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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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
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Navigating
The worse thing about stumbling,
Is trying to make it not appear
As a fall!
Some folks do this successfully,
Behind closed doors...
Singing flat,
To mend wounds on soured backs!
Warming bruised egos,
In shower stalls.
Others find themselves on knees,
Pleading to God,
To release them quick...
From paybacks returned,
As lessons learned received...
By the evilness of their deeds,
Coming to sit for prolonged visits!
While those who know,
That falling down shows...
Getting up,
In full public exposure...
Removes remorse,
Many inflict and endorse.
But if divorced from this prevails...
The navigating one does,
Prevents a life of great deeds
Others believe
Will leave one stunted...
Accepting to fail!
And this can not be done,
For those who dedicate themselves
To winning!
Ending the beginnings...
To see themselves in traps,
They perceive that can not be overcomed!
(Dedicated: To all who attend Capital Community College. Located in downtown Hartford, Connecticut. I decided not to dwell on the loss of my son, Michael Lawrence Demetrius Pertillar Who passed away October 11,1970.)
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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The Truth...That Is!
This may not be obvious.
But those who suffer from the perpetuation,
Of hate...
Are themselves victimized,
By applying their own self hatred.
I,
Myself...
Can become quite annoyed,
When I hear someone call for 'unity'!
As divisive as my statement can be.
And maybe it is the definition,
That bothers me.
Especially when I hear someone,
Speak derogatively...
About someone who does proactive deeds.
In their own community.
And is criticized...
By either family, friends or close associates,
For those positive activities.
And seem to attract,
A combative group of distractors.
And I know I am not the only one...
To observe this to be true.
It's just that no one seems to want to confront it!
The truth...
That is!
'You refer to Israel and Hamas? '
Not directly!
I do not have to single out the Middle East.
Or East, L.A.
Sudan or Hartford, Connecticut.
People are foolishly territorial.
Living on one planet...
Everyone 'consciously' calls home!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pitching Away Bales Of Daily Nonsense
My scars and wounds,
You will never see.
A pain to relive...
Is not for me.
And it is not that I heal quickly.
Sharing that process,
Is something I do not believe.
Why should I wear my heart on my sleeve?
To prove my life has not been struggle free.
My scars and wounds,
You will never see.
A pain to relive...
Is not for me.
There is no reason for you or me,
To validate something we both can agree...
No one familiar with digging out of ditches.
Or pitching away bales of daily nonsense,
Is going to be doing that without a bruise.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Tales of my past
Don't write me down in history,
In reference to my past deeds,
Works I derived no joy from,
Or mistakes of those years.
Don't write me down in history,
The ages gone show little of what I am,
That part of me is truly done,
My dreams now can say it all.
Don't write me down in history,
The lessons of life flows in my blood,
My blunders are now my teachers,
The scars now my daily pledge.
Don't write me down in history,
I am yet to achieve perfection,
Still I strive for redemption,
Searching the soil for my lost glory,
Don't write me down in history,
The tales of my past I recall,
That was then, this is me,
Woes to your judgment.
poem by Venessa Ambrose
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Peace, Maurice
Peace,
Maurice.
Lifted by the Sunrise,
Coming from the East.
Energizing throughout the day.
To rest.
As the comfort of deeds done...
Settles you in contentment.
As the Sunset in the West,
Comes.
To leave you pleased...
With all that you've done!
Dedicated To:
Maurice D. Robertson
'Photgrapher extraordinaire.
And jazz buff...
To soothe the airwaves,
From a DJ's chair.
(WWUH-FM, Hartford)
With history of jazz artists...
And more to share! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Unable To Admit It
Accept your wounds and scars?
To forgive and forget the fact,
That upon me they have been afflicted?
No love that deep will I ever have,
For anyone who believes I can be left...
With tears wept to then leave me,
Grieving over 'their' pain and anguish.
Accept your wounds and scars?
To forgive and forget the fact,
That upon me they have been afflicted?
What makes you think to you I am addicted?
What has you convinced,
A relationship with you makes sense?
I've long been healed from your abuses.
Accept your wounds and scars,
To leave imprinted on my mind when you please?
You just don't get it do you?
When I said I loved you...
Nothing in that confession shared,
Said anything about abandoning the love I have for myself.
You are the fool unable to admit it...not me!
There is nothing about you that has stayed with me to crave.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Capitol Art
Snuggled in the Nation’s Capital
You’ll never believe what we saw
An art gallery so wonderful
It was truly an exceptional draw
Cowboy art sure takes you back
To the old western days
Cowboys with rope in hand
Gathering up all the strays
An early part of American history
And the perfect place in which to find
In our Capital in Washington DC
We must not leave history behind
If you ever get a chance, my friend
To tour this extraordinary place
Take advantage of this art gallery
For history we should never waste!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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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
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Blood Ties Between Them
If blood ties between them,
Have left some to feel...
They experience broken vessels.
This can be mended,
With steps of further prevention.
But it has to be admitted,
That an emptiness exists within.
Only then can a healing begin!
If blood ties between them,
Have left some to feel...
They experience broken vessels.
And this sometimes is defended.
With a continued dripping,
Seeping from a strength...
That eventually weakens,
An enlightenment that heightens.
Defeating the intention meant,
To heal all wounds to bond a growth.
Mentioned to be needed but gone unknown.
Withering the bloom of the branch that dies.
If blood ties between,
Is allowed in stubbornness to exist and deny.
Like a trap that satisfies...
The sick desires of those haunted,
By the inflictions of past afflictions done.
And wishing to carry the scars to reminisce,
Forever!
'Someday we will be together! '
That 'someday' like tomorrow...
Is for many a time that has passed!
Dedicated:
To those who believe time is on their side,
without a shred of evidence to confirm...
that time acknowledges hesitation of any kind!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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
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No One Caring Enough to Carry Them On
There is a collective mindset.
An impression that rules with a limitedness.
It develops a pattern,
That implants an understanding...
'Nothing soon is going to change! '
And it doesn't.
The worse of it is celebrated!
In nostalgic updates redefined...
To ensure tired traditions are given a makeover,
In parades and community block dances.
The golden oldies.
Celebrated by the molding fogeys.
They clutch onto their memories...
Hoping time does not thaw them from the freeze,
They relive constantly!
These are small town activities!
While their children ignore them reminiscing...
They speak of their own childhoods,
As if wished they were there...ALIVE!
To leave themselves successfully unaccountable.
And that they have done...
To teach their children well!
From generation to generation.
Until a comprehension of values,
And the intention for them...
Are gone!
There is no one caring enough to carry them on!
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
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No student of history can fail to see the moral interest of the Middle Ages, any more than an artist can fail to see their aesthetic interest.
quote by Goldwin Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Held Accountable
We all are held accountable
On the things we do in our life
From the deeds we do, and the words we say
And from the actions that we leave behind.
As our paths they cannot be forgotten
Nor the walks or the steps we have taken
And the things we done or felt or said
They will become the future that we have been making.
As a rock that is tossed into the ocean
And as it hits upon it’s surface
The ripple effect for that rock has began
Then later we will see its effect and its purpose.
And we too are all held accountable
As that is the way that it should be,
From the things we done and the words we said
As that will become part of our history.
We all are held accountable
For our endeavors that became our past
And should we not also be made to stand up and own
All our actions and deeds that formed and shaped our life.
We must stand up and accept our past
As that is the way that it truly should be
So we can't run or even hide away
Like life, that is our destiny.
As one day we all will be held accountable
From the deeds and actions that we have done
So we must be prepared to accept them all
As like from death, from it we cannot run.
So watch the steps that you do take
And think closely on the path you do choose
As that will be the destiny you chose for yourself
And one day it will come back to visit you.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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A Letter From Sorrow
inside i am ugly
nothing but darkness within
no beauty to behold
only sorrow to be shamefully told
inside theres no such word as god
theres no carefully written x's and o's on the letter of my soul,
but it painfully wrote
My name is Sorrow
my thoughts are morose
i wish to die
or stay silently in a state of comatose
i wish to be numb to the anxiety
i want to get away from the pain
i need a place to bleed
i wont eat
i want to get high
i wish i could sleep
i want to get these scars off of me
i want a door open freely to leave
i need a place,
a place for me
sincerely,
Sorrow
poem by Alisha Gonzales
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To Leave That Way...And Be Left
Moving forward.
To move backwards produces a useless effect.
For anyone making paces made to advance steps.
To become free and escape from that which has no depth.
That which expresses no interest to accept...
Progression.
Is to live awakened without expectations to get!
One has to decide,
What is valued and precious to endear.
And what is too cumbersome to carry.
And should be left behind without fear.
To be forgotten in one's past to disappear.
If one has chosen Sun to spark enlightenment.
With an attraction to darkness dead!
To leave that way...
And and be left to stay ineffective.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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K.S.R. Dental College
The day I saw the campus first,
I fell in love with it;
The place looks neat and tidy kept;
The college seems quite fit!
I love the way the place is run,
And how the buses ply;
I love the way all things are done;
Children here do not cry!
I know my child will love this place;
She’ll make a doctor fine;
She’s sure to win this lovely race;
In limelight, she will shine!
I know I’ve found the place I sought;
I need not change my plan;
My child is in the dental slot!
Why should I worry, man?
Five years will fly off very fast,
Although it looks so long;
Let no one brood over the past;
Just sing a happy song.
Kudos to him whose fore-vision,
Had built this college great;
The student has all things within;
One need not reach the gate.
Oh, what a lovely dream come true!
A dentist earns a lot!
But one must toil, persevere too;
And use the wisdom got.
One’s college life is full of bliss;
Yet, one must slog somewhat;
May be, your home, awhile you miss;
‘Cheer up and learn! ’ so what?
Fondly dedicated to the Chairman, K.S.R. Group of Institutions,
Dr. Lion. K.S.Rangasamy MJF, Tiruchengode, Namakkal dist, TN.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 27-09-2010
poem by John Celes
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K.S.R. Dental College, Tiruchengode
The day I saw the campus first,
I fell in love with it;
The place looks neat and tidy kept;
The college seems quite fit!
I love the way the place is run,
And how the buses ply;
I love the way all things are done;
Children here do not cry!
I know my child will love this place;
She’ll make a doctor fine;
She’s sure to win this lovely race;
In limelight, she will shine!
I know I’ve found the place I sought;
I need not change my plan;
My child is in the dental slot!
Why should I worry, man?
Five years will fly off very fast,
Although it looks so long;
Let no one brood over the past;
Just sing a happy song.
Kudos to him whose fore-vision,
Had built this college great;
The student has all things within;
One need not reach the gate.
Oh, what a lovely dream come true!
A dentist earns a lot!
But one must toil, persevere too;
And use the wisdom got.
One’s college life is full of bliss;
Yet, one must slog somewhat;
May be, your home, awhile you miss;
‘Cheer up and learn! ’ so what?
Fondly dedicated to the Chairman, K.S.R. Group of Institutions,
Lion. Dr. K.S.Rangasamy MJF, Tiruchengode, Namakkal dist, TN.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 27-09-2010
poem by John Celes
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