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When choosing between two evils, I always like to try the one I've never tried before.

quote by Mae West
Added by Lucian Velea
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Stop, Choosing to Demean

You've got your meaning,
And still you are choosing to demean...
My love?

Ya gotcha meaning,
But-cha choosing to demean.
Ya gotcha meaning,
But-cha choosing to demean.
Ya gotcha meaning,
But-cha choosing to demean.

Baby!
I gotcha meaning that demeans,
What I say.
And why it is I feel this way.

You're choosing to demean,
How I pray.
For us...
With faith and love,
Everyday!

Baby!
You're choosing to demean.
I see,
You're choosing to demean.
My compassion,
You're choosing to demean.
And..
My strong beliefs.

Yo, Baby!
You're choosing to demean.
I see,
You're choosing to demean.
My compassion,
You're choosing to demean.
And..
My love for you so deep.
But, you choose to be so mean.

And baby...
Stop, choosing to demean.
Baby!
Stop, choosing to demean.
Yo' baby!
Stop, choosing to demean.
Yo' baby!
Stop, choosing to demean.
Yo' baby,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Heard The Roar On Maha-shivaratri

I heard the bum bum Bhole on Maha Shiva Ratri
Herd of kanwarias sing and dance their hymns play,
And wild and sweet the roar repeat
Of happiness in the nation, destruction of evils in men.

Mesmerized, I brood, as the morning had come,
To offer the holy waters on the divine Shiva Linga
Devotes had marched along the unbroken hymns
Of happiness in the nation, destruction of evils in men.

But in despair I shook my head:
‘There is no happiness in my nation, ’ I cried
‘For hate and depression is high, and laughs at the hymns
Of happiness in the nation, destruction of evils in men.

Then read the beads more lost and loud:
‘Lord Shiva is still there looking at all our deeds;
The evil will be destroyed, the goodness prevail,
Of happiness in the nation, destruction of evils in men.

Kanwarias ringing, singing all through their way,
The nation awakened from night to day
Mighty Tandava, a roar, a chant sublime,
Of happiness in the nation, destruction of evils in men.

poem by Dr. Yogesh Sharma
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Exclusively Aloof

You dip in your evils.
While others choose to sneak,
On those who sleep.

You dip in your evils.
While others choose to sneak,
On those who sleep.

There are sneaks and evil people...
Creeping up on people.

But I find that I am,
Exclusively elusive.
And I find that I can be exclusively aloof.
Yes I find that I can be exclusively elusive,
Caring less I'm in the loop.
As you and other people,
Can choose those things you do.

You dip in your evils.
While others choose to sneak,
On those who sleep.

But I find that I am,
Exclusively elusive.
And I find that I can be exclusively aloof.
Caring less I'm in the loop.
As you and other people,
Can choose those things you do.

There are sneaks and evil people.
Creeping up on people.
And I find that I can be exclusively aloof.
Caring less I'm in the loop.
As you and other people,
Can choose those things you do.

Yes I find that I can be exclusively elusive,
And I find that I can be exclusively aloof.
Caring less I'm in the loop.
As you and other people,
Can choose those things you do.

You dip in your evils.
And I find that I am exclusively aloof.
Others creep on people.
Yet I find that I can be exclusively elusive,
Caring less I'm in the loop.
As you and other people,
Choose that what you do.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Freelanced Delusions

Trite expressions exchanged,
Are as satisfying as scheduled rehearsals...
For an anticipated wedding,
That has no performance date to occur.

Or a sermon heard that is preached,
About the evils of sin.
And the evils of sin are taught to teach,
Over and over again.

A repetition done dawns on the listener,
With a purpose served...
That becomes less effective.
And affects discouragement.

Why can't folks just be upfront?
And be for real.
Instead of killing time...
To appeal to one's mind.

Why can't folks just be upfront?
And confront the truth.
Instead of diluting it...
To soothe with freelanced delusions.

Trite expressions exchanged,
Are as satisfying as scheduled rehearsals...
For an anticipated wedding,
That has no performance date to occur.

Or a sermon heard that is preached,
About the evils of sin.
And the evils of sin are taught to teach,
Over and over again.

Why can't folks just be upfront?
And be for real.
Instead of killing time...
To appeal to one's mind.

And why can't folks just be upfront?
With a confronting of the truth.
Instead of diluting it,
To soothe with freelanced delusions.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Riding Hard On Their Backs

Charading people under steeples,
On their knees praying to keep...
Things!
And their bling.
Don't know that they have reaped,
Deep ditches to reach out...
To be forgiven for their hypocrisies.

And you can't tell them that they pray,
To keep their evils.
They will attack you 'cause they don't believe that.

And you can't tell them that they pray,
To keep their evils.
They will attack you 'cause they don't believe that.
Although those demons seen are riding hard on their backs.

Charading people under steeples,
On their knees praying to keep...
Things!
And their bling.
Don't know that they have reaped,
Deep ditches to reach out...
To be forgiven for their hypocrisies.

And you can't tell them that they pray,
To keep their evils.
They will attack you 'cause they don't believe that.

And you can't tell them that they pray,
To keep their evils.
They will attack you 'cause they don't believe that.
Although those demons seen are riding hard on their backs.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Forgive And Forget

Forgive and forget as I've been told
That query keeps coming to my mind
As 'I forgive' is the easiest words for one to say
But to forget, to me it seems like a crime.
To forget the evils that someone has done
Or even the evils or lies that they had spoke
To walk away as they never had accrued
As though to have a nightmare and never to awoke.
When we were young we are taught by our elders
To forgive the trespasses against us one and all
We must forget the pain and suffering that we felt
And must lock that away behind our own brick wall.
The lies and the evils that were done to us,
Even by friends and the ones who we had loved
We must then say that I forgive you one and all
And to some, that forgiveness is not even enough.

Forgive and forget those words we have heard
Even the bible does speak the same
To forgive the sins that were committed against us all
And so against no one can we ever curse or blame.
Sometimes though it seems like in this life
The wrong doers are always asking to forgive and forget
And then the moment that you smile and accept their request
They attack you, and they feel no sadness or regret.
Forgiving sometimes it is so very hard to do
And then to forget that person of their evil deeds
While trying not to remember what they have done to you
While wishing in them, you once again could believe.
Now as I think about my very own past
Of all the wrongs and evil deeds to me I must accept
I read that forgiveness is mine so said the Lord
So now I toss the evils done to me off to forgive and forget.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Choosing To Walk On The Right Path

Choosing to walk on the right path,
Is going to have its obstacles.
Temptations will be there to tease,
With attempts to weaken.
And faces familiar...
Will appear to critique.

Choosing to walk on the right path,
Isn't an easy decision one makes.
It takes one to break away,
From barriers attached...
That are difficult to unlatch.
Yet...
Can be done to escape those traps.

Choosing to walk on the right path,
Is going to have its obstacles.
And some days will seem impossible.
But that path chosen,
By the one who knows it is correct...
Will never bring to one regret.
If a faith kept is strong.
And an accepting felt within belongs.

Choosing to walk on the right path,
Will prove there to be nothing to fear.
Doubts disappear!
And those things wrong that prick like thorns,
From this right path...
Eventually,
Will be gone!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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People Claim They Want More Peace

Agonistic balled up fists,
Shown by those too argumentive...
Are accustomed to conflicts,
And...
Should be left alone.

Agonistic balled up fists,
Shown by those too argumentive...
Are accustomed to conflicts,
And...
Should not be condoned.

Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
Or nor are they quick thinkers,
With solutions that resolve...
That will result in benefits.

Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
They're much too use to using fists...
As if to fight will end all riffs!
But escalations aren't dismissed.

More, more, more...
Grief and agony is wished.
More, more, more...
Revenge is sought and with the risks,
Showing and exposing proof...
Just who can be more barbaric!

Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
Or nor are they quick thinkers,
With solutions that resolve...
That will result in benefits.

Those choosing to pick fights,
Aren't the ones who use their wits.
They're much too use to using fists...
As if to fight will end all riffs!
But escalations aren't dismissed.

More, more, more...
Grief and agony is wished.
More, more, more...
Revenge is sought and with the risks,
Showing and exposing proof...
Just who can be more barbaric!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pooling From A Tank Of Picked Catches

Pooling from a tank of picked catches,
Examined and tested...
Eliminates second guesses.
And motivates with a boost what is expected,
From that which has been prime selected.

People wanting better know for them what is the best.
And there are those who refuse to accept,
With a getting for themselves...
What the rest can not get,
And...

They're not in line with the others behind the times.
They're not the ones choosing to complain and to whine.
They're not the ones who chose to get nothing done...
Like so many who just lived for fun!

They're not in line with the others behind the times.
They're not the ones choosing to complain and to whine.
They're not the ones who chose to get nothing done...
Like so many who just lived for fun!

Pooling from a tank of picked catches,
Examined and tested...
Eliminates second guesses.
And motivates with a boost what is expected,
From that which has been prime selected.

They're not in line with the others behind the times.
People wanting better know for them what is the best.

They're not the ones choosing to complain and to whine.
And there are those who refuse to accept,
With a getting for themselves...
What the rest can not get,
And...
They're not the ones who chose to get nothing done,
Just to kick around excuses.

They're not in line with the others behind the times.
They're not the ones choosing to complain and to whine.
They're not the ones who chose to get nothing done...
Like so many who just lived for fun.

Like so many who just lived for fun.
Like so many who just lived for fun.
There were others who chose to get things done.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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You and your Career

Your ears were choosing what to hear,
When mighty jungles claimed noises,
The reason behind the brain and what is clear.

My sight detained me and made me disappear,
Where was I situated, afterwards with afterimages?
Your ears were choosing what to hear.

Your instrument is heavenly in this world and atmosphere,
Like music has spoken and never abuses,
The reason behind the brain and what is clear.

I ride on a faith too majestic and pure to adhere,
Such innocence exhibits the advantages,
Your ears were choosing what to hear,

My mind is passing a test, like drinking beer,
Inner fighting has survived the ambushes,
The reason behind the brain and what is clear.

I can never refuse a man to speak about a career,
The laughing is acted due to this and never ceases,
Your ears were choosing what to hear,
The reason behind the brain and what is clear.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Philosophy triumphs easily over past evils and future evils; but present evils triumph over it.

quote by La Rochefoucauld
Added by Lucian Velea
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Time is the inventor

.

Time, you are the greatest inventor.
You have invented evils
For every remedy I have found.
Evils demand remedies
And remedies fetch evils.
Time, you are my counter inventer.
30.07.2006

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Miseries of Man

1 In that so temperate Soil Arcadia nam'd,
1 For fertile Pasturage by Poets fam'd;
2 Stands a steep Hill, whose lofty jetting Crown,
3 Casts o'er the neighbouring Plains, a seeming Frown;
4 Close at its mossie Foot an aged Wood,
5 Compos'd of various Trees, there long has stood,
6 Whose thick united Tops scorn the Sun's Ray,
7 And hardly will admit the Eye of Day.
8 By oblique windings through this gloomy Shade,
9 Has a clear purling Stream its Passage made,
10 The Nimph, as discontented seem'd t'ave chose
11 This sad Recess to murmur forth her Woes.

12 To this Retreat, urg'd by tormenting Care,
13 The melancholly Cloris did repair,
14 As a fit Place to take the sad Relief
15 Of Sighs and Tears, to ease oppressing Grief.
16 Near to the Mourning Nimph she chose a Seat,
17 And these Complaints did to the Shades repeat.

18 Ah wretched, trully wretched Humane Race!
19 Your Woes from what Beginning shall I trace,
20 Where End, from your first feeble New-born Cryes,
21 To the last Tears that wet your dying Eyes?
22 Man, Common Foe, assail'd on ev'ry hand,
23 Finds that no Ill does Neuter by him stand,
24 Inexorable Death, Lean Poverty,
25 Pale Sickness, ever sad Captivity.
26 Can I, alas, the sev'ral Parties name,
27 Which, muster'd up, the Dreadful Army frame?
28 And sometimes in One Body all Unite,
29 Sometimes again do separately fight:
30 While sure Success on either Way does waite,
31 Either a Swift, or else a Ling'ring Fate.

32 But why 'gainst thee, O Death! should I inveigh,
33 That to our Quiet art the only way?
34 And yet I would (could I thy Dart command)
35 Crie, Here O strike! and there O hold thy Hand!
36 The Lov'd, the Happy, and the Youthful spare,
37 And end the Sad, the Sick, the Poor Mans Care.
38 But whether thou or Blind, or Cruel art,
39 Whether 'tis Chance, or Malice, guides thy Dart,
40 Thou from the Parents Arms dost pull away
41 The hopeful Child, their Ages only stay:
42 The Two, whom Friendship in dear Bands hs ty'd,
43 Thou dost with a remorseless hand devide;
44 Friendship, the Cement, that does faster twine
45 Two Souls, than that which Soul and Body joyn:

[...] Read more

poem by Anne Killigrew
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The Emigrants: Book II

Scene, on an Eminence on one of those Downs, which afford to the South a view of the Sea; to the North of the Weald of Sussex. Time, an Afternoon in April, 1793.

Long wintry months are past; the Moon that now
Lights her pale crescent even at noon, has made
Four times her revolution; since with step,
Mournful and slow, along the wave-worn cliff,
Pensive I took my solitary way,
Lost in despondence, while contemplating
Not my own wayward destiny alone,
(Hard as it is, and difficult to bear!)
But in beholding the unhappy lot
Of the lorn Exiles; who, amid the storms
Of wild disastrous Anarchy, are thrown,
Like shipwreck'd sufferers, on England's coast,
To see, perhaps, no more their native land,
Where Desolation riots: They, like me,
From fairer hopes and happier prospects driven,
Shrink from the future, and regret the past.
But on this Upland scene, while April comes,
With fragrant airs, to fan my throbbing breast,
Fain would I snatch an interval from Care,
That weighs my wearied spirit down to earth;
Courting, once more, the influence of Hope
(For "Hope" still waits upon the flowery prime)
As here I mark Spring's humid hand unfold
The early leaves that fear capricious winds,
While, even on shelter'd banks, the timid flowers
Give, half reluctantly, their warmer hues
To mingle with the primroses' pale stars.
No shade the leafless copses yet afford,
Nor hide the mossy labours of the Thrush,
That, startled, darts across the narrow path;
But quickly re-assur'd, resumes his talk,
Or adds his louder notes to those that rise
From yonder tufted brake; where the white buds
Of the first thorn are mingled with the leaves
Of that which blossoms on the brow of May.
Ah! 'twill not be:---- So many years have pass'd,
Since, on my native hills, I learn'd to gaze
On these delightful landscapes; and those years
Have taught me so much sorrow, that my soul
Feels not the joy reviving Nature brings;
But, in dark retrospect, dejected dwells
On human follies, and on human woes.----
What is the promise of the infant year,
The lively verdure, or the bursting blooms,
To those, who shrink from horrors such as War
Spreads o'er the affrighted world? With swimming eye,
Back on the past they throw their mournful looks,

[...] Read more

poem by Charlotte Smith
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Sonnet- Modern Day Evils

What changes society has undergone!
The modern evils are condemnable;
Terrorism, bomb-cult that disable
Progress and life of nations every morn!

Riddled are people by bullets often;
Persons are knifed in broad daylight ev’n now;
Men and women with strapped-on bombs kill, Oh;
Leaders assassinated by such men!

Something is wrong basically today;
These modern evils just paralyze life;
Counter-measures are not enough anyway;
Truly manmade have become death and strife.

Human progress has led to more evils;
To destroy lives and souls- roam these devils!

poem by John Celes
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The Borough. Letter VII: Professions--Physic

NEXT, to a graver tribe we turn our view,
And yield the praise to worth and science due,
But this with serious words and sober style,
For these are friends with whom we seldom smile.
Helpers of men they're call'd, and we confess
Theirs the deep study, theirs the lucky guess;
We own that numbers join with care and skill,
A temperate judgment, a devoted will:
Men who suppress their feelings, but who feel
The painful symptoms they delight to heal;
Patient in all their trials, they sustain
The starts of passion, the reproach of pain;
With hearts affected, but with looks serene,
Intent they wait through all the solemn scene;
Glad if a hope should rise from nature's strife,
To aid their skill and save the lingering life;
But this must virtue's generous effort be,
And spring from nobler motives than a fee:
To the Physician of the Soul, and these,
Turn the distress'd for safety, hope, and ease.
But as physicians of that nobler kind
Have their warm zealots, and their sectaries blind;
So among these for knowledge most renowned,
Are dreamers strange, and stubborn bigots found:
Some, too, admitted to this honourd name,
Have, without learning, found a way to fame;
And some by learning--young physicians write,
To set their merit in the fairest light;
With them a treatise in a bait that draws
Approving voices--'tis to gain applause,
And to exalt them in the public view,
More than a life of worthy toil could do.
When 'tis proposed to make the man renown'd,
In every age, convenient doubts abound;
Convenient themes in every period start,
Which he may treat with all the pomp of art;
Curious conjectures he may always make,
And either side of dubious questions take;
He may a system broach, or, if he please,
Start new opinions of an old disease:
Or may some simple in the woodland trace,
And be its patron, till it runs its race;
As rustic damsels from their woods are won,
And live in splendour till their race be run;
It weighs not much on what their powers be shown,
When all his purpose is to make them known.
To show the world what long experience gains,
Requires not courage, though it calls for pains;
But at life's outset to inform mankind
Is a bold effort of a valiant mind.

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
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Samson Agonistes (excerpts)

[Samson's Opening Speech]
A little onward lend thy guiding hand
To these dark steps, a little further on;
For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade,
There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Relieves me from my task of servile toil,
Daily in the common prison else enjoin'd me,
Where I a prisoner chain'd, scarce freely draw
The air imprison'd also, close and damp,
Unwholesome draught: but here I feel amends,
The breath of Heav'n fresh-blowing, pure and sweet,
With day-spring born; here leave me to respire.
This day a solemn feast the people hold
To Dagon, their sea-idol, and forbid
Laborious works; unwillingly this rest
Their superstition yields me; hence with leave
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek
This unfrequented place to find some ease;
Ease to the body some, none to the mind
From restless thoughts, that like a deadly swarm
Of hornets arm'd, no sooner found alone,
But rush upon me thronging, and present
Times past, what once I was, and what am now.
O wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold
Twice by an angel, who at last in sight
Of both my parents all in flames ascended
From off the altar, where an off'ring burn'd,
As in a fiery column charioting
His godlike presence, and from some great act
Of benefit reveal'd to Abraham's race?
Why was my breeding order'd and prescrib'd
As of a person separate to God,
Design'd for great exploits; if I must die
Betray'd, captiv'd, and both my eyes put out,
Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze;
To grind in brazen fetters under task
With this Heav'n-gifted strength? O glorious strength
Put to the labour of a beast, debas'd
Lower than bondslave! Promise was that I
Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver;
Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him
Eyeless in Gaza at the mill with slaves,
Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke.
Yet stay, let me not rashly call in doubt
Divine prediction; what if all foretold
Had been fulfill'd but through mine own default,
Whom have I to complain of but myself?
Who this high gift of strength committed to me,
In what part lodg'd, how easily bereft me,
Under the seal of silence could not keep,

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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Back To The Facts

From minds the chains are gone.
From minds the chains are gone.
From minds the chains are gone.
From minds the chains are gone.
And it's...
Back to the facts.
Back to unpack those facts,
Packed.
Back to the facts!
To dust them off and stack them tall.
Back to the facts...
To unwrap and stack.

Medieval evils,
No longer can be forced on people.
Walls are falling.
And used as steps for those who crawl.
To see life without limits,
With a higher consciousness.

And it's...
Back to the facts.
Back to unpack those facts,
Packed.
Back to the facts!
To dust them off and stack them tall.
Back to the facts...
To unwrap and stack.

Medieval evils,
From minds the chains are gone...
To keep the people,
From a...
Bouncing off the walls.

Medieval evils,
From minds the chains are gone...
To keep the people,
From a...
Bouncing off the walls.

And it's...
Back to the facts.
Back to unpack those facts,
Packed.
Back to the facts!
To dust them off and stack them tall.
Back to the facts...
To unwrap and stack.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pain With An Anguish

A pain with an anguish,
Comes to be delivered...
And no matter what the language.

A pain with an anguish,
To be extinguished...
Comes!

Choices given to make decisions,
Have been thoroughly observed.
And...
Witnessed to conflict with wishes,
To have a peace on Earth.
As this Earth was created to serve.

But...
Many believed their greeding,
Was just for them this creation made.
And with an isolating themselves away,
Few have realized their mistakes.

People talk about entitlements.
With a choice to choose their own interests.
But their own interests just don't sit well...
With THAT passing judgements from a greater realm.

A pain and anguish,
Comes to those evils done.
Oh yes a...
Pain with an anguish,
Comes to undo what those demons done.
Producing as a reason to sell.

Pain and anguish,
Comes to those evils done.
No one living doing things to others...
Can hide what they've done and run.

A pain and anguish,
Comes to those evils done.
Oh yes a...
Pain with an anguish,
Comes to undo what those demons done.
Producing as a reason to sell.

Pain with an anguish,
Produced as a reason to sell.
Will soon...
Have no market or a need,
As minds begin to heal from a hell.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Patted Fat Cats

They want deregulation done by government.
But from their mouths they shout and say,
They want the government away.

They want deregulation done by government.
But from their mouths they shout and say,
They want the government away.

What's wrong with greedy people,
Who just want to feed their greed.
And when the greeding stops,
They want to blame someone about it!
And...
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who just want to feed their greed.
And when the greeding stops,
They want to blame someone about it!

They don't want no more taxes.
But they want to live relaxed.
To live their lives on that high hog...
Like patted fat cats!

They don't want no more taxes.
But they want to live relaxed.
To live their lives on that high hog...
Like patted fat cats!

What's wrong with greedy people,
Who just want to feed their greed.
And when the greeding stops,
They want to blame someone about it!
And...
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who just want to feed their greed.
And when the greeding stops,
They want to blame someone about it!

They want deregulation done by government.
But from their mouths they shout and say,
They want the government away.

What's wrong with greedy people,
Who can not correct their evils.
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who can not correct misdeeds.
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who can not correct their evils.
What's wrong with greedy people,
Who can not correct misdeeds.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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