Quotes about strut, page 12
Less-R
That which you thought would be yours...
Will be collected,
To do as you wish to sit or absorb.
With visions of relaxing in retirement...
Or vacationing on distant exotic shores.
A 4-0-1-k has been kayo-ed.
From a safe protected place perceived...
To grow to delight your ecstatic trances,
As you dance back and forth...
Feeling relieved in glee!
'Knock knock.'
Hello...yes, who's there?
'Less R.'
Less R? Less R who?
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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With An Unabashed Bragging Done
You have a beautiful home,
Landscaped in a wonderful setting.
You have a family and prized possessions,
And investments you have made...
That have returned to you sweet dividends.
You drive a very nice car.
And your taste in fashion is exquisite.
You receive countless social invitations,
With an unabashed bragging done...
Whenever I visit.
And yet...
You express an insecurity about that,
Which implies an unhappiness.
I have none of your 'assets' to impress.
But...
I am thrilled.
And this seems to make you upset.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ballade Of Youth And Age
Spring at her height on a morn at prime,
Sails that laugh from a flying squall,
Pomp of harmony, rapture of rhyme -
Youth is the sign of them, one and all.
Winter sunsets and leaves that fall,
An empty flagon, a folded page,
A tumble-down wheel, a tattered ball -
These are a type of the world of Age.
Bells that clash in a gaudy chime,
Swords that clatter in onsets tall,
The words that ring and the fames that climb -
Youth is the sign of them, one and all.
Hymnals old in a dusty stall,
A bald, blind bird in a crazy cage,
The scene of a faded festival -
These are a type of the world of Age.
Hours that strut as the heirs of time,
Deeds whose rumour's a clarion-call,
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poem by William Ernest Henley
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Tea For One
So you stir your memories
Of better men.
With your silver spoon.
A bitter tea for two.
Where are they now
The perfect few.
That put me to shame.
Your strut is lame.
Crippled,
Your knights in armour.
Rippled, dreams.
Remember Karma.
You
Who pledged me your life.
Warm kisses
But much colder the knife
As you stabbed me in the back.
With your ice cube words.
Emotion's all you lack.
Within your test tube herds.
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poem by Kevin East
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Jungle Gentleman
He bears a grace that few may own,
A regal quality.
Distinguished though he walks alone,
This tiger that I see.
Behold the fellow as he strolls,
Without a single care...
As if he has no urgent goals,
No burdens to beware.
He doesn't crouch as if to pounce...
He doesn't crawl the grounds.
He walks as if he weighs an ounce
And not two hundred pounds.
He's like a dancer, fleet of foot,
Yet this is his day off...
In simple words and humbly put,
He acts as if the toff!
He swaggers, struts and looks so cool
In orange, black and white...
As if he'd stepped out from a pool,
Refreshed and sparkling bright.
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poem by Denis Martindale
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Song Of Lovely Women
Third day, third month festival,
and the air fresh with spring;
beside Serpentine Lake in Chang'an,
many lovely women stroll.
Their appearance is elegant,
their thoughts lofty and refined,
their complexions delicate,
figures in perfect proportion.
Their embroidered silk gowns
glisten with spring light;
golden peacocks and beasts of silver
strut upon the fabric.
What is it that they wear
upon their heads?
Jeweled headbands with kingfisher feathers,
dangling to their hairlines.
And what is it that we see
upon their backs?
Pearl-studded overskirts
drawn tight at the waist.
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No Parole Boards Please July 18th,2012
NO PAROLE BOARDS PLEASE July 18th,2012
BY
JAMES BREDIN
The Parole Boards claim that our prisons are overcrowded,
They use this in their release decisions that are shrouded,
So vicious murderers and rapists can walk the streets once more,
And strut their stuff and show off to their victims how they have scored.
And the politically correct Parole Board folk think that this is great,
Though not very democratic and never up for debate,
And our isolated party politicians stay far away,
Doing absolutely nothing for us except maybe, betray.
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poem by James Bredin
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Giving Up To Give Away
You're just another who has run out of luck.
And living amongst the others,
Who have decided...
To throw their hands up!
You're just another one seen,
Not to be around them to strut.
With a chosen disposition,
As if to say, 'So what! , if I sit around on my butt.'
Who cares,
If initiative is not there?
Who cares,
If initiative is not there?
Who cares,
If initiative is not there?
With a bottled up...
Giving up!
Who cares,
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Traumatized By Their Own Denials
Personally I find the unravelling,
Of what is being disclosed to be exposed...
Exhilarating to witness.
As those who have taken others for granted,
Awaken to find themselves...
Compared to books dusting on cobwebbed shelves.
I find it funny and hilarious how people keep beliefs,
That grassroots people living in the inner cities...
Are thought to be imbeciles manipulated easily.
And have wishes to live like those elite.
Who shadow those who have established themselves,
With opportunities and exclusive lifestyles...
To think of themselves as 'above' the ones beneath.
I find it silly to catch myself giggling,
To observe people delusioned to believe they are envied...
By others they 'assume' are livid with jealousy.
But heard to confess of having no interest,
In those who strut seeking to impress.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Making Waves
At last, I've made it here again.
I'm making waves once more!
How long it's been, I can't say when
Because I'm not quite sure...
Us tigers like to strut our stuff,
To wander fancy free...
Enjoying life, enjoying love!
I think most would agree...
As tigers, we can live like lords,
No matter where we are.
Whether it's crossing streams or fords,
We're nobles, near or far!
That's why I'm here, to make it known,
Not hiding out of sight.
I'm not afraid, no need to groan,
No reason now to fight.
I'm making waves, let others stare,
It's time to have some fun!
It's time to show I just don't care...
Perhaps it's too much sun...
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poem by Denis Martindale
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