,
And appears.
Regardless of those,
Who choose to listen...
With opened ears.
It is apparent,
As the feeling in one's fingertips.
Even if some are numb to these senses...
The implementation done,
Has been imprinted.
Without effective lament.
Sensations invented,
Are meant to be left as sentiments.
Emotions within to mend with a willingness...
Are absent of attention.
At least hints intended,
Are not given to them.
It is so clear,
What is here!
What is near,
And reappears.
Regardless of those,
Who choose to listen...
With opened ears.
It is apparent,
As the feeling in one's fingertips.
Even if some are numb to these senses...
The implementation done,
Has been imprinted.
Without effective lament.
And we,
The people...
Receive beliefs under steeples.
Although through a peephole we peek.
To behold as told!
With full comrepension,
We desperately seek.
Prisoners of limited knowledge told.
To live with wishes to fulfill.
But then to become victims,
To that which we do not know!
It is so clear,
What is here!
What is near,
And appears.
Regardless of those,
Who choose to listen...
With opened ears.
Dismissing an acceptance,
That could be generated but disappears.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Psychology is still trying to explain the perception of the position of an object in space, along with its shape, size, and so on, and to understand the sensations of color.
quote by James J. Gibson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Am I Relevant?
Am I relevant?
I am not afraid to keep current.
I am not worrying about any egos to massage.
Or pretenses to keep hidden.
Am I relevant?
Well...
I am not trying to keep reality,
From intoxicated surburbanites!
Doing their best to smile through their agonies!
Am I relevant?
Should I care to be?
And who's life would change if I wasn't?
If I should stop being topical...
Would that mean I would prefer cartoons,
Over current events?
Would that mean I would ignore,
The time I've spent...
Watching others pollute minds,
As I sat on my behind...
Complaining 'why' someone can't find,
A way to restrict
Those with loose lips...
From preventing ignorance,
The freedom of contaminating truths...
By the soothing use,
Of complete and total censorship!
Am I relevant?
I like to think of myself as not being constipated!
Or overdone with fantasies outdated,
To bait disappointments!
I like to keep fresh...
And controversial!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Quite Simple
a billion cells
more or less
make me
what I am in excess
egress and the want
to guess,
beneath my skin
rippling rivers,
juices of life flow on
different layers
levels staked up,
against each other
turgid and pulsing
synchronized to beat
in unison,
electrical charges of sensations,
charging back and forth
caressing watts propel,
prickly ohms resist, vibrating
in sympathy, a working harmony,
the conductor,
of this symphony
waves his baton,
the magic wand,
unfurls
the musical score,
motifs of thought,
from sensations wrought,
emotions and notions
ring bells,
chimes incite the cells
to act and action
move and motion
into be and being
denying
not to be
poem by Shimon Weinroth
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Our Lives Are Mostly Unsaid
Our lives are mostly unsaid
We have countless poems in us
Which will never be written-
The beauty of so many things
The hidden secrets of so much we sense
We can never fully tell-
All of us each of us lives poetry unwritten and unspoken-
This is God’s gift to us all
We have holy lives
We do not ourselves truly know to tell
And we enjoy them as sensations only our own
Which our very existence gives us.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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With These Stories and Others to Come
With these stories and more...
A forgetting is not permitted!
With these stories and others to come...
A repeating will be committed.
Moving ahead for some is certain.
Many like to Spring clean,
And exchange all the curtains.
Some prefer to ignore the dust.
And oxidize they do...
Rusting and cursing,
The stagnant times they trust.
Others see this with wishes to move on!
With each day turning into night...
They await the coming of dawn.
But those who choose to argue about change...
Do the best they can,
To remain the same!
Claiming that yesterday,
Their lives were less insane!
With these stories and more...
A forgetting is not permitted!
With these stories and others to come...
A repeating will be committed.
And with the troubles today,
Existing unresisted.
Many believe good times will return.
If only they sit,
Reminiscing about it!
While everything around them,
Is left to crumble...
As praises of days gone,
Leaves those currently outraged...
In a blazing that comes,
To burn them all.
And standing to witness,
They do...
The approaching creep of a firestorm.
Without a prevention...
To stop an accepted ignorance,
Allowed as they debate their fate!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pick Up The Plow!
put down your sword,
pick up the plow!
a new day has come,
a new world before us!
in the beginning again,
we are the first hope.
pick up the plow,
till the earth...
our home and our hope!
a new day, a new way,
we work side by side..
beneath the sun, in the rain...
and we make love all night!
time is for the taker,
and now is the time...
put down your sword,
pick up the plow!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Mental states of every kind, - sensations, feelings, ideas, - which were at one time present in consciousness and then have disappeared from it, have not with their disappearance absolutely ceased to exist.
quote by Hermann Ebbinghaus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cutting Edge
As long as my work is edited...
To ensure by those who censor,
I say nothing to offend anyone...
They may believe is totally oblivious,
To a reality that affects...
Their pretentiously kept delusions,
They will meet and decide by voting...
If my written submissions as described,
Should be considerd...
Cutting edge!
And that determines...
Who amongst them have actually,
Spent anytime outside and beyond...
Their own comfort zones.
Many do not travel too far,
To ensure an innocence represented..
Thrives to keep some minds stunted.
Even though the majority of the people,
Have long been forced to do so...
With an eviction from these zones,
For most of their lives.
And find that a censorship...
Athough at these times lived ridiculous,
Should be applied to an acceptance...
Of a decadence that is marketed successfully!
But, of course...
That is a reflection of their lives as lived,
Valued as standards they publicly deny.
Yes it is hypocritical...
However,
It is what it is!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Song Of The Evergreens
Listen to the briskly whistling winter evergreen
Whispering through the frozen morning light
And tell me whats to come
Saying my time is near
Never fear
I close each year
Im winter
Reminding me to trade my t-shirts for my woven wools
Trade my sandals for my skis
Whispered warnings in the wind
Saying soon come the dancing snowflakes
Theyre kissing every tree
Theyre kissing you and me
Please hurry
Falling
Dazzling dancing diamonds from the sky
Prisms
Rainbow sparkled flurries in our eyes
Whipping across the frozen crystal meadow
Pond of ice
Race the snow
Well build a warming fire there
And cuddle close and wine and dine
The setting sun
The morning light will find us high
Shooting down the glistening mountain side
Screaming through the whispering pines
The freedom of each day
Will cleanse our minds
I can hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
I can hardly hardly wait for winter
I can hardly wait for the snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow
song performed by by Chicago
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In A Duality That Is Lived
Good could not exist all alone,
Without evil near to feed it...
In a duality that is lived as is.
Nor could a mediocrity flourish in climates,
When an atmosphere condones it...
As an acceptable vision allowed and permitted.
It is pointless to insist without resistance,
That victims are not marketed from birth...
To attract to themselves harm to thirst it first,
When minds are conditioned to be curious.
And no one can claim they have found Utopia,
If not having had visitations from demons.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Green Clouds # 4
Where the green clouds gathered to rend,
the storm has passed with its colored raindrops
There are no more wondering sensations of spring
And youth is spent against the shore of similitude
There was no sudden cease of wind and war
only the slow dying of battle with the night
Now it is easy to flounder in the shadows
without the boon or delight of my troubles
The shock and words were once poetry most high
It is easy to forget that I was still human then
Eager for the storm again, I must run quickly
to catch what I seek, or forever chase the wind.
poem by Poet Dragon
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Sensations
I am always 'here'...
Like the consciousness,
Keeping me aware!
With a vision clear.
I am not one,
To select fast exits.
Or seeking just fun!
Like the choice made by some.
I am not that kind...
To take for granted my 'gifts'
The ones that God has blessed me with!
To be part of this creation is bliss.
Especially when time is not mine to define!
I am here to accomplish.
I am here to succeed.
I am not here to stunt my growth...
Like some I see drifting,
As if tumbleweeds!
Always 'here' it appears.
And my purpose is clear,
As I reach to do my best!
Feeling blessed and tested,
On the path I walk...
Sometimes I am faulted,
But never do I think to halt!
Or rest,
To contemplate burdens,
Laid upon my chest!
I am always 'here'...
Like the consciousness,
Keeping me aware!
With a vision clear.
I am not one...
Teased by temptations that come.
To select fast exits.
Or seeking just fun!
Like the choice made by some.
Those who find they must stay on the run!
I am not that kind...
To take for granted my 'gifts'
The ones that God has blessed me with!
To be part of this creation...
Is my bliss,
That anoints me with sensations that fit!
With an understanding,
Of why I am allowed to be here.
To exist as I do...
Knowing the 'who' of me like this!
And with God beside me,
To assist me through!
Being here in the now...
Is the mood I choose!
I am always 'here'...
With God close to me near!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Some People Are Just Lucky
What, if anything, in a tomorrow wished,
Is guaranteed?
If the ability to experience the 'now' today,
Is an activity done that can be achieved.
Besides procrastination?
And many daily do that AND succeed.
Too often it is heard by some,
What they can not do...
Because there is no time to find.
Or funds to wine and dine themselves!
As if in a 'tomorrow'...
A lottery win will come to change their minds.
However,
Explain this to me...
What, if anything, in a tomorrow wished,
Is guaranteed?
If the ability to experience the 'now' today,
Is an activity done that can be achieved.
Besides procrastination?
And many daily do that AND succeed.
And why do those who seem to be in sacrificial mode,
Are always considered the ones who are lucky...
When working hard all their lives,
Creating their own opportunities.
'I never see those folks out socializing anywhere.
And they always look tired and haggard! '
~I wonder why? ~
'Maybe they stay home laying on the couch.
Watching too much TV? '
~That's what I do.
I don't look like that.
In fact, the doctor told me I was getting fat.
And I know I keep active.~
'Yeah,
Some people are just lucky.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Old Fashioned Lover
it is said that 'feelings should be seen'.
that is every womans dream.
to prevent the hurt and ease the pain
because no two loves are ever the same.
what good would it be, if every feeling you could see.
you could never have a surprise 'of that there is no lie'.
' i'll take the good old fashion love'.
so in my way, i could show exactly what i feel
and that my love is real.
a poem written or taken from a book.
it gives your love a brand new look.
a bouquet of flowers to compliment the hour.
even a small rose that tickles the nose.
all these little things a true lover brings.
a thought of a memory past
that in her heart, you know did last.
a joke, a smile, a tender kiss
something that you know she will miss.
the caressing of her face, your fingers
running through her hair, just to show how much you care.
all these things i would do, just to show
how much i love you.
i want to walk down the street
holding hands and looking at you.
and that you could do, the same thing too.
if you was able to see everyones
thoughts and dislikes, you would always be in a fight.
i prefer to be the old fashion lover
throughout our history, there has been no other.
as a woman, you want to feel his sensations
his fixations and his desires.
so that you could put out that fire.
love is not like a t.v. dinner that you
pop into the oven for it to get hot.
love is like boiling water in a pot
and you as the cook, know when to stop.
poem by Louis Rams
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