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All confessions are Odysseys.

quote by Raymond Queneau
Added by Lucian Velea
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True Confessions

Before you tell me to go, Ive got to let you know
How youre makin my temperature rise
I let you use me, you tried to abuse me, you tell me youre not very nice
Im not your social security, Im not your star opportunity, yeah
Oh baby, you can have me absolutely, wont you give me
True confessions, true confessions, true confessions
Thats all Im askin for, yeah
I do things to make you crazy inside
And baby thats one thing you know you cant hide
You ask me why, whats your confession
Well baby, the truth is, youre in my possession tonight
True confessions, true confessions, true confessions
Thats all Im askin for, yeah
Im not your social security, Im not your star opportunity, yeah
Oh baby, you can have me absolutely, wont you give me
True confessions, true confessions, true confessions (repeats out)

song performed by Kiss
Added by Lucian Velea
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Confessions Pt. 2

Confessions Part II"
Watch this...
[Chorus:]
These are my confessions
Just when I thought I said all I can say
My chick on the side said she got one on the way
These are my confessions
Man I'm thrown and I dont know what to do
I guess I gotta give part 2 of my confessions
If I'm gonna tell it then I gotta tell it all
Damn near cried when I got that phone call
I'm so throwed and I don't know what to do
But to give you part 2 of my confessions
[Verse 1]
Now this gon' be the hardest thing I think I ever had to do
Got me talkin' to myself askin' how I'm gon' tell you
'bout that chick on part 1 I told ya'll I was creepin' with, sleepin' with
Said she's 3 months pregnant and she's keepin' it
The first thing that came to mind was you
Second thing was how do I know if it's mine and is it true
Third thing was me wishin' that I never did what I did
How I ain't ready for no kid and bye bye to our relationship
[Chorus]
[Verse 2]
Sittin here stuck on stupid, tryna figure out
When, what, and how I'mma let this come out of my mouth
Said it ain't gon' be easy
But I need to stop thinkin', contemplatin'
Be a man and get it over with (over with)
I'm ridin' in my whip
Racin' to her place
Talkin' to myself
Preparin' to tell her to her face
She open up the door and didn't want to come near me
I said "one second baby please hear me"
[Chorus]
[Breakdown]
This by far is the hardest thing I think I've ever had to do
To tell you, the woman I love
That I'm having a baby by a woman that I barely even know
I hope you can accept the fact that I'm man enough to tell you this
And hopefully you'll give me another chance
This ain't about my career
This ain't about my life
It's about us
Please
[Chorus]

song performed by Usher
Added by Lucian Velea
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Coastal Confessions

Well I'm a tidal pool explorer
From the days of my misspent youth.
I believe that down on the beach
Where the sea gulls preach
Is where the Chinese buried the truth.
So I dig in the sand
with my misguided hands
and if I dig deep enough
Hell I just might dig it up.
Talking about treasure
Talking about pleasure
Talking about love
Now I'm a reader of the night sky
And a singer of inordinate tunes.
That's how I float across time
Living way past my prime
Like a long lost baby's balloon.
So I hang on to the string
Work that whole gravity thing
But when my space ship goes pop
Back to the earth I will drop
Into the sea
Or the limbs of a tree
Or the wings of my love
And I don't know what I'm supposed to do
Maybe invent me a story or two
I've got coastal confessions to make
How bout you
How bout you
They say that time is like a river
And stories are the key to the past
But now I'm stuck in between
Here at my typing machine
Trying to come up with some words that will last.
It's so easy to see that we live history
And if I just find the beat
I know I land on my feet
I always do
Hadn't got a clue
Does it comes from above.
And I don't know what I'm supposed to do
Maybe invent me a story or two
I've got coastal confessions to make
How bout you
How bout you
Let's go to church, Sonny...
(Bridge)
So bless me father, yes I have sinned.
Given the chance I'll probably do it again
I don't need absolution

[...] Read more

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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Not All Poems Are Confessions

NOT ALL POEMS ARE CONFESSIONS

Not all poems are confessions,
But mine often are-
I write to understand and justify myself
And to help myself know
What to do next-
The writing itself is often the action that helps

Not all poems are confessions
And not all poems are therapy
And not all poems are prayer
But mine often are.

poem by Shalom Freedman
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True Confessions

I tried to tell you
But the words always came out wrong
You never knew it
But I loved you all along
Are we two worlds in collision
Maybe it's time for you to listen to my
CHORUS:
True confessions
My love, I'm givin' you
My true confessions
Show love when you hear my
True Confessions
Never meant to hurt you
I was lonely and she was so kind
One stolen moment
That I can't get off my mind
Let's end this silent suspicion
Baby it's time for you to listen to my
CHORUS
No more hiding the rage
Gotta let it out of this cage
So won't you show me you care
Ooh baby, won't you share

song performed by Kenny Loggins
Added by Lucian Velea
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Orchestral Proportions

Generation subsequent, momentum gallops,
Running freely awesome natures rides.
As the wild hunt frolics in the sky.
Politicians in unison must recognise
That which the people keep well disguised.
Hidden from the view of pigsty atrocities stewing,
Boiling, frothing forth a flock of birds
As they tweet in twee harmonies
Of orchestral proportions unheard.

The Sky pale blue and bluer still
The Lovers locked upon the hill,
As we question what it is to love,

What it is to be free in a society that
Feeds you your history the way they would have it,
They way they read it through tainted eyes of bias magnitudes,
All to feed an attitude of hatred for their brother,
Each black ribbon sister in distress.

Confessions uttered through pain of inescapable agony,
Confessions granted under duress.
Messy scenes the mob obscene is outside the courtroom waiting.
Chained to the railings, Freedoms voice is heard through a thousand violent shades,
Fading, jaded, barely recognisable above the din, drowning in the white.
Drowning out of sight.

How can we trust a law that is no law unto itself?
How can we know who we are if we are to place
Individuality upon the shelf? As we are adorned as one in many,
Within uniform conformity as its rages upon the souls of the young,
The teachers say it’s better as you can’t rich from poor
Yet to be poor it is no illness and to be rich there is no cure.

How can we come to trust a heaven that will allow you to
Buy your time from hells despite? How can we trust a church
That would have you blinded from the light?
Mumbled under wings of fire angelic confessions due,
How can we trust a bird when 2000 years ago he flew?

I feel sorry for the bird, for the littlest of lambs,
Sacrificed for the sins of man when no sin had found its manifestation
From his hand. All that’s wrong has been done in his name,
The littlest of lambs, his memory shamed,
By the blood of every man that kills with him in heart,
Shamed into slavery to bear the bitter cup of injustice,
Done in the name of his own father from whom he
Never should have parted.

poem by David Lacey
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Canto the First

I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The one thing we know about torture is that it was never designed in the first place to get at the actual truth of anything; it was designed in the darkest days of human history to produce false confessions in order to annihilate political and religious dissidents. And that is how it always works: it gets confessions regardless of their accuracy.

quote by Andrew Sullivan
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Is It Worth The Trouble?

Candid confessions!
A miscalculated risk-
My impulsive honesty
Is It Worth The Trouble?
My impulsive honesty
A miscalculated risk-
Candid confessions!

poem by Meena Iyer
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True Confessions

I never doubted a single word
I put my trust in your hands
And in the wake of a fatal vow
I thought that love was the plan
But see how the tables have turned
And nothing is sacred
The lesson is there to be learned
By tearing the mask from your face
Now its time for true confessions
I wanna know what you want from me
For true confessions
I need to know why you show no sympathy
The satisfaction you take in this
Is growing ever more clear
If truth be known in this bitter dawn
Its like you never were here
The struggle for my self-respect
Has never been harder
And if I have any regrets
Its knowing you wasted my life
If were to be logical
I should be strong and walk right out that door
Its so hypocritical
cos deep inside I want you all the more
Reality cuts like a knife
The fantasys over
And here I am, paying the price
For all of your dark indiscretions

song performed by Johnny Hates Jazz
Added by Lucian Velea
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Trick Of The Light

Wide awake in the middle of the night
Wide awake in the middle of the night
I wonder how shes feelin
I wonder how shes feelin
Is it just a trick of the light
Is it just a trick of the light
Or is her ceiling peeling?
Or is her ceiling peeling?
Shes sitting up in bed, shakin her head
Shes sitting up in bed, shakin her head
At a copy of true confessions
At a copy of true confessions
Ooh, it must seem like a fairy tale
Ooh, it must seem like a fairy tale
To a woman of her profession
To a woman of her profession
But was I all right? (was I all right? )
But was I all right? (was I all right? )
Did I take you to the height of ecstasy?
Did I take you to the height of ecstasy?
Was I all right? (was I all right? )
Was I all right? (was I all right? )
Did a shadow of emotion cross your face
Did a shadow of emotion cross your face
Or was it just another trick of the light?
Or was it just another trick of the light?
But was I all right? (was I all right? )
But was I all right? (was I all right? )
Did I take you to the height of ecstasy?
Did I take you to the height of ecstasy?
Was I all right? (was I all right? )
Was I all right? (was I all right? )
Did a shadow of emotion cross your face
Did a shadow of emotion cross your face
Or was it just another trick of the light?
Or was it just another trick of the light?
Come on, tell me
Come on, tell me
Whats a nice girl like you doin in a place like this?
Whats a nice girl like you doin in a place like this?
They dont make girls like you no more
They dont make girls like you no more
And Id like to get to know you
And Id like to get to know you
On closer terms than this
On closer terms than this
But I guess youve heard it all before
But I guess youve heard it all before
Lady of the night
Lady of the night

[...] Read more

song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Finder's Fees

They don't want to be real.
And yet the reality of their existence,
Has manifested them in constant complaint.
Their eyes have been shielded from a truth,
Distanced from their remote touches.
Their anger suppressed,
Has them locked within traps...
Of Sunday confessions.
Torned with guilt that slaps,
If those visits have lapses.
Dictated to keep their tithes high
To ensure,
An answer to their prayers will come.

And All that God 'Is' is free for the asking.
Punishments are of our own choosing.
God has watched us abuse one another.
Do you think He gets paid a percentage,
Of those 'finder's' fees?
His only pleasure,
Is to have us come to HIM.
Alone.
And not understanding this...
Has a temendous price at a cost,
We suffer to deliver.
Just to keep a nightmare of sin away!
But we keep our wishes for things.
And these things wished...
Eventually are asked to have the pressure
Of keeping them,
Blessedly kept and protected.

And All that God 'Is' is free for the asking.
Punishments are of our own choosing.
God has watched us abuse one another.
Do you think He gets paid a percentage,
Of those 'finder's' fees?
His only pleasure,
Is to have us come to HIM.
Alone.

They don't want to be real.
And yet the reality of their existence,
Has manifested them in constant complaint.
Their eyes have been shielded from a truth,
Distanced from their remote touches.
Their anger suppressed,
Has them locked within traps...
Of Sunday confessions.
Torned with guilt that slaps,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fresh Blood

Now confessions have been professed.
After heartbreaks have occurred,
And many needless deaths...
Have been left to upset!

Now...
Confessions have been professed,
But why not before?
Before a book has been written?
And before the media is contacted?
To get one publicity and press...
Before a book release,
With a promise of lucrative sells to impress.

Fresh blood is on the table!
Fresh blood is there!
But not to clear a consciousness.
Of 'that' you can bet.
One of morals and consciousness,
Had never expressed that at all,
To be intially something they had...
To have others believe and made aware!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Implemented Craziness

It seems as though the more I age,
The less I care about those who address pettiness.
And their hollowed professed confessions...
Of having beliefs in God.
And afraid to step out on their faith.
What sense does that make?

People 'say' they pray for peace!
And as soon as they are 'released'
From their places of worship...
I overhear them passing judgements.
And condoning needless wars.

People 'say' they pray for unity,
And brotherhood.
And in most neighborhoods,
There is conflict of some kind.

People 'say' they pray for racial equality.
As long as they are made to feel superior,
Over others of color.
And they are restricted from a quality of life,
That is diminishing rapidly in quality...
And those 'values' they uphold,
Are materialistic and has devastated the economy!

It seems as though the more I age,
The less I care about those who address pettiness.
And their hollowed professed confessions...
Of having beliefs in God.
And afraid to step out on their faith.
What sense does that make?

It seems as though the more I age,
Those who take offense
To an obvious display of implemented craziness,
Are quicker to defend this mess...
As if it is tradition.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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To Seem Detached From Stress

I admit to feeling honored.
And also repeatedly blessed.
To have someone like you,
Make comments...
About those confessions I profess,
And express with an openness...
To seem detached from stress.

I am not always as secure,
As I seem when attempting to impress.
I just feel what I say comes from an honesty.
And being true to myself,
Sometimes has created my own loneliness...
That has left me with moments of distressed.

I admit to feeling honored.
And also repeatedly blessed.
To have someone like you,
Make comments...
About those confessions I profess,
That expresses an openness...
To seem detached from stress.

But I am not that different,
From those wishing more...
And not less,
Of those moments I regret...
To have a happiness,
That will leave me to be...
Feeling free to be at my best.

Without experiencing an aloneness,
Through what is felt at times...
An unwinding road confined,
To a wilderness...
That sits inside,
Of an inquisitive mind.
Traveling as it does without any sign of rest.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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apj Indonesia’s Torturous Democracy?

Indonesia is a sprawling
archipelago nation
of 237 million people.

Indonesia emerged
from decades
of dictatorship
as recently as 1998.

Indonesia continues
to make
strides toward democracy...

however a weak
limp legal system
continues to be
a hot black spot.

torturing suspects
'the norm' in Indonesia
routine police perks

routine law enforcement
torture suspects convicts
extract corrupt confessions

“Indonesian law enforcers
routinely torture suspects
and convicts to extract
confessions or obtain

information... beatings,
intimidation and rape are
so commonplace they are
considered the norm.”

Jakarta-based Legal Aid Foundation Report

Restaria Hutabarat said the group's report
found police beatings intimidation rape
are commonplace considered routine norm

“few victims believe
they have the right
to lodge complaints”

police intimidation beatings raping suspects
few terrorized victims lodge complaints
Boy Rafli Amar will make changes if necessary

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Psychedelic God - A Thank You Note

The drift of a percussion nib
A mental voyager, a bohemian cosmonaut
Exploring uncharted frontiers of the whimsical mind
In the vastness, the infinitude of galactic spaces
Perforating ingenious black holes
Chutes of inspiration, free falling to the plea of gravities
As the wandering mind chisels on stone paper
Its journeys and treks, legendary tales exuding the essence
Of an overgenerous chimera, surpassing sight's farthest prophecies
Cerebral odysseys transcending mythical epics, medieval folklore
To capture the nomadic spirit, yet the exemplary purity
Of the suppleness of creation, masterminded
By another horizon-less wayfarer, an apical journeyman
A celestial potter, nom de plume ‘Lord the creator'
As a humble poet parts with a thanksgiving note
For the gift of a boundless providence, to sketch his own tale of fatum
As he tributes the imaginative force of a psychedelic God

poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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After all

Mixtures of ill feelings and hatred
Life is full of misery and to be lead
To look after all as family head
Their likings and disliking clearly to be read

It is plight of common man
He may try to perform whatever he can
He has lust for odysseys water
Not all the wishes can be catered

Either to escape from the responsibility
Or to express the helplessness or inability
It is not good sign or best quality
At the end one can feel only pity

What about men living in the streets?
Wishing to ask so many questions when we meet?
What is he to do when there is no other alternative?
What is he expected to perform as native?

Common men do think many things in common
For him life is to be simply put on
There is no defeat or win
Success is illusion and agony always seen

Forget about helpless and poor
They are always show the door
They have no where to go
They get humiliated as balls throw

Still it has to go on uninterrupted
Whole system stands corrupted
Nothing good at all is intercepted
No good ideas are concepted

No use to react badly or good
We all have to act for food
This is biggest problem and concern
Everything proves secondary in turn

We have still humble mission
lot many aspirations as clear ambition
God only knows its clear outcome
Emergence of anything is always welcome

We may be helpless but not lacking
We dash for the claim and staking
It depends how you are taking
Is it simply believing or in making?

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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An inner depth

Touch my soul and inner depth
Before I say good bye and embrace the death
I had endless wait for your foot steps to hear
I stooped heart beats for while when it distanced near

I did not catch it coming
I should have been there for welcoming
It was my wish and desire too
You were all along for it and proved true

The drams are after all odysseys
They stand for nothing and convey
I was never understood or graced
The dilemma I always faced

You created enough of space
I merely accepted it as unique case
It never remained as mad race
I had waited always for His grace

I always wished and heartily ached
All memories were firmly bonded and attached
Before I could think or nearly reached
The bank was collapsed and breached

It was my wish and firmed placed
I never wanted it to be replaced
As time is nearing out, you have raced
I have found purity in it and convincingly traced

You only open eyes and stare
I shall find bright glare
I will find the place to reside there
You have just emerged from no where

I may soon be heavenly abode
The sweet memories will be on wings and rode
At right time you are stealing the show
I thank god and gracefully bow

It may be the real name for ever lasting
You might have many times observed fasting
It has come now all along way to end the wait
Why should I not acknowledge it as real fate?

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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From: Dedicatory Ode

I will not try the reach again,
I will not set my sail alone,
To moor a boat bereft of men
At Yarnton's tiny docks of stone.

But I will sit beside the fire,
And put my hand before my eyes,
And trace, to fill my heart's desire,
The last of all our Odysseys.

The quiet evening kept her tryst:
Beneath an open sky we rode,
And passed into a wandering mist
Along the perfect Evenlode.

The tender Evenlode that makes
Her meadows hush to hear the sound
Of waters mingling in the brakes,
And binds my heart to English ground.

A lovely river, all alone,
She lingers in the hills and holds
A hundred little towns of stone,
Forgotten in the western wolds.

poem by Hilaire Belloc
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