Aunts and Uncles
Ladies and gentlemen...
My daddy Lawrence, Sr.
Is the eldest of twenty-one.
YES...21!
Born to Clara and Charles Pertillar.
And I remember the times
We would have great fun!
There is:
Jesse
Charles (Bey) , Jr.
Catherine
Clara, Jr.
Albert
Edward
Donald
Julius
Is abel
Emily
Edna Mae
Cecil
Leola Jean
Sandra
Gayhall
Overton
Virginia
Lorraine
And...
Anna
'Hey...
That's only 19!
Did you miss anyone,
In between? '
Well...
My grandmother said she had 21.
And my grandfather is proud...
He even remembered the names of everyone!
And I soon will be 61 myself.
Feeling blessed,
I was produced from this nest!
And we 'all' had nicknames too.
Some of us had more than one!
Many of us had quite a few.
And grandma made sure,
She fed her 'crew'!
Dedicated:
To my wonderful Aunts and Uncles.
Love you...nephew 'Larry'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Empire
Named were they,
To become kings of power!
Gay Hall
Overton
Cecil
Julius
Donald
E dward
Albert
Charles, Jr.
Lawrence
Named were they...
Because they were queens!
Anna
Lorraine
Virginia
Sandra
Leola
Edna
Emily
Isabelle
Catherine
Clara, Jr.
Jesse
These are the children...
Born to aspire.
To nurture the beginnings
Planted and branched...
From the foundation of an Empire!
Strengthen at the base by Countryman roots!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Do I Love to Eat?
Do I love to eat?
Well,
I will put it more like this...
My grandmother Clara,
And my grandfather Charles...
Blessed all of their children.
And each one is no stranger to the kitchen.
On rare and special occasions...
A few of us may be seen dining out.
And IF we owned a family restaurant,
Many of us would go broke...
Before paid customers tasted a thing.
Do I love to eat?
I love to cook!
And when my family has gatherings...
Looking good is not all we offer.
Being both biased and proud,
I am grateful to be related to these folks.
And I say that to be heard when speaking outloud.
Do I love to eat?
Just as much as I love the quality of my life.
I would like to think of my experience as a treat.
Than something to feel guilty about.
When my sisters bake,
And my aunts, uncles and cousins make...
Anything that melts with each taste,
I'm never forced to put into my mouth.
I try to silence the wonderment,
That eventually slips out.
Do I love to eat?
Well...
It is the resting between varieties,
I most dislike when teased!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poopey PooPoo
My grandmother,
Was not into calling her children
By nicknames.
In fact she once said to my sister...
'I gave my children the names they have!
Each was given with a special meaning.
To identify and dignify that which has been given.'
I often wondered...
Had my sister and I been,
The only ones listening?
With comprehension?
Over the years...
It just appears that way!
Today...
Grown folks are known better by their nicknames.
Than those names given.
Poopey PooPoo. BeBop. Slice and Dice...
BooBoo and Drooper!
What 'energies' have they called upon themselves?
And their children have no idea who their parents are.
Their real names.
Or their purposes.
I remembered when I began calling myself Lawrence...
My birth name.
Lawrence, Junior in fact.
Named after my father.
We were both called Larry at one time.
I decided I would become Lawrence S.
After discovering on my father's birth certificate,
His name was listed as Lawrence A.
And I wanted to be 'AS' much as Lawrence as possible!
Can you guess...
I am between poeticness.
As I share a bit of 'personal-ness'.
Folks got upset!
Guess who smiled?
Clara Louise Countryman Pertillar.
She was very strong and dynamic.
She was pleased to know I was daring!
And the leaves upon the trees,
Begin to bloom in Spring.
As I reminisce those things I miss.
Taking trips back through time.
Those things impressed upon my mind.
And finding me feeling blessed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Uncle Gay
I can not say in a way,
That would for anyone be understood.
But I have an uncle named Gayhall,
Who stands for me very tall.
A minister he is,
With a wife Pamela and two adorable kids.
Well...
They are no longer 'kids'.
Two beautiful women I 'should' say.
Nicole and Tiffany...
Each with a uniqueness,
Anyone can see.
Although my Uncle Gay,
Has been sick of late.
I hate the fact that he's like that.
But what can I do,
Besides pray from my Uncle Gay?
I 'see' him getting better,
Each day as I 'visualize'.
I want his health to return to him.
Because he is very special,
In my eyes.
I love my aunts and uncles...
As 'if' they were mine!
And...
Hey,
They are 'mine'!
Well...
Let me define what it is I want God to do!
'God,
I know for a fact...
You are with me all the time!
But...
Will You heal my Uncle Gay?
Right 'now'!
And...
Today! '
Dedicated to:
My Uncle Reverand Gayhall Pertillar.
Harrisburg, Pennsylvania
'Love you, Uncle Gay...
Pam and 'kids'.'
Nephew Larry
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Happy Birthday Daddy Larry
86 years old,
Today my Daddy Larry...
Would have celebrated on this day.
He and I had a unique relationship.
We weren't particularly close.
And yet,
A closeness existed.
He and I were so much alike.
But he never did scold me,
Since my mother Edna did that...
To keep my steps on a path walking right.
When I was young,
My daddy was called Lawrence.
I was then Larry junior...
With my own presence known.
Then when I became of age,
He wanted to be called 'Larry'.
And I thought, 'How could he do this to me?
Moving in to claim 'my' territory.
I became Lawrence 'S'...
Back in 1971.
And when I discovered on his birth certificate,
He was Lawrence 'A'?
I had not known that up until that day.
And AS I grew...
Knowing my daddy would soon pass away?
I told him I loved him.
And he looked at me as if to say,
'I wish I had more time! '
That was back in 1988,
Days before my Daddy Larry...
Would from us pass away.
And on this day, December 11th 2010...
I miss my daddy very much.
With a more understanding of him,
And who he was.
Feeling his presence is near.
And we are closer now than ever.
Just because...
That is the way it is!
Happy Birthday, Daddy Larry!
Dedicated to the memory:
Lawrence Pertillar, Senior...
My father.
'Miss you, daddy.'
Love,
Lawrence ('Larry') ...lol
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Two Women
Two women in my life,
Left impressions deep on me.
These two women did for others,
Unselfishly...
And did good deeds.
The work they did was hard,
But they never gave up!
No matter what was on their path,
I never heard them fuss or cuss.
And Clara,
And Edna...
Still have me awestruck!
My grandma,
And mama...
Left lots of love for me to touch!
The work they did was hard,
But they never gave up!
No matter what was on their path,
I never heard them fuss or cuss.
And Clara,
And Edna...
Still have me awestruck!
My grandmama,
And mama...
Left lots of love for me to touch!
Two women in my life...
Left impressions deep on me.
These two women did for others,
Unselfishly...
And did good deeds.
Clara and Edna,
Still have me awestruck!
My grandmama,
And mama...
Left lots of love for me to touch!
Dedicated:
In Loving Memory
Clara Louise Countryman Pertillar,
My father's mother.
And...
Edna Pearl Roberts Prudhomme Pertillar,
My mother.
'Thank you! '
~LP, Jr.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You See...There Was Just Too Many Of Us!
I smell my grandmother's molasses cookies.
Deep dish apple and peach pies.
And grape preserves she would make.
And my own mother's beautiful hair,
Before she grayed.
And 'overnight'...
Seemed to have aged.
As I sit and reminisce.
About so many things I miss!
I see my grandfather,
Working in the backyard.
In the shed.
Where he 'diagnosed' the engine...
Of an old truck.
With every part of it laid in pieces.
Each of them,
Carefully spread to keep them near.
'Don't...
Move,
A thing!
Or pick it up...
Because you're curious!
I got my eye on ya! '
I hear my father say...
'It is time to get your haircut, boy.
And when you sit in that barber's chair...
You bet not make a fuss!
And don't say nothing to annoy! '
I remember my aunts and uncles...
Rushing to pick apples, grapes and pears.
From an old pig farm,
Where Chappelle Gardens now sits.
In a neighborhood in Hartford, Connecticut.
I remember this as if yesterday!
And the whippings we all shared.
Regardless...
Of who or who was not actually there!
No one was spared.
'I don't care who did what!
All of you are getting it! '
My grandmother would say!
I remember rolling my eyes...
With wishes I could run away!
~Grandma, I didn't do anything.
It was her! ~
*No it wasn't it was him! *
**No it wasn't it was them! **
You see...
There was just too many of us!
And my grandmother didn't really care.
She just wanted all of us to know...
The punishment she dealt,
Would be quick.
Honest.
And fair!
Note:
Dedicated to my wonderful family.
When we (many of us) all lived in either Stowe Village,
And/or Bellevue Square.
Tenement projects.
In separate buildings AND apartments.
Back in 'the day'.
Love you!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ban The Void
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Grandma stopped baking cakes.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Brought me my first heartbreak.
Tch.
Ban the void.
I told her I couldn't take it.
She 'had' to bake another cake for me!
Tch.
Ban the void.
She said she was going on strike!
Tch.
Ban the void.
And even though I didn't like it!
Tch.
Ban the void.
She's not gonna cook in the kitchen,
She's itching to do something else to please!
Tch
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
She brought herself a brand new car.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
And drove to wherever she wanted.
Tch.
Ban the void.
She said she had her own special needs.
And will come and go whenever that need pleases!
Tch.
Ban the void.
I got so annoyed...
And I tried to stop that void deep down in me!
Oh...
Ban the void!
I couldn't go to sleep!
I dreamt of grandma's baking,
And it teased me!
I even cried my eyes.
But grandma's sweet potato pie kept creepin'.
Oh...
Ban the void!
Ban the void!
Oh...
Ban the void.
Grandma loved her brand new car.
And never got one ticket,
For her speedin'!
Ban the void.
Tch.
Ban the void.
Tch, tch.
Ban the void.
Oh...
Dedicated To:
In loving memory...
Clara Louise Countryman Pertillar
'Miss you, grandma! '
Love,
Larry
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Grandmother Would Drive
My grandmother could make a biscuit taste like steak.
And she did everything from 'scratch'.
Including making her own soap too.
The only thing I disliked,
That my Grandmother Clara ever did...
Was to get her driver's license.
My grandmother would drive,
And have an entire conversation...
Without looking at the road!
I had heard rumors of this...
But to witness it,
Was right out of Six Flags.
Or Disney World.
Don't ask me how she did this.
I was too busy trying to keep myself alive.
That 'imaginary' brake on the passenger side,
Of my grandmother's car...
Had worn a hole through the carpeted car floor.
And my grandmother never got a speeding ticket either.
She turned to me and asked why I had the door handle,
In my hand when speeding along the highway.
I did not realize I had pulled the handle from the door.
She frightened the 'hell' out of me.
'Grandma, I gotta use the bathroom.'
~And...? ~
'Pee.'
~You bet not be doin' that in my car, boy!
Why didn't you say somethin' when we were at the carwash? ~
'I didn't think I had to THEN, grandma.
But driving with you has proved me wrong.
I think I've got to throw up too! '
The only thing I disliked,
That my Grandmother Clara ever did...
Was to get her driver's license.
She said she didn't need to wait,
For my grandfather to take her anywhere...
She wanted to go.
And rarely did I see my grandmother,
Using the rearview mirror.
Or...
Keep her eyes on the road.
'Grandma, I gotta use the bathroom.
I'm serious.'
~And...? ~
'Pee.'
~You bet not be doin' that in my car, boy!
Why didn't you say somethin' when we were at the carwash?
You slowing me. You slowing me down. Geeesssshhh.
Precious Lord...hmmm hmmm...Lead me...hmmm.~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
To The Greats
To my great nephew.
And wonderful great nieces.
You all are tremendous.
I love you to pieces.
Kevin Lawrence,
I already see in you...
Your stubbornness.
And unchanging attitude.
Oh, I see me in you I do.
God bless your mother Shayla.
And your daddy Kevin too.
Along with your sister Kamara...
Accomplishments you will pursue.
T'Ana, Allanah and Shi'An...
Three strong willed women,
Who take control and command.
Your parents Rhonda and Landry...
Have been mesmerized by your skills.
Your graciousness and talents,
Captivate and thrill.
And as your great uncle,
I just want you to know...
So proud I am of all of you,
As I observe you blooming to grow.
Evolving into adults you are.
With love and wisdom you bestow.
Never let that go!
Dedicated:
To my wonderful 'greats'.
Love you, Uncle Larry.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Macramé
When she would macramé,
I stayed and watched.
Taking her needles,
And attaching small knots!
Making crisp doilies...
With different patterns,
Little mats she would starch.
Amazing my curiosity,
At the speed she delivered such art!
When she would macramé,
I would ask her how it was done.
She took my hands in between hers...
Until I alone did start!
She noticed soon I got extremely bored,
And my grandmother made me stop!
'Boy...
You something else!
Why you so nosy? '
'I ain't nosy, grandma.
You got enough apples to make a pie today? '
I would ask.
And she would just shake her head.
With nothing from her to me to say...
She would hum and continue doing,
Her fast paced macramé.
Dedicated:
Clara Louise Countryman Pertillar
My grandmother
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Landry Is My Nephew
Landry is my first nephew!
So proud I am...
That he has become a great man.
I am familiar with his easy smile.
And I observe him as he disciplines...
Each of his growing six children!
SIX?
That he now has six transfixes me sometimes!
Like a piecing jolt of reality,
Playing tricks on my mind.
Time has passed so fast...
As I think of the responsibility,
And Landry's current tasks!
So many he juggles...
As a 'master' with class!
I tell him all the time,
I am so proud of him!
And when I hear him speak of his children,
I say to myself...
'That's the man I wish I had been! '
He doesn't walk on water...
Like I think 'he' thinks he oughta!
I see a lot of me...
His dad and my sister Mim too I 'see'.
And I can say with much pride...
I am so happy Landry is MY nephew!
As I cherish these thoughts each day inside!
Knowing and loving him as I do.
Dedicated:
To my nephew Landry Marcel Pertillar
'You are the best! Love you...
Uncle Larry'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ambiance
Excited I glowed...
When with my uncles and aunts.
Feeling such a radiance,
In a sheltered ambiance.
When I became older...
My ties with them were cut!
As children we had nicknames then...
But as we grew we gave them up!
I long to be called, 'Bighead' again!
And running through the Maple trees,
Carefree and laughing with them!
Some of them have passed away.
Like my grandparents; mom and dad!
And yet that ambiance I remember...
Seems to sink like racing sand so fast.
With nothing to hold onto or grasp!
As my time passes quicker...
In this swift shifting hourglass!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Until It Happens
Don't be concerned about what others say about you.
Just do what you do and be done with it.
One day you will silence their lips.
'But Maaaahhh, that makes no sense! '
It ain't suppose to until it happens.
Now go outside and play.
You're getting on my last nerve!
Dedicated To:
Mrs. Edna Pearl Roberts Prudhomme Pertillar
My mom.
'Ma, we miss you and your so 'appropriate'
philosophy about life and other 'stuff' '
(Andrea, Tammy, Lisa, Larry)
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jesse James
(neil morris)
I'll tell you about jesse and frank james
My grandfather was personally acquainted with them
My grandfather lived in the southern edge of baxter county, arkansas
And they stayed all night with him lots of nights
And my grandfather told me there was a lot of those robberies that was layed to jesse and frank james
And he knew they didn't do it 'cause they was at his place when it happened
But you couldn't tell the public that
When they get their minds made up that somebody's done something
Why the public's gonna stick to it anyway
My grandfather, he knew them as boys
And they could come to his place and go without anybody paying attention 'cause nobody expected them
Down in arkansas, see, 'cause they was from missouri
Now that's the story that my grandfather told me when i was just a boy
And he said that frank james, at that world's fair,
I think it was 1901 in st. louis him and jesse were both there
My grandfather and frank james were together there
And that frank james offered to bring jesse there alive
He said that the man that the ford boys killed wasn't jesse james at all
But the fellow they killed was just about the size of jesse and he was red headed
And he wasn't any relation to the fords
See, jesse james was a known cousin to charles and bob ford
That's what my grandfather said
He said jesse and frank were not even in that part of the country when that fellow was killed
And the ford boys, why, they collected a thousand dollars for killing jesse james!
Now the song says that the ford boys killed jesse
None of us up here in the mountains believe that, no sir!
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My Mama Didn't Raise No Punk
Let me say this...
My mama didn't raise no punk!
Not when she would slam dunk me,
Away from public view.
Or dared me not to do those things,
She told me to.
Or take my time!
Mama came from the old school.
And she didn't hesitate,
To strike fire to my behind.
Let me say this...
My mama didn't raise no punk!
She knew exactly what she was doing with me.
She raised me to become independent.
Not a chump.
I was raised to use my mind.
And defend my thoughts!
And any gift I got from mama,
Is was bought for me because it was earned!
Like those whippings for my backtalk.
My mama didn't have easy lessons taught.
None that I remember were for me quickly learned.
But over time I did.
Since I didn't like to sit...
On a burned butt after getting whipped!
Eventually they sunk in...
Those lessons.
Deep.
To stay.
If I was ever to become a punk...
It was going to be done mama's way.
With a tormenting whipping,
As she held me,
Screaming...
'I've got it, if you want it.
And you're going to get it good.
What's my name? '
Mama.
'What is it? '
Mama.
'And don't you forget it!
Who's your mama? '
You're my mama, mama!
'That's right!
And don't you forget it,
Not one bit.
Or I'll be back to give you more...
Of some of this.
Don't play with me, boy! '
Dedicated:
My Mother, Edna Pearl Roberts (Prudhomme) Pertillar
And my paternal Grandmother, Clara Louise Countryman Pertillar
'Thank you! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Alzheimer's Disease
Twice,
There would be goodbyes...
Spoken.
With hearts broken.
And words uncertain,
If heard and understood.
~As an essence known,
Would flow to go.~
Twice,
A familiar light of life...
Would flicker to slowly dim.
As those loved ones and friends,
Stood by to witness...
Without a defense to what commenced.
~As an essence known,
Would flow to go.~
And...
Just once,
In the end...
Alzheimer's Disease,
Would finally win...
This long and emotional battle.
~As an essence known,
Would flow to go...
Away.~
Dedicated To:
Those who knew and suffered through,
The losing of close family members and friends...
To Alzheimer's Disease.
'You are loved and missed,
Clara Louise Countryman Pertillar...
By all who knew and loved you too.'
My wonderful Grandmother.
~lsp~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Eldest Born Knows
And like the eldest born knows,
Experiments take place.
And like the eldest born knows,
Expectations have their weight...
Since a quickness to do,
Eliminates time thought wasted.
And like the eldest born knows,
Appreciation isn't stated...
To keep the others safe.
No one protects the eldest.
Only fate awaits.
It becomes taken for granted,
The eldest is used...
To abuse with an escape,
With lies that are told by others...
Who will never know what it is like,
To take what the eldest does.
The eldest has to learn quick,
To do everything and take care of business...
Alone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We Are 'All' Sunset Travelers
We are 'all' sunset travelers.
Some arising in dawns long past,
Now to find our afternoons...
Rushing to caress an horizon,
Beginning to crest the West.
With assorted memories blessed.
We are 'all' sunset travelers!
And yes,
Some of us do prefer those dawns,
Remembered.
But the rest...
Have come to enjoy,
Such an enlightened ride.
Inspired and Dedicated:
Sandra Fowler
United States
'We are all sunset travelers.
Sandra had stated to me.
And I agree. Thank you Sandra.'
~lsp~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!