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I See No Reason Why We Can Not Stay Engaged

Why do you wait to the last minute,
To change your mind.
And show just how indecisive you are.
The next time,
Whatever it is you say...
Do not expect me to be there.
It's too embarrassing.
Especially returning gifts...
With a 'Thank You' note.

'Maybe we should stay engaged.
Everytime I see you walking down the aisle...
You look completely different.
Dressed in white AND behind a veil.
You should see it from my perspective.
That's the only reason why I asked the minister...
How much time could I take before I said 'I Do'?
I just want to be sure.
What's wrong with that?
We've been living together for ten years without a contract.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You Are Much Deserving

Upon your arrival to this day witnessed,
Know your blessed journey
Is on the right path.
Feel it...
And embrace your escape,
From yesterdays gone.
How can you deny this day belongs to you?
Not too many can say,
They've endured life your way.
Or lasted to see
Accomplishments you have initiated to complete.
That alone should astonish.
Self admonishment?
Why take the time,
To allow a registering to chronicle it?

Keep your wishes lifted and grand!
You have sifted much sand,
Throughout hours of time you have earned,
Nurturing desires and yearning!

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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An Experience

How sometimes strange demands emerge,
In the curious mind, and heart urges,
To explore unknown curtained truth.

I urged once to taste the flavour of death,
And did realize a horrible experience.
I died in dream, Ah! What did I feel?
Darkness all around, thick and black,
Much darker than the blackest paint,
Encompassing the surrounding zones.

Inexpressible heavy weight as one feels,
When placed under the stony rocks.
Neither could I speak nor move a slight.
The heavy limbs with suspended strength;
But could hear the tips of slippers,
Or the children’s voices out at play.
This lasted as long one counts ten,
With moderate speed like ticking sound.

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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Old Friends

Old friends

My friends and I are elderly men with protruding bellies, we drink whisky
in the evening and talk about the old days; and of friends that went before
us. We feel slightly envious of them, as we have yet a death to come.
The war in Afghanistan has lasted ten years and might last ten more years
this makes us smile for we know wars are endless, like a bad back we have
to learn to live with. Little has changed in our life time, avarice and lust for
power rule ok. In the bar we talk about football, a game of utter futility.
When we leave and see a beautiful girl walking past we don’t bother to turn
around for a second glance, what’s the point. When a friend dies, usually of
cancer or heart attack, we go to his funeral, drink whisky, shudder and talk
about him, sport and the crazy world we live in.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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2008 Beijing Olympics Poem - Lin Dan versus Lee Chong Wei

lin dan, chong wei
look alike faces
shape like
shuttlecocks

eyes gleaming
like diamonds
the shine of white
velvety feathers

between their
masterful strides
the feverish desire
of two nations
to top the world

to and fro, to and fro
their hearts flew
smashing into one
lifting the other

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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Element of the Task

The need for them to see and do...
To correct what should have been done,
Has passed.

Greed was the agenda that fed and lasted.
And allowed to feed this sickness with,
The aid of loans and rich taste.
Quickly supplied to those who qualified...
For the issuing of good credit.
Raising the noses of those who lived off plastic.
That's how drastic this need became,
To gobble them and their selfish whims.

And now little of it is bearly there for them to sniff a whiff!
As every leader representing them knew...
The ticking of the clock hid a bombshell about to drop!
Is Bin Laden a part of this deception too!
A creation schemed by the flawed minds of a few?

The need for them to see and do...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What Was

I can't go home;
even if I do
because that me going home
would be expected
to be
someone I haven't been in so very long.

How to be with family and friends
who constantly want to talk about
that young kid
who's long since moved on.

Out of klndness and memory
I play along
and let them
brag and fawn
over a person
long gone
into the forward years
while they look back

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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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air travel in a Dakota

Air Travel in a Dakota (1956)

White as sheet, the virtual page in front of me, I want to compose a gentle
whisper of a memory. Thought of my first flight, an old Dakota plane, that
looked like a diesel stinking bus inside. I looked under the seat to find
the parachute, but the steward said there weren’t any. Disappointing I had
seen myself jumping out off the burning plane land safely and be in
the newspapers. The steward handed out sweets I pretended to eat one,
thought it might be a drug to keep us quiet, this made sense since many of
the passengers were drunk. Turbulence, like driving on a bad country lane,
I threw up in a paper bag. The plane landed in Sweden, the flight had only
lasted an hour. Walked tall across the grey tarmac, nonchalant presented
my passport to an immigration officer. Here comes a seasoned traveler.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Question

The dilemma

The war in Iraq is over, lasted eight years. Soldiers without arms
and legs in wheel chairs are proud to have shielded their country
from deadly danger without knowing what this danger was about.
The crippled have no choice; they must believe or the suffering
is too much to bear; must not been told they fought a useless war.
Pin medals on their chests and forget them, there is s a new war to
be fought waiting for the naive to make sacrifices in some distant
oil and sand land. If one of them stumbles on the truth they must
be silenced by calling them confused, and victims of wanton cant.
A nation who believes in Fox News and the rich owns the media
were truth is portrait as lie. Only an uprising can free them from
capitalist yoke. But how do you tell good people their cars are run
on the torment of oppressed?

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Job Interview

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife
He would have written sonnets all his life?
DON JUAN, III, 63-4

"Where do you see yourself five years from now?"
the eldest male member (or is "male member"
a redundancy?) of the committee
asked me. "Not here," I thought. A good thing I
speak fluent Fog. I craved that job like some
unappeasable, taunting woman.
What did Byron's friend Hobhouse say after
the wedding? "I felt as if I had buried
a friend." Each day I had that job I felt
the slack leash at my throat and thought what was
its other trick. Better to scorn the job than ask
what I had ever seen in it or think
what pious muck I'd ladled over
the committee. If they believed me, they
deserved me. As luck would have it, the job
lasted me almost but not quite five years.

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poem by William Matthews
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