Not Really The Afterlife, Or The Half-life But What Comes After...
it is what happens after,
the aftermath, not really the shock and
the horror of what is created,
it is the awe, and the wandering
not really lost as you may suspect
not those doubts, for in truth they are
those that which make us
exist,
not existence, but it is the life after,
not the afterlife, it is the breath that i take
after i have exhaled,
that which comes out from my being
not those that still want to enter
inside the veins
and lungs and
caves of my severeness
it is the i after, the am, the feeling that
i am here, alive and still
keeps on writing what i think i do not really know
it is the mystery that surrounds
this whole room
not the chairs and the ceiling....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Play Entirely By Yourself
You've created a game you play entirely by yourself.
Is this something done consciously?
Is this a game played with me you believe I can't see?
You've created a game you play entirely by yourself.
At first I thought you were sincere and honest.
I did not suspect you to be,
Someone who played with others emotionally.
I did not detect this from you at all.
Until you would say disrespectful things,
When I would think of you and place a telephone call.
I did not suspect you to be,
Insensitive and distant when you chose to be.
And had no regard for the feelings of others...
Until I caught you embellishing,
Something you did for someone claimed...
When I was the one who did it,
And you didn't mention me by name.
You've created a game you play entirely by yourself.
Is this something done consciously?
Is this a game played with me you believe I can't see?
Or is it that you are that experienced,
And the game you play and have created...
Only to you when implemented makes sense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Their Greatest Achievements
The tragedy is not in the aftermath,
When ruins are created to be experienced.
The tragedy experienced is admitting,
The aftermath had opportunities to be avoided.
And those addicted to ceremonies,
To praise themselves...
Are the most likely to find what they've done,
Historically considered to be their greatest achievements.
No need to seek to locate the evidence.
An awakening provides an abundance of proof.
Although sadly enough,
Many enjoy the parading of the pomp and circumstance.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ode to God
HE created the sky
to protect us...
HE created the Sun
to warm our souls...
HE created the stars
to follow our dreams...
HE created the moon for us,
not to get lost,
and to illuminate
the road to...HIM!
poem by Viorel Vintila
Submitted by Viorel Vintila
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Simple As That
A sea of truth comes soon to flood,
Pouring into ears with shock!
Those who find themselves betrayed,
Will not attempt to stop 'this' block!
Like a scene from Hollywood...
A flow of lies was created and stood!
And truth prevails like it should
And those who ignore it,
Are exposed as No Good!
As simple as that...
We find them to be hypocrites,
Fat cats and rats!
Clean them out of that 'house'.
We know now...
What trash needs to be thrown out!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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If you were the only suspect in a senseless bloodbath, would you be standing the the horror section?
quote by Jamie Kennedy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Secret World
Within the world a mystery
A secret behind every eye
However small it may be
A thought or action taken
Retains the deceiving truth
That all we know, is what we see
And that a foundation of belief
To trust and hold faith in others
Is a choice to live in peace
And to disturb such innocence
Breaks the illusion created
And deepens the mystery
The look inside each eye
Tells of a duel being fought
To believe or to suspect
All that is seen and known
And there is found another truth
That the world retains itself
A secret to lie in mystery
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Ignorance has no doubts
Doubts crop up to the priest
In what he learns for preaching.
Doubts crop up to the astrologer
In what he learns for foretelling.
Both take care to put aside the doubts
And preach the rest as if a tested truth.
The mass is kept in ignorance
So that the heads run their profession.
19.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Yes Yes
when God created love he didn't help most
when God created dogs He didn't help dogs
when God created plants that was average
when God created hate we had a standard utility
when God created me He created me
when God created the monkey He was asleep
when He created the giraffe He was drunk
when He created narcotics He was high
and when He created suicide He was low
when He created you lying in bed
He knew what He was doing
He was drunk and He was high
and He created the mountians and the sea and fire at the same time
He made some mistakes
but when He created you lying in bed
He came all over His Blessed Universe.
Submitted by .eve.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Deluge Aftermath
Deluge aftermath
lies on a pyre of laughter -
sardonic laughter -
holocryptic in its litter of
charms and pangs of incence.
Deluge aftermath
swears oaths of allegiance to
waning day, refraining from
tales of calm and religious prescience;
it recalls the aftermath of the
Deluge of Noah.
Deluge aftermath
rests with inveterate slumber
earned in the cataract of
puissant vices upon lonesome,
green artifacts of a laconic culture.
Deluge aftermath
looms across the dark visage of
waste,
and atop glow-lines of garden lamps
and posts of decaying flames.
Deluge aftermath
crowns crabs monarchs of floods,
and frogs, adjutants of water regiment,
within breaths of rain.
Deluge aftermath
nubiferous - hanging old shrouds
of weeping clouds on the meek contours of
familiar skies to jeer downward.
Deluge aftermath,
bleaching the whited sepulchers
like elephants killed by lightning
in an unread plague of rain;
unearthing fossils of mosquitoes
about to become fuel,
and tickling the ribs of streams
to laugh and grow fat.
Deluge aftermath
dampens the hearth and the phalli -
two hot and intemperate organs
of warmth and man,
cringing in the event of the
breaking of the huge gourd
sitting on the earth-pillars.
Deluge aftermath -
one small flood for a community
and a giant inundation
for the aftermath of mankind.
poem by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
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Wandering off
We are like wandering mines in the mirror of the waters,
preparat to hitts mercilessly hims who opens our door.
We kill love, saving our pride,
we bury the truth and cultivate the lie.
Returning from wandering, we bow with eyes weeping in appearance,
digging with our hunger for the truth.
poem by Camelia Oprița (27 November 2007), translated by Camelia Opriţa
Submitted by Alexander
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Ring Wandering
Wandering,
Ring wandering,
Round and round,
Until I'm found
I search and
lose myself,
eventually fading
out
Swirling the milk
with a spoon,
sooner or later
it's all blended
in a single cup
I'm lost but
I'm here
The place I stand
Is it my identity?
Wandering,
Ring Wandering,
Round and round,
Until I'm found
poem by Invalid Files
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the Greatest Creation
science explores matter
religon explores man kind
man explores the truth
truth of matter science
truth of man is religon
truth by itself god
god created science
gods created religons
god created man
[man created god]
god's greatest creation
man
man's greatest creation
god
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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Anesthetized Shock!
People, people, people, today,
—Don't they all, but seem,
Accustomed to the agonies—
Of sorrow and shock!
To pain and suffering. (Today…)
"Today, they're only mortal comedies—
After all—as are all subversive—horror show stories".
Just shrug your nervous shoulders—aback
And give out that tenuous frigid laugh.
To all this human cost
Spill-it-out like cold-vomit over their loss…
"Over their bankrupt, souls torment".
But—you know, I'm sure? !
There is still a shock that'll
Cut you to the quick to the core.
Just occasionally, even venomously,
If it's just outwardly, cowardly, and outwardly,
They're all still looking, deeply, anesthetized.
(But I'm one-hundred per cent I'm still sure!)
There is still a shock story that'll
Cut you to the quick to the core.
"THIS JUST IN… Some Breaking News"…
"SOME PROFOUND… BREAKING, News"…
Here's a modern day horror story
A man's face is chewed—off
By another man—whilst being shot! ! !
By an armed officer of the law—a cop!
"Now here's a question; where does this register? "
Why, you may well think? I've seen Hannibal Lector
But, just you wait until you've seen…
"You've seen the core, the face missing from the picture".
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Sometimes I Do Suspect
Sometimes I do suspect
that our love is much more
than chemical urges in the blood.
Sometimes I do suspect
that life goes on
up to a single event;
Sometimes I do suspect
that our love is much more…
poem by Gert Strydom
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Beyond
Love's aftermath! I think the time is now
That we must gather in, alone, apart
The saddest crop of all the crops that grow,
Love's aftermath.
Ah, sweet,--sweet yesterday, the tears that start
Can not put back the dial; this is, I trow,
Our harvesting! Thy kisses chill my heart,
Our lips are cold; averted eyes avow
The twilight of poor love: we can but part,
Dumbly and sadly, reaping as we sow,
Love's aftermath.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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The Aftermath
Words and music by bob seger and craig frost
Dressed up to the nines
Dancin three-quarter time
The champagne is on ice
No ones gonna guess
In your brand new dress
Girl, you sure look nice
Have a good time
Honey, dont look back
Stone in the middle of the aftermath
Dont wink, dont blink
Dont let 'em think
His leavins got you down
Stand straight, hang tough
When they bring it up
Baby hold your ground
If they pry, dont sigh
Pass it off with a laugh
Its all part of living through the aftermath
You can do it honey
Keep that smile so sunny
You can show them what they want to see
Yes, you can
Its a cold, hard scene
The singles thing
Losers everywhere
And it hurts to the bone
Headin home alone
When someone used to be there
So you take a few falls
And you learn to bounce back
Its all part of living through the aftermath
Living through the aftermath
Baby, dont look back
Its the aftermath
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dragons Teeth.
We know: We’ve seen it all before.
Devastation, desolation
the aftermath of modern war.
Although it shocks us to the core
It recalls to our attention.
We know: we’ve seen it all before.
We have chosen to ignore
Lack of valid information
The aftermath of modern war
To us it’s just another chore
needing little explanation.
We know: We’ve seen it all before
There is no way we can
restore any kind of cultivation.
The after math of modern war.
Still danger lies for evermore
unexploded ammunition.
The aftermath of modern war.
We know: We’ve seen it all before.
Sunday,28 November 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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I've Learned Not to Confess Too Much
I've learned,
Not to confess too much.
Even to those I 'suspect' I can trust.
Nothing is as real,
As one's own touch.
Especially if one's hands,
Covers a mouth to keep shut.
Yes I have learned,
Not to confess too much.
Some may rush to pass judgement.
And unconsciously without intention...
Innocently crush an unexpected exchange.
Made by a quick assessment that shames.
Leaving eyes to bug wide.
And names to be called.
With a falling out done.
Over really nothing at all.
I've learned,
Not to confess too much.
Or express on my face...
Something in my mouth leaves a bad taste.
And as difficult as this may seem to me,
I may lie.
To protect my own and someone else's dignity.
Than to bring someone to tears.
Because of a giggle heard a person hears.
Experience has taught me this...
IF someone wishes to expose,
Their ugly baby to me...
At least I know how,
Now...
Not to look in shock or horror.
Oh yes...
I've learned not to express too much!
However,
If tears should fall from 'my' eyes?
I am quick to announce,
An ecstatic happiness.
With a controlled truth,
Hopefully kept undetected inside.
Although my knees may knock...
I am quick not to let them bend.
From a howling laughter,
I do my best to keep within.
'Lord, God...
I thank You! '
~You have more control than I do!
Geeessshhh...
Did you 'see' that ugly baby?
Don't blame that on Me, uh uh...
Oh no.~
'GOD..? '
~Don't 'God' Me...
I had nuthin' to do with that!
My assignments are in the East,
And South Cosmos.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Suspect
I suspect...
You are the only one who knows,
What you are doing.
And I suspect,
You also choose the way you feel,
When this you do.
Whether that color is bright,
Sunny and yellow mellow.
Or royal blue to appear as you do,
In the dumps with clouds gray...
That appear to be near you to subdue.
I suspect...
Any cheerfulness you get,
Comes from your chasing of rainbows.
After your eyes have dropped rain...
From many tears you've wept.
With no bucket of gold,
At the end of those chased rainbows.
I suspect...
The happiness I have chosen,
Makes you upset.
Because I wont let you,
Lead my parade...
With a showering done,
Of a negligence you wish to pour on me.
And this I will not accept,
To be in a darkened blackness on bended knees.
Not me!
You wont find me trying to please your disrespect.
I'm on the go and I am green.
Keeping my mind opened,
To experience refreshing beneficial scenes.
Romancing an agony?
You will not find yourself doing that here with me.
I suspect...
There is a controlling of me you wish to do.
In a closeness together...
I will not allow us to get.
Or you attempt to pursue.
And I suspect you have a selfishness.
Since only those things you wish to do...
Disregards what my wishes are with much disrespect.
Yes.
I've noticed that about you too.
And I suspect...
The happiness I have chosen,
Makes you quite upset.
Because I wont let you,
Lead my parade to redirect.
And I suspect,
You are afraid...
I don't need you to make my decisions.
And this you are correct.
I wont live a negativity...
As you do at your best.
I suspect...
You don't know me,
As well as you think you do.
I suspect you believed,
For you I'd be a fool.
Why should I want that kind of life with you?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Want to Be True
I don't want to be clever or witty or wise
I just want to be true.
Truth?
Truth was us when, inside me, you looked into my eyes and found my love,
Truth was us when we laughed and played,
Truth was us when you cared too much for me to make love to me,
Truth was us, when knowing me, you were brave in your words and helped me be true.
Truth?
Truth was your tenderness, your joy, your heart.
Truth was my surrender, my giving, my happiness.
Truth was your love, was my love, was the love we created between us.
The truth was our honesty and ease.
Truth?
Truth is the emptiness I feel at my loss of you,
Truth is my naïve hope, all present, that you will come to me,
Truth is the pain at night while I grieve for you,
Truth is my smile and my love playing the memories.
Truth is this moment, the now, the present.
The truth is I had something more than wonderful, and I can't have it anymore.
The truth is I so wish I was with you.
Truth?
So many truths?
I will be true in the moment. x
poem by Susan Cook
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