Truth is a Flower
Doubt may crack from deletions of war,
Such that delusions mutter slowly
Making the populace to be mad
And then madder
And madder than that.
Truth is a different job and career,
For you who has guilt in the work.
Mud and wild flowers can be swallowed
In a mouthful by the liars.
They are all mad liars, that much.
poem by Naveed Akram
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What Do Liars Then Do?
Liars know who they are.
And what they have done,
To pursue temporary satisfactions.
With a demoralizing of whom they choose.
As if what they've done will stick like glue.
Those who have been scrutinized,
By the telling of false lies...
To have been victimized with tears cried.
Are aware of them too!
Yet to retaliate is something they refuse.
But those who have been undermined,
Do what liars instigating have chosen not to do.
And that is to wait patiently,
To let time intervene...
With a demeaning liars with an applying of truth.
What do liars then do?
Plead to be released from mental guilty beatings.
And even if forgiven,
Liars once exposed for who they are...
Can never find places to keep themselves hidden.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Liars and Lovers
By Ms. Kristen Palmitier
People who lie once should not be called liars
Because while everyone lies once in a while,
Real liars lie all of the time.
In addition, real liars make others feel that they are no good.
Are lovers and liars different, or are they the same?
Both are different and alike in many ways.
You can't really be sure if you love someone
If there is no trust in each other.
There is just no other way to say it:
'Without trust in each other's heart,
There will be no heart to trust.'
And one alone cannot trust;
Both must trust.
poem by Martin Rini
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Decision Time
He sat in a chair
and rocked all night.
Could not sleep.
He was so uptight.
He thought about lies
being told by liars.
He thought about burnin'
in hell's fires.
He knew how the lies
would take him down.
The liars would win
and wear the crown.
When the night ended
and the sun came through
he saw it shining
and knew what he would do.
He'd change his life
and never look back.
For all the liars
are on the wrong track.
You can't stay on the road
that leads to hell
or you'll end up like the liars
and stay where they dwell.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Pathological Liars
Pathological liars
are 'Legends In Their Own Mind'
well I make them into evil characters
all the time.
I don't even have to come up with a plot
pathological liars give me all they got.
They all think they are so charming and smart
they usually state this right from the start.
They usually say you are nuts
when really deep down they have no guts.
They hide from the truth—
and blame it on you
making you believe their lies-
even when they are totally ridiculous
like 'I was in the shower-that's why
I didn't come to your side'.
They make you out the guilty one-
for now you ruined all their fun.
when it's like 'who really cares—
I make my Stories more with a flair
Like game Truth or Dare...
Truth, Dare, Promise or Repeat…
it was a fun childhood game
we could tell secrets and not be discreet.
But now all your stories
are recorded in rhyme-
making interesting poem
come to life.
Written by Christina Sunrise on June 27,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Quiet truth
truth stands quietly by
watching the fabricators of war
continually distort and lie
as their countless victims fight and die
truth cannot be destroyed
or forever abused
political power impotent
to her invincible intent
impassive, eternal
she knows where liars go
consciences afire, burning slow
truth outlasts them, blow after blow
like the shining sun
obscured by dark cloud
truth is still quietly there
though mortal liars be bold and loud
truth has a power all its own
i once read
mess with her
she'll strike you dead
poem by Harlan Simantel
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Book Of Liars
Bye and bye now
Well get over
The things weve done and the things we said
But not just now when
I can t remember
Exactly what it was I thought we had
cause I waited so long girl and I came so far
To find out youre not always who you say you are
And theres a star in the book of liars by your name
Santa claus came in late last night
Drunk on christmas wine
Fell down hard in the driveway
Hung his bag out on the laundry line
Theres a cobra gunship for his golden boy
And theres a hello kitty for his pride and joy
And a silver star in the book of liars by your name
They hung a star in the book of liars by your name
Stars imploding
The long night passing
Electrons dancing in the frozen crystal dawn
Heres one left stranded at the zero crossing
With a hole in its half-life left to carry on
But now the worlds much larger than it looks today
And if my bad luck ever blows me back this way
Then Ill just look in my book of liars for your name
Ill just look in the book of liars for your name
song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poets Are Liars
Poets are liars. They cannot be tamed.
They live on borrowed dreams, and have the gift
Of casting out a graceful, witty line,
And catching your heart or mind in their snare;
Reeling you in, helpless, with a deft couplet.
Poets are liars. Never believe them.
Don’t even listen to them if you can help.
They have spells in their tongues, and fire in their eyes.
They will give you suns and stars wrapped in words,
And you will follow them, rapt like a child.
Poets are liars. It’s how they survive.
They give you their lies in exchange for your truths,
And fashion a life of their own from the scraps.
They must have an audience; without it,
They fade and pale, and soon cease to exist.
Poets are liars, even in the womb;
They kick at their mothers, curious, restless,
And dream of wonders to fill the world outside:
Soft, formless lies, growing with each cell,
Chronicled in wordless sagas nine months long.
Poets are liars; and of all liars,
They are the most dangerous. They will tell you
Of love that lasts forever, of lives that changed,
Of happy endings and greater meanings.
They make you wish, and hope, and dream, and feel.
poem by Amy Sutton
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The Pleasure Of One's Company
Often does not come soon enough,
When someone or something is wished...
With a missing of it had,
That drives one madder than a kid who nags.
The pleasure of one's company,
Wanted and felt needed bad.
Is like a 'hit' of a quick fix that soothes.
And all is well until the groove of it cools.
Often does not come soon enough,
When someone or something is wished...
With a missing of it had,
That drives one madder than a kid who nags.
And inside that nagging impatient kid,
Never seems to grow...
When that yearning churns with nowhere to go,
Until what is desired appears.
To immediately ease the burning of anticipation.
'Where have you been?
It seems as if you were gone forever.'
~It was only twenty minutes ago,
I told you I was coming right back.~
'I really,
Really enjoy being with you.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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All Is Truth
it is a lie
i am not myself
i am all of nature
the air, water, grass
every thing in everything
i am not myself
how can i be myself
when if the air goes away
i too have to go away
proving that i am but a lie
i am but a cog in the wheel
it is a lie
i am not myself
i am all of nature
the water, the grass, the clouds
how could i be myself
when if the water runs its last drop
i too would too have to make that last pause from the world
those teachers who get me to think i am just
body and bones are liars
i am more than that
how could i be myself only
when if the sun says goodbye
i too have to say goodbye to all
call me anything buy myself
the sun, the moon, the air, water
will vouch for that
you liars
inspired by
All Is Truth
O ME, man of slack faith so long!
Standing aloof-denying portions so long;
Only aware to-day of compact, all-diffused truth;
Discovering to-day there is no lie, or form of lie, and can be none,
but grows as inevitably upon itself as the truth does upon
itself,
Or as any law of the earth, or any natural production of the earth
does.
(This is curious, and may not be realized immediately-But it must be
realized;
I feel in myself that I represent falsehoods equally with the rest,
And that the universe does.)
Where has fail'd a perfect return, indifferent of lies or the truth?
Is it upon the ground, or in water or fire? or in the spirit of man?
or in the meat and blood?
Meditating among liars, and retreating sternly into myself, I see
that there are really no liars or lies after all,
And that nothing fails its perfect return-And that what are called
lies are perfect returns,
And that each thing exactly represents itself, and what has preceded
it,
And that the truth includes all, and is compact, just as much as
space is compact,
And that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth-but
that all is truth without exception;
And henceforth I will go celebrate anything I see or am,
And sing and laugh, and deny nothing.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Actors are good liars; writers are good liars with good memories.
quote by Daniel Keys Moran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Into Charity
I'm.Not.The.One...
You wanna bait,
2-fake-a-chase.
NotmeNotme, no!
I'm.Not.The.One...
2-sit-and-beg...
4-a-taste...laced!
NotmeNotme, no!
I'm.Not one,
2-patiently-pace...
Or-wait-in-a-car!
Not for a metermaid I'm gonna pay!
NotmeNotme, no!
I'm not into charity, baby.
Or into organized liars...
Looking for a shot of Myers' Rum.
Not into charity, baby.
Or into organized liars...
Looking for a shot of Myers' Rum.
Un uh...no!
That's not what I'm here living for!
Oh! Oh! ...un uh...no!
That's not what I'm here living for!
Oh! Oh! ...un uh...no!
I'm not into charity, baby.
Or into organized liars...
Looking for a shot of Myers' Rum.
Not into charity, baby.
Naw!
Or into organized liars...
Looking for a shot of Myers' Rum.
Oh! Oh! ...un uh...no!
Oh! Oh! ...un uh...no!
I say ahhh,
Oh! Oh! ...un uh...no!
Not into charity, baby.
Naw!
I say ahhh,
Oh! Oh! ...un uh...no!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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This Festival of Liars Grows
Everywhere in the atmosphere,
The gossip flies as innuendos are told.
And the festival of liars every year gets more bold.
The children are disrespectful.
Their parents more defensive.
They would rather make prison and jail visits...
Than confront the fact,
Not only their kids lack discipline.
Excuse making storytellers,
With no pride that can be seen.
Quick to demean the qualities others express.
While trying to impress with their lack of consciousness.
There is a pitifulness accepted.
With excuses made to protect.
But this festival of liars grows.
And expected like a welcome mat...
When fresh arrivals experience it at everyone's doorstep.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Power and The Use Of It
Few come to know truth.
The power and the use of it.
With a significance that overrides...
Liars and their alibis.
And what hides behind their eyes...
What is there to be seen and/or isn't.
And that's why many folks foolishly lie!
Those that do not know,
Truth exposes...
The youngest and the oldest.
There is no discrimination.
Or affordable subdivisions.
Few come to know truth,
For what it is.
So many don't know,
What telling the truth gives.
But those who do know what truth is,
Live it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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All Is Truth
O ME, man of slack faith so long!
Standing aloof--denying portions so long;
Only aware to-day of compact, all-diffused truth;
Discovering to-day there is no lie, or form of lie, and can be none,
but grows as inevitably upon itself as the truth does upon
itself,
Or as any law of the earth, or any natural production of the earth
does.
(This is curious, and may not be realized immediately--But it must be
realized;
I feel in myself that I represent falsehoods equally with the rest,
And that the universe does.)
Where has fail'd a perfect return, indifferent of lies or the truth?
Is it upon the ground, or in water or fire? or in the spirit of man?
or in the meat and blood? 10
Meditating among liars, and retreating sternly into myself, I see
that there are really no liars or lies after all,
And that nothing fails its perfect return--And that what are called
lies are perfect returns,
And that each thing exactly represents itself, and what has preceded
it,
And that the truth includes all, and is compact, just as much as
space is compact,
And that there is no flaw or vacuum in the amount of the truth--but
that all is truth without exception;
And henceforth I will go celebrate anything I see or am,
And sing and laugh, and deny nothing.
poem by Walt Whitman
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The Son
My liars are even on my brow
Where my eyes are situated.
I see their glaring and staring
When soft and hard collide.
The sight of a candle and cupboard
Appears in my mind,
But it is really there in my room,
My very bedroom, breathing is good.
I ride my body into this considerable sight,
The world is my son of course.
The liars of my sight are like nations
In my world, the son of joy and sleep.
poem by Naveed Akram
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As Is Meant To Be Told
With a silenced mind,
Listen to them find...
Excuses to make for themselves.
And those who make excuses,
To abuse the truth.
Are liars.
With a quiet mind anyone can find,
Those who pretend.
There are ways to deal with people who pretend.
And there are many of them attempting to defend themselves,
With lies they tell on someone else.
Hoping the doing keeps them popular amongst those unknowing,
Them to be chronic liars prepared to always put on a show...
To protect their insecurities and victimizing those that don't know.
The affects of this are all around.
If one's eyes and ears are kept open.
And one's mouth is kept shut.
While listening to things being instantly made up.
Watch them mentally self destruct.
'Who? '
Those who lie and want you to believe them true.
While they continue to make things up,
As often as they do.
And those they've deceived will eventually awaken,
To disbelieve the doers of these misdeeds.
When the pieces are put together to reveal those faking.
There are ways to deal with people who pretend.
Hoping the doing keeps them popular amongst those unknowing,
Them to be chronic liars.
With a watching them mentally self destruct,
And those they've deceived will eventually awaken,
To disbelieve the doers of these misdeeds...
While listening to them talk about themselves too much,
With a passing of judgement and telling of lies on others.
'But...
How do we know them to do these things? '
Those who make excuses,
To abuse the truth...
Are liars.
And...
With a quiet mind anyone can find,
Those who pretend with a defending of themselves against...
Someone who is not around,
More familiar with the telling of truth as is meant to be told.
'Who do you think are those least likely to tell the truth? '
It is in the observation.
Who has difficulty accepting who they are?
Who uses their ethnicity as a fashion statement,
And not a possessed identity?
And who is quick to assess others like themselves,
With comments made that have no dignity?
And those who lie are always the ones self righteous,
Quick to use God as if God is not aware of false tongues.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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He who does not bellow the truth when he knows the truth makes himself the accomplice of liars and forgers.
quote by Charles Peguy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Herman Altman
Did I follow Truth wherever she led,
And stand against the whole world for a cause,
And uphold the weak against the strong?
If I did I would be remembered among men
As I was known in life among the people,
And as I was hated and loved on earth,
Therefore, build no monument to me,
And carve no bust for me,
Lest, though I become not a demi-god,
The reality of my soul be lost,
So that thieves and liars,
Who were my enemies and destroyed me,
And the children of thieves and liars,
May claim me and affirm before my bust
That they stood with me in the days of my defeat.
Build me no monument
Lest my memory be perverted to the uses
Of lying and oppression.
My lovers and their children must not be dispossessed of me;
I would be the untarnished possession forever
Of those for whom I lived.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The Blue And Gray
The Blue and the Gray collided one day
In the future great town of Missouri,
And if all that we hear is the truth, 'twould appear
That they tackled each other with fury.
While the weather waxed hot they hove and they sot,
Like the scow in the famous old story,
And what made the fight an enjoyable sight
Was the fact that they fought con amore.
They as participants fought in such wise as was taught,
As beseemed the old days of the dragons,
When you led to the dance and defended with lance
The damsel you pledged in your flagons.
In their dialect way the knights of the Gray
Gave a flout at the buckeye bandana,
And the buckeye came back with a gosh-awful whack,
And that's what's the matter with Hannah.
This resisted attack took the Grays all a-back,
And feeling less coltish and frisky,
They resolved to elate the cause of their state,
And also their persons, with whisky.
Having made ample use of the treacherous juice,
Which some folks say stings like an adder,
They went back again at the handkerchief men,
Who slowly got madder and madder.
You can bet it was h--l in the Southern Hotel
And elsewhere, too many to mention,
But the worst of it all was achieved in the hall
Where the President held his convention.
They ripped and they hewed and they, sweating imbrued,
Volleyed and bellowed and thundered;
There was nothing to do until these yawpers got through,
So the rest of us waited and wondered.
As the result of these frays it appears that the Grays,
Who once were as chipper as daisies,
Have changed their complexion to one of dejection,
And at present are bluer than blazes.
poem by Eugene Field
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Liars when they speak the truth are not believed.