Wiped Upon Your Welcome Mat
I am expected to be profound,
Without spewing profanities?
From bitten lips?
Whether naked or not,
My raw point of view,
Wiil be microscoped and determined
To be flawed and abusive!
Even though I was raised exposed,
To the seasons of life!
Not sheltered to just sniff scents of roses!
You expect me to remain composed,
In heated debate?
I am in no competition to achieve greatness.
If my shoes are soiled...
They will be wiped upon your welcome mat.
I respected you enough to accept your invitation.
I am the wrong guest to suggest,
I should jump through hoops for trash like that!
I did not come to chew condescending condemnations,
Cooked to be fed to those still licking insecurities.
You wont have to tell me when my visit comes to a close...
My absence will expose you to my feelings!
and if you rush to your window,
My backside you will see!
I am not into nonsense to be shared with glee!
Or frolic in pretentions since this is not me.
If you see I'm not there...
Vivid should be the clue that I chose to leave!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Visit For As Long As You Wish
You may visit upon this land.
But to force debate of its direction...
Is not a matter to be question.
Or demand answers you expect.
Because you believe another way,
For its inhabitants is best.
You may visit for as long as you wish.
Enjoy the ambiance, hospitality...
And the peacefulness.
But suggestions from you,
Regarding the enhancements done...
To the view and our lifestyles too?
For us is not accepted.
Conflicts on this land...
You will not inject.
If you have motives and plans for this...
You will be ushered to experience,
A respected yet definite sudden exit.
We are not in need,
For a financed confusion that infuses deceit.
To have you label it democracy.
You may visit for as long as you wish.
And when your visit is finished...
You will leave and that will be it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Looking for Scraps
You accept all kinds of trash,
And wonder 'why' I don't participate?
I can find garbage anywhere...
And for me that is not a debate!
You would like to qualify,
Who you believe
Is of a social standing...
You can receive and highly rate!
But from my point of view...
It is all pure nonsense.
With none of it connected to my fate!
I have a mind that seeks to be challenged.
And yours is on the bottom of the barrel...
Looking for scraps to solicit a scrape!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Look How Limited And Dim That Point Of View Is
Racists can't help but be crazy.
Look how limited and dim that point of view is!
And to the extreme the protection of insecurities.
Racists can't help but be crazy.
Remember those cowboy and indian days.
And the cavalry lead by John Wayne...
Saved every studio making movies,
In old Hollywood.
And our sense of greatness,
Was raised to new heights.
We taught our picked enemies how to fight!
Look how limited and dim that point of view is!
Racists can't help but be crazy.
And in denial many wont admit it in public.
As if their mindset does not reflect their ideals.
It does.
Any human being can feel the insignifance of it!
Racists can't help but be crazy.
Look how limited and dim that point of view is!
And to the extreme the protection of insecurities.
Look how the punching of holes in a once floating boat,
Sinks it!
Racists can't help but be crazy.
And many just lay on the beach to tan.
Without knowing a thing about swimming!
Or which deeds to uphold in respect and demand.
Look how limited and dim that point of view is!
And I'm just observing it.
Not passing judgement on this at all.
I choose not to stall my forward pace.
I choose to widen my perceptions...
As I move my mind into a broader space.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This Has Never Been Rare
Incite,
They do.
With a barricade...
To masquerade insecurities.
It took overnight,
To fight themselves...
Over their rights!
And a greed that now sees them seething...
With heated breath felt,
Close to the nose of those they chose.
They see themselves as enemies.
Distrusted with beliefs...
That their way of life was jeopardized,
By those that despised them.
But none could do that better,
Than they do it...
To themselves!
Incite,
They do.
With a barricade...
To masquerade insecurities.
And threats like these...
They defend,
With an absence of common sense...
So obvious everywhere.
And this has never been rare.
It has not been adopted,
To address as an issue.
Sensitivities keep them conflicted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Became Those 'Things
You became those 'things'.
Your car, your jewelry...
Watches and diamond rings.
The shoes and suits.
Shirts and ties.
The dinner parties you hosted.
With those hors d'oeuvres you insisted...
I would love if I tried!
You became those 'things'.
With such a credibility!
But when you lost them...
Something I saw died within you.
And the family you knew,
Saw that too.
None of us who witnessed it...
Recognized you at all!
Did you believe when those 'things' left...
You could restore your emptiness,
By pretending to be someone else?
That everyone would accept?
You became those 'things'!
And you expected us to accept nothing less.
Now you suggest we respect that.
But you invested your happiness in things.
And you neglected life!
You became those 'thing's you chose to be.
What makes you believe...
Now those things are gone,
You can be someone that is liked?
Without those things you seem to have no life.
And 'that' you chose to ignore.
Without them you seem such a bore!
You became those 'things'!
What are you now good for?
A useless nothingness?
You had said of me...
And your family.
And those who then had less!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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How Can You Expect Me To Know?
How can you expect me,
To respect who you are,
If you have yet to reveal...
Who it is you are to me?
And you continue to let me,
Expose my feelings...
To allow them to show?
How can you expect me,
To respect who you are,
If you have yet to reveal...
Who it is you are to me?
And you continue to let me,
Expose my feelings...
To allow them to show?
How can you expect me to know to do this...
When all through our relationship,
You have been in denial mode.
How can you expect me to know?
When to me you have not let that show.
How can you expect me to know?
Do you...
Know when it shows when it does,
And,
Point that out to me to witness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Shallow Upfront and Hollow Underneath
The first time I became aware,
A declared friend couldn't say or spell...
My name correctly.
Or had not paid a visit to my home at all...
In none of the years I believed a friendship was endeared.
I realized those were not friends.
Perhaps acquaintances of shared conveniences.
The first time I recognized an ex-wife showed disrespect...
Well...
Why should I continue?
I guess I've said it all,
When I did say 'ex'.
This is the point I make...
That at first made me upset.
It doesn't take a rocket scientist,
To comprehend those feelings exchanged.
And from the beginning who pretends.
And 'who' deserves the reactions they get.
Folks have their own agendas.
And eventually this is exposed.
There is no need to show anger towards another...
If out of ignorance,
That is what they choose and chose.
Or chose to choose to do.
See it for what it is.
There is no need to wallow away in tears!
And those who are surfaced with secrets they keep,
Why be bother with those who are deceiving and weak?
Especially those who show themselves...
They can be shallow upfront and hollow underneath!
If you know you are genuine,
Leave these folks be! Leave them alone.
Don't you be the one left to rage and seethe.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Given In The End
The continuance of wasted life,
In wars fought...
To depict another's right to inflict conflict,
Produces not a single winner.
Or does the act come to cystallize,
The shape of one's greatness.
What a barbaric ignorance does,
Is expose a mentality that is absent of reason.
And in fear of not being noticed,
If a power chosen to display insecurities...
Is not forcibly respected.
Only to be delivered disrespect given in the end.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Do Not Become Suspicious Of This
Where will you go,
To soothe your point of view?
To someone less direct than me?
With the hopes to locate,
Others with shared philosophies?
Those with it are dwindling quick.
Many have begun to analyze their lives.
With the ridding of falsities and nonsense.
Where will you go,
To soothe your point of view?
To someone less direct than me?
With the hopes to locate,
Others with shared philosophies?
Those with it are dwindling quick.
Many have begun to analyze their lives.
With the ridding of falsities and nonsense.
Do not become suspicious of this.
A higher consciousness has overnight made a visit.
And those who slept with foolishness,
Are seeking exits that do not exist.
Where will you go,
To soothe your point of view?
To someone less direct than me?
With the hopes to locate,
Others with shared philosophies?
Do not become suspicious of this.
A higher consciousness has overnight made a visit.
And those who slept with foolishness,
Are seeking exits that do not exist.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Those Who Have Been Victims
Leave them to fight.
They will be clinging on to life...
Asking 'why' very soon.
Barbarians can do only one thing successfully.
Declare victory...
After total destruction,
And chaos has been determined.
It convinces them they created fire.
And the only purpose the Sun has...
Is to bronze their skins.
Ignoring those of natural color.
For fear insecurities will be exposed.
Leave them to fight.
They will be clinging on to life...
Asking 'why' very soon.
And those who have been victims,
Of their crimes...
Appear to be both deaf and blind,
To the sounds and sights of their screams.
Wondering...
Why do they point to the sky,
With frightened looks in their eyes?
Since all they see are angels,
Coming to make deliveries!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Quite Shocked And Appalled
Quite shocked and appalled are they.
The ones accused to be the reason,
Why a way of life is 'rumored' to be tied...
Directly to them.
And the cause of a downslide and bankruptcy.
They don't accept this.
Although maintaining pretentions,
Can be quite expensive.
They feel offended when it is broadcast on TV...
How their children who lack discipline,
Respect, hygiene and social etiquette...
Is directly connected to a reflected negligence.
And those fingers are pointed to them.
Because of their feelings of being entitled...
And the laws that are 'designed' to protect their whims.
They don't accept this.
Although maintaining pretentions,
Can be quite expensive.
And the money that is spent,
To keep their symbolic points of view...
Gleaming in their minds,
And where these images are found...
Has broken their backs,
To bring their knees to touch the ground.
And...
They don't accept this.
Although maintaining pretentions,
Can be quite expensive.
And they protest and picket their leadership,
To change what they've done quick...
Or,
They will find themselves replaced.
They demand at any cost,
To have their delusions better represented.
And 'this' they will accept.
Although maintaining pretentions,
Can be quite expensive.
Quite shocked and appalled are they.
The ones accused to be the reason,
Why a way of life is 'rumored' to be tied...
Directly to them.
And the cause of a downslide...
And bankruptcy.
Attached to their credit.
And upaid loans.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dolor of Autumn
The acrid scents of autumn,
Reminiscent of slinking beasts, make me fear
Everything, tear-trembling stars of autumn
And the snore of the night in my ear.
For suddenly, flush-fallen,
All my life, in a rush
Of shedding away, has left me
Naked, exposed on the bush.
I, on the bush of the globe,
Like a newly-naked berry, shrink
Disclosed: but I also am prowling
As well in the scents that slink
Abroad: I in this naked berry
Of flesh that stands dismayed on the bush;
And I in the stealthy, brindled odours
Prowling about the lush
And acrid night of autumn;
My soul, along with the rout,
Rank and treacherous, prowling,
Disseminated out.
For the night, with a great breath intaken,
Has taken my spirit outside
Me, till I reel with disseminated consciousness,
Like a man who has died.
At the same time I stand exposed
Here on the bush of the globe,
A newly-naked berry of flesh
For the stars to probe.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Now Here So Vivid
Here so vivid,
Is the experience of life given.
So vivid too are those disparities.
To allow others,
The giving of an invitation...
To come and do,
Then to go as they please.
How vivid are the actions,
On others performed.
To take what they thieve...
And upon themselves adorn.
Enriching with an enhancement,
From the day they were born.
Here so vivid,
Are atrocities.
So atrocious in implementation...
An acceptance of it,
To gather lives to ruin...
As if in a playing of monopoly.
And the game inflicted does not go away.
It stays and commands to become obeyed.
With restrictions that exist,
Using religious beliefs...
As a means to control,
In the spreading of a wickedness...
To maim and defeat,
Those depicted as enemies.
Here so vivid,
Is the experience of life given.
So vivid too are those disparities.
To allow others,
The giving of an invitation...
To come and do,
Then to go as they please.
Using deception to promote misdeeds.
To witness those doing this...
Eventually,
Unravel from their own intricate...
Strategic complexities.
Now here so vivid,
Are those so unwise.
So vivid with a clarity...
Are those removed from their disguises.
To become recognized and themselves despised.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No Proof
What I remember can’t be true
and yet to me it seems to be.
I can remember living through
another life lived previously.
Perhaps I’m wrong and they are real
is it a possibility?
I must confess it has appeal
I ponder on it endlessly.
If it were true it would explain
to some extent the mystery.
Are we reborn to live again?
successive lives, serially.
I can’t accept as many do
We will be judged on one life span
Although this is the Christian view
because I’m not a Christian.
The eastern mystics all suggest
That we must pay for all we do
In every life we face a test
there is some task that we must do.
I am inclined towards that view
It seems to make good sense to me.
Much more than paradise would do
be bored for all eternity.
I do not know but can accept
that such a law would simplify.
What everybody can expect
will happen when they come to die.
Heaven, hell and purgatory
would all be relegated to
the status of a fairy story.
But I can’t prove my dreams are true.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Both Sides of Love
It is difficult..
It is.
To have feelings of hate,
When exposed to both sides of love.
Exasperation can certainly irritate,
When and if it comes to visit.
Leaving one to feel more like a stool pigeon,
Sitting.
Instead of an eagle or dove made to soar above.
And stumbing can broadside,
One who has seen many seasons.
And doing what is thought the right thing to do...
For whatever the practical limits of reason.
It is difficult..
It is.
To have feelings of hate,
For those known to be straight up in their faith.
Yet often tested.
To break the nerves of the ones pushed to the edge.
Although overheard secretly in pledges,
To curb anxieties.
Hoping not to release prematurely,
A show of embittered tension carried.
Exasperation can certainly irritate,
When and if it comes to visit.
And it is difficult,
It is...
Not to rush into a cussing fit!
With love,
At the center of it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Not Deterred By Your Point Of View
It is not my purpose in life,
To advise you on 'your' direction.
Or suggest which path to take,
On your journey.
Nor from me will there be recommendations.
If it should upset you,
That my vision remains focused...
And not deterred by your point of view,
Keep this in mind...
You are not my destination.
However...
It does appear that you are an obstacle,
That wishes to block my mission...
With a stirring up of my feelings of guilt,
With a delay of an empathy you await to be given.
You've done a good job.
All is not lost.
I passed a few procrastinators,
Along on my journey.
Be patient.
Someone will eventually buy your nonsense.
As for me...
Your routine is too familiar.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To Be Treated With Sincerity
Old tactics used to finesse from me,
My common sense...
With maneuvers thought to flatter,
A desperate ego.
Especially if the expectation,
Is to actually have such tactics work...
To leave me distracted to massage my own mind.
This approach some may find,
To leave them disappointed.
However...
And I'll share this with emphasis.
Since I am in the mood to confess.
If one is intending to shiver me to see goose bumps,
A simple invitation to my favorite restaurant...
Suggesting I can eat whatever I want,
And not concern myself with paying for it?
Will get me to jump through hoops and do backflips.
And those who know me intimately know the truth of this.
Don't get me wrong!
I can cook and love to do it.
But to be treated with sincerity attached?
What else could there be for me to ask for?
My needs are as basic as they come.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Words As a Salad
Think of my words as a salad.
Sometimes it may nourish...
And sometimes it's not wanted,
Or thought to be valid.
I offer a taste of variety.
I don't expect everything sampled,
To have everyone leave pleased!
I'm a gourmet of sorts one might say.
Not a specialist of one dish...
But a cook of assortments on display.
If something is nibbled,
And the bite is not right...
That is the way I feel,
With my changing appetite!
When I prepare and complete a thought,
Sometimes it is revised...
To surprise,
And compliment others previously brought!
But if a word or two offends a point of view...
I'm not expecting you to sit,
In discomfort as you chew.
Unless something digested,
Adds meaning to your purpose.
As it did for me,
Before I exposed it to you...
Hoping you add dressing,
Delighting while you slurp it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Praises
When you awaken one morning,
And feeling the absence of B.S.
Don't stop to wonder where it is...
Or quickly get dressed,
Expecting your usual day of stress.
Thank God for the moment!
And address this happiness.
Do your best to keep this feeling!
And express your thankfulness...
With praises you are willing to give,
Accept and share!
Hold onto it with a firm grip!
And pray to keep it there.
When you awaken one morning,
And feeling the absence of B.S.
Don't rush to the window as the sunrise lifts!
Forget that it ever came to visit.
And forgive yourself 'if' it is missed!
Sit...
With praises you are willing to give!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Wherever They Are
Even though the greatness is spoken,
The power of it dims and weakens.
Instead of building strong foundations,
Manifested from all of God's creations...
They chose a racist point of view,
That now has left them screwed!
Undoing themselves they did.
And now most of them slide,
In a nonstop skid!
With everything they have consciously done...
They hopelessly close their own eyelids!
Unbelieving of the disaster,
And their nightmare made!
They don't have to go anywhere,
To wonder or wander far or too long...
To ask themselves what has gone wrong!
'Wherever' they are...
Whether drinking in bars or driving drunk in cars!
They are sure to run into their own reflections!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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