1647
They were burned.
Long before the Salem ones.
In Hartford, Connecticut,
This was done.
It was told to everyone,
That they were evil.
And in 1647...
They were burned at the stake.
But their souls went to heaven.
And somehow this crime,
Has not lifted from those...
Who refuse to raise their unconscious minds.
And left behind the times,
Are those confined...
In beliefs a depiction of wickedness,
Sits within those who oppose
Such medieval controlling of thinking minds,
Still beset with religious practices...
And keeping themselves,
Enclosed in lost times.
Enforced to keep...
Themselves in divisions as all weep!
As this 'cloud' surrounds their growth,
And creeps!
Deep in the bosoms,
Of their restless ancestors.
NOTE:
Although it has never been proven that witches
were actually burned first in Hartford, prior to those
claimed to be so and burned in Salem, Massachusetts...
It has been revealed that this possibility did, in fact occur.
According to The Witchcraft Delusion in Colonial Connecticut
(1647-1697) as authored by John M. Taylor (John Metcalf) ,1845-1918.
And published by Project Gutenberg.
He states:
FOREWORD The true story of witchcraft in old Connecticut has never been told. It has been hidden in the ancient records and in manuscripts in private collections, and those most conversant with the facts have not made them known, for one reason or another. It is herein written from authoritative sources, and should prove of interest and value as a present-day interpretation of that strange delusion, which for a half century darkened the lives of the forefathers and foremothers of the colonial days. J.M.T. Hartford, Connecticut.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
They Do Not Seek Publicity
There are those who give,
With such positivity!
And with just one purpose...
To encourage others.
They do not seek publicity,
For their good deeds.
Nor do they anticipate in waiting,
For those they assist to express appreciation.
They are here to give!
With the service to others,
They do so well.
And those blessings they receive.
Dedicated to:
Andrea Dixon...Springfield, Mass.
Shayla Dixon...Springfield, Mass.
Leola McCrory...Windsor, Connecticut
Edna Vinters...Bloomfield, Connecticut
Sandra Lindsay...Hartford, Connecticut
Virginia Pertillar...Hartford, Conencticut
'Okay! Okay...so I am biased.
They just happen to be,
Some of the most dynamic women...
I am blessed to know.
Is my smile too broad that it doesn't show? '
So proud am I.
~lsp~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I was at Hartford in Connecticut, where I lived during the war, I published several pieces which were well received, not only by those of my own colour, but by a number of the white people, who thought they might do good among their servants.
quote by Jupiter Hammon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When One Is Thought To Be Kept Back
I had a professor who once stated,
In a humanities class...
I had attended years ago.
And...
That comment remains,
As an observation wherever I go!
'There are two who are kept at a disadvantage,
When one is thought to be kept back!
The one that is obviously being consciously held,
From advancement.
And the one too ignorant to tell,
What is the benefit being received from this...
In the keeping of others from attempting to excell? '
And I continue to think about this,
As today I witness...
The activities of those,
Who are clearly ludicrous...
As they look down upon others,
With turned up noses.
And this shows in a land,
Where great achievements have been made.
Only to smell of the origins from a gutter kept,
That has been actively dispelled...
At an accepting low grade,
Could keep people believing...
Some are chosen to deceive,
To have it made as they do as they please.
Dedicated to:
Dr. John Rodgers
Professor of African Studies and Humanities
And taught both at Greather Hartford Community College
Today known as Capital Community College
Downtown Hartford, Connecticut.
And...The University of Hartford.
Now deceased but Dr. Rodgers,
And his teachings remain 'timeless'.
'Thank you, Dr. Rodgers.'
~lsp~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Women's League Day Care Center
My early lessons taught,
Were delivered...
At the Women's League Day Care Center,
In Hartford, Connecticut.
I had to have been all of two,
Or maybe 3 years old...
When I first began the beginning,
Of an aware consciousness.
I though my mother was giving me away!
And I was quick to show everyone,
Within listening distance...
I didn't like it at all!
I remember Mrs. Hines!
And the wrought iron encased stairsteps,
To the dismal West Avon Street joint.
Right off of Main Street.
A stone's throw...
From Bellevue Square.
A tenement project,
I loved and hated equally.
OH!
I forgot.
This is a poem.
Not a Declaration of Independence.
Well,
Anyway...
The Women's League Daycare Center,
Was extremely significant in my growth process.
I didn't realize it,
Until I was well into my 20's...
What a gift, my sister Mimmie and I, were given.
Gee...
That was back in either 1949 or '50!
And Mim and her husband AL,
Are GRANDPARENTS.
You know...
My mother 'always' told us,
God works in mysterious ways.
And to this day,
I'd like to know...
How my niece, Shayla
And my nephew, Landry...
My sisters Tammy and Lisa,
Get to be...
So much 'older' than me?
Do we 'not' share the same genes?
OH!
This could go on and on.
I feel it!
Dedicated:
To the Women's League Day Care Center,
a name I knew it as for 'many' years.
Located in Hartford, Connecticut.
'Probably the first day care center established,
in the country. Who knows? I'm a writer/poet...
not an historian.
Although, I'm beginning to feel like a dinosaur.
A youthful one, I might add.'
~lsp~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Immaculate Myths
We all have been seduced to perceive...
A virginity preserved,
After the act of sex should be believed.
Indignities are shared,
And inflicted to ostracize...
Those we choose to victimize,
For not keeping their temptations fully disguised.
But glaring from pulpits,
Is a venomized ignorance inflicted.
Torturing minds and defining sins.
Microscoped and penalized are those of leadership.
All of us have arrived here sweating up sex.
And those of pretensed forgettable values...
Project our leaders should walk on water,
And yet not get wet!
These immaculate myths,
We are conditoned to accept...
As if human beings are flawless.
In need of severe suffering imposed,
In public exposure to get whipped!
There are contradictions,
Within themselves hypocrisized.
And enforced!
But difficult to admit...
Who is there amongst us is perfect?
You?
With your imperfections,
Feeding conflict!
Inspired by:
Baba Kazembe (Mr. Wesley Smith)
Hartford, Connecticut
'Thank you for this 'insight', Wes'
Lawrence
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Died Inside Slowly
I died inside slowly,
When I witnessed my son Michael...
Doing it many years ago.
Slowly and in a pain I still 'envision'.
At Saint Francis Hospital,
In Hartford, Connecticut.
That was in 1970!
To experience it again...
For me,
Would just be repetitive.
'Why?
WHY can't you do 'nothing'
Bur pump him up with drugs.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Deposits I Have Made
Deposits I have made,
Throughout the years...
Without expectations,
Of receiving a dividend.
Was not a reason,
Why I chose to bank my time.
There was a giving of it I needed to do.
And then one day it happened.
I became the recipient of interests,
God bestowed upon me...
From those deeds I deposited,
When my needs only God inspected...
To detect it was my time to receive,
Blessings.
Dedicated to:
Gracie Lewis and Family.
Hartford, Connecticut
'Thank you, Gracie.
You are such a positive force.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If We Borrowed From Tomorrow's Joy Today
Stop endorsing thoughts that do not flourish
Your best wishes for complete and total wellness.
It's not a good feeling to have body aches
Or feelings of sickness you know you can't fake.
Not when it is yours...
Embracing you behind closed doors.
I KNOW that to be true!
I wonder if one chooses,
To tell the mind not to feel confined.
Within walls of limitation of all and any kind...
What would follow?
What would come...
If we borrowed from tomorrow's joy today,
What would follow in tomorrow's uncertainty?
Will we have enough for the rest of our lives...
To make more of it happen each day,
And be able to thrive in ways we wish!
Let it be known...
Any agony you own,
Is up for sale or leased!
Inspired By:
Frances J. McAlpine Sharp
Hartford, Connecticut
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Screwing For Virginity
You've got to roll with the punches,
If you're going to live life as it is.
Seeing things as they are...
And let others be!
Leaving you with a better understanding.
And confusion free.
Most as caught up in a whirlwind.
Disturbed by changed and their destinies.
Seeking to find reason...
Why they are 'out-of-it'.
And incomplete.
Screwing for a virginity.
A return to an innocence.
In a world folks believe,
They can rise to a self righteousness.
Livers of lives,
Discreet and secret.
Although a decaying mold has taken hold.
Insoired by:
Hugh Jackson
Hartford, Connecticut
'Thank you, Hugh'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Close God Will Stay
'Be not less...
But more with your wishes.
God is listening to you.
And 'all' that you desire
Will come true!
It will...for you!
Don't despair.
God is protecting you.
And all of His 'Angels' are aware
Of what you are going through!
You are one of 'us' they say!
Keep your faith strong.
God knows where your heart belongs!
Each and every day!
Close God will stay.
If you pray,
It is kept that way! '
Dedicated and inspired by:
Frances J. McAlpine Sharp
Educator/Performing Artist
And...mother of three ('LOL')
Hartford, Connecticut
'Frances...
Once again, I have been 'touched' to send
a 'message' directly to you! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Month Of Re-Enforcing Stereotypes Has Arrived
The month of re-enforcing stereotypes has arrived.
With a naming of a few who broke away from them,
To remind others they too have the same potential...
If they embraced discipline, devotion and a work ethic.
It's the month of re-enforcing stereotypes.
And folks who have waited to use the words 'niggers'
'coons', 'jungle bunnies' and other degrading references...
Depicting people of color,
Can do so to say they are celebrating bondage.
Since...
Isn't that the purpose?
To keep people reminded of their slave mentalities.
OR like some folks like to address their 'connections' as...
Keeping themselves down to Earth.
And...
With much assistance,
What a good job people have done...
To prove a legacy of ignorance can have its visual benefits,
For all who are determined to keep stereotypes alive.
Note:
Are these images subtle? Not anymore. In fact depictions of
ignorance 'are celebrated where I live in Hartford, Connecticut.
And thought to be 'cute' by those totally absent of identity.
When a picture from Kemble's Coons (Authored by Edward Windsor Kemble)
shows a coon with a naked black child sitting high in a tree,
eating on an ear of corn, and I know this reflects the mindset of the people...
this picture released and shown to begin celebrating Black History Month,
can be upsetting. ESPECIALLY when there is no acknowledgement, whatsoever,
of Jimmy Brown who was the first Black President of The Hartford Board of Education.
AND those who are 'celebrating' those deeds of black folks in this 'town'...
Have no idea who he is.
'Is 'this' poetry? Is 'this' a slice of life? Yes, it is. A poetic flowing of an intention! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Reminding Me of My Blessings
Thank you for reminding me,
Of my blessings.
Thank you for stopping,
My flow of complaints.
And restraining me...
When they came to contain with anger,
I felt!
God is in my life.
There to make things right for me!
What more could I ask for?
When so many aren't sure...
With questions that confuse!
I have no barriars...
I can not without Him,
Remove!
Thank you for reminding me...
Of 'What' and 'Who' I have chosen,
To choose!
And allowing myself to become upset,
By 'things' I can refuse!
Dedicated to:
Gary Gamble
Hartford, Connecticut
'Thanking you, Gary...for walking away
and leaving me with that thought today! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Do Not Become Depleted
Hope things are going well with yourself.
And you remain 'connected'
Beyond the mess of imperfections expressed.
By a nesting of delusions...
That have come to rest to infest.
Keep some of that deliciousness,
To further explore a usefulness adored...
And rare.
Share it if you dare.
But do not become depleted.
Inspired by:
Maurice D. Robertson
Hartford, Connecticut
'Thank you, Mo...
For all of the gifts and talents you show! '
-Lawrence-
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wives Are In Connecticut
The wives are in connecticut
(carly simon)
He figures out a restaurant
Where they wont be recognized
He can always slip the maitred a ten
Get a private little table and try her on for size
Make a plan of where to do it when
Hes so sly, hes in love with his lies
(chorus)
And the wives, the wives are in connecticut
The wives, the wives are in connecticut
Trying to forget it, that they really do regret it
That they moved up to connecticut
That they moved up to connecticut
The first year I was faithful
He confesses to the girl
Admitting to the least of his sins
His candour, so disarming, in this wicked city world
She falls for it and once again he wins
Hes so sly, hes in love with his lies
(repeat chorus)
The five flight walk up
Can he make it?
He keeps promising to go back to the gym
He thinks about his wife
So passionate last night
Was she really feeling it for him?
Or was it juniors teacher?
Or the carpenter who put up the shelves
Or the mechanic who fixed the wagon
Or the gardener who dug the well
Or the italian riding instructor
Or the man on the carousel
Or the out of work actor in westport
Or the surgeon who cured the ills
Or the yalie from new haven
Or the farmer in the dell
(repeat chorus)
How about
The lifeguard at the yacht club
The hairdresser from new london
The tennis pro from fairfield
The fuller brush man from bristol
The fisherman from mystic
The novelist from new canan
The usher at the movie theater
The architect from guilford
The man on the carousel
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Histrionics
Histrionics...
Considered theatrical and deliberate.
May seem that way,
To those unaccustomed to emotions shown...
By those depicted overacting with flare.
Although a reality spoken is dismissed,
Yet declared...
Too real for some to deal with.
And too much for them to hear.
Especially when it has been made clear,
They have no idea of the connection!
Or if there is an expectation for them to feel,
And give feedback.
Should they applaud?
Or clap in approval?
Or what is it one should do...
Beside stare wide eyed?
Inspired By:
Maurice D. Robertson
Hartford, Connecticut
'Thank you, Maurice.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let God Do the Driving
There is so much to receive...
If we let go and accept!
If we let God do the driving...
As we sit back and reflect.
Scenes we had not seen before,
Appear to clear our eyes.
If we become passengers...
On this ride and let God drive.
There is so much to receive...
If we let go and accept!
Isn't it time we get off bumpy roads?
Isn't it time we understand...
The vision of God is best!
Inspired by:
Maurice D. Robertson
Hartford, Connecticut
'Thank you, Maurice.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Here to Create History
Not one am I,
For nostalgic inflictions.
To revisit a past...
I have loosened from my grasp.
I am proud and that is carried.
Nationalistic confrontations...
Awarded by scars and wounds.
May interest your curiousity!
But not one for me...
That freely releases.
With a forward speed,
To produce and leave behind
'Greater' deeds to achieve!
I am here to create history.
Not relive a single bit of it!
I am not into antiques.
They have no value to me.
Or on this path I burn...
To leave my markings!
I place my steps very carefully,
With a wish to have them found!
I am not here to rediscover,
Relics left by another.
Planted and/or laying around.
(Dedicated and Inspired by: Dr. Jai Smith/Director of Student Activities
Capital Community College Hartford, Connecticut 06103)
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bellevue Academy
All the time I am asked...
Where it was that I had been educated?
Before I can part my lips,
I am told I speak like one with intelligence!
Of course immediately I am amused.
And I listen to the list of schools mentioned:
'You live in Connecticut?
Oh, you must have gone to Yale?
Or Wesleyan?
Or UConn?
But then again...
Harvard is close by as well! '
I got my initial training at Bellevue Academy.
Then at Arsenal Prep.
And at Northeast on Westland.
'Reeeeeaaaalllyy?
They must be exclusive!
I have never heard of them.'
They no longer exist!
But yes...
They were quite prestigious.
And I am not the only alumni,
To have been blessed by the teachings...
Or the discipline received.
Unfortunately,
These institutions are gone.
But not the achievements of the people.
They are all over the place...
Dropping just a 'hint' of their greatness!
'Where did this take place again! '
Hartford!
'That's what I thought!
Harvard...right? '
Whatever!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Say It Ain't So Joe
(Head)
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
That's not what I wanna hear Jo
And I got a right to know
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
I'm sure they're telling us lies Jo
Please tell us it ain't so
They told us that our hero has played his trump card
He doesn't know how to go on
We're clinging to his charm and determined smile
The good old days have gone
The image and the empire may be falling apart
The money has gotten scarce
One man's word held the country together
But the truth is getting fierce
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
We pinned our hopes on you Jo
And they're ruining our show
Ooh baby don't you think
We're gonna get burned
Ooh baby don't you think
We're gonna get burned
We're gonna get turned
We're gonna get burned
Yes we're gonna get turned
We're gonna get burned
We're gonna get turned
Yes, we're gonna get burned
We're gonna get burned
We're gonna get burned
Yes we're gonna get turned
We're gonna get burned
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
That's not what I wanna hear Jo
And I got a right to know
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
I'm sure they're telling us lies Jo
Please tell us it ain't so
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
That's not what I wanna hear Jo
And I got a right to know
Say it ain't so Jo, please, say it ain't so
I'm sure they're telling us lies Jo
Please tell us it ain't so
Say it ain't so
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Goes My Baby
I use to find myself staring at her.
She was so very beautiful,
My mother.
'Boy, why are you staring at me? '
~Ma, you are so pretty! ~
'Okay, what do you want?
I don't have any more money,
For you to buy another 45.'
I use to 'stay' in Roz Records.
It was a music store,
Not far from our apartment in Bellevue Square.
On Canton Street.
In Hartford, Connecticut.
I remember my first 45...
'There Goes My Baby'
By the Drifters!
I would play it 'all' the time.
~Ma, you so pretty! ~
'Boy, you better get out of my face.
And go play with the other kids in the playground.'
I did it!
Like a chore.
Children bored me back then!
They were so...'childish'.
And I was born a grown man.
I was!
But that's a different story.
I think most boys become infatuated,
With their mothers first.
Giving wives competition they did not expect.
And most men who had been mama's boys...
Usually divorce.
To be left on missions,
To find someone to spoil them!
I know.
I've been married twice.
To do that 'thrice'
Would be absolutely foolish.
'Huh...ma? '
Dedicated:
In loving memory to my mother,
Edna Roberts-Prudhomme Pertillar
'Miss you, ma! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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