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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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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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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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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In Need Of An Audience
The ones with egos,
Seem to always bring their mysteries...
To be addressed.
With a massaging done constantly.
While those with credentials,
Appear to have less to express.
Bearing nothing with them to appease,
Or tease anyone to impress.
The ego driven,
Seem to wish their interests known.
These folks no one can just walk pass.
As those of true accomplishment,
Deliver their deeds with a speed to be believed.
To leave those who strut,
With pomp vacant of circumstance.
And feeding on a need for attention shown.
Overblown, overstaged and miscast.
Doers of accomplishments,
Never find themselves uncomfortable.
Not in environments where they are left alone.
Wherever they are,
They appear to be relaxed.
Almost as if they wish this to be condoned.
'I'm in need of an audience!
Where can I get an audience quick? '
Are the frantic fed panics of those with egos.
And making themselves sick.
With wishes to flap their lips a bit.
These thoughts are on the minds of those,
With a need to have their egos 'breathe'.
In a desperate unspoken desire to please.
In an approved acceptance they must solicit...
To feel themselves qualified.
Approved!
And undeniably received.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Deeds Done They Do To Leave
Don't you believe people make mistakes?
And should be forgiven for those they make?
'Sure.
I've made quite a few myself.
And not one did I make,
Was an intention to undermine someone else,
Consciously.
Nor did I,
With a premeditation done...
Inflict sorrow on anyone.
Those are not 'mistakes'.
That is a remorse received for a thing done,
Now bringing feelings of guilt and grief.
Feelings of guilt that brings one grief,
Is a payback.
And those are divinely distributed.
Mistakes can be corrected.
Heartaches and 'breaks'...
Are way beyond my jurisdiction to mend.
They require much prayer and faith.
And that is what I have relied on to keep my head up,
To protect from those of destructive forces.
So those who choose to say,
They should be forgiven for making mistakes.
And expect a forgiveness done...
Are 'consciously' approving their own devious activities.
That is the way I see deeds done they do to leave.
With expectations to continue their deceptions.
After an appropriate forgiveness has been delivered.'
Those are not mistakes.
And there is quite a difference.'
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
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How We Learned Our Lessons
Through the living of their lives...
That's how we learned our lessons.
Through the observation of their sacrifices...
That's how we learned our lessons.
And we understood each one of them.
With our minds, eyes and ears opened.
Through the living of their lives...
That's how we learned our lessons.
Through the acceptance and loving ourselves.
That's how we learned our lessons.
Through the giving of respect,
We ourselves sometimes did not get!
That's how we learned our lessons.
And even though our steps made forward...
Were made to believe by others as limited.
And sometimes we wept and knew this was negative.
It was through the acceptance of who we were,
And loving ourselves.
That's how we learned our lessons.
And the parents we loved and had,
Did not brag about their college degrees!
Or 'things' with them we could buy to achieve...
To succeed in the repossessing of our minds,
Some permit an entry for this to be done!
They were with us all the time,
Telling us we could accomplish anything!
And could prove that too to ourselves and anyone.
'Whatever' it was we chose in our lives to do.
And working hard we did...
To pursue.
Through the living of their lives...
That's how we learned our lessons.
Through the observation of their sacrifices...
That's how we learned our lessons.
Dedicated to:
Andrea ('Mimmie') , Tammy and Lisa
My sisters.
'Love you for your 'gifts' given...
Edna Pearl Roberts Prudhomme Pertillar
And Lawrence Pertillar, Sr.'
Our Parents.
~lsp~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Price Is Always Paid
Why is it people forget,
What it is they do to others...
When paybacks become due,
And are to them directed.
These selected memory folks,
I have mentioned before.
But as the more of them appear,
From behind their closet doors...
It is believed their deeds are cleared,
As if wiped clean to be erased...
From school chalk boards.
No!
A price is always paid,
When one consciously does to others...
With a purpose to use to do a screwing.
Why is it people forget,
What it is they do to others...
When paybacks become due,
And are to them directed.
Time is on no one's side,
Just to let things slide by to hide and deny.
No!
A price is always paid,
When one consciously does to others...
With a purpose to use to do a screwing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Squeaky Wheels
The deeds and tricks of the wicked,
Will come to an end.
The wounds of those bruised,
Begin to heal and mend.
The days of hearing squeaky wheels,
Will be greased to cease annoying squeals.
And all of the noise that has been generated,
With a lulling of the ones now awakening from sleep.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The 'Backturners
Who are those people turning their backs,
When others walk pass them.
'The young people refer to them,
As the 'backturners'.
They are quick to do that to anyone they perceive,
Have ambitions to assist them...
With needs they may have in the community.'
That makes not a bit of sense.
They do it as if they wish to offend someone.
'They do.
It is done to ensure they are noticed.
And one is suppose to have their feelings hurt,
By their actions.
It's tradition.
And visitors around the world...
Come here just to see them turn their backs.'
I don't get it.
How is this act benefitting them?
'It doesn't.
But as a tourist event?
People come here to spend their money.
And not a dime does that go towards this community.
And...
The backturners complain about it.'
Yeah...
But,
Aren't they the ones who turn their backs?
'I live here.
I'm not trying to figure that out anymore.
And all of them I know personally.'
Maybe they will listen to you?
'I'm sorry.
My ears have closed shut.
Did you say something? '
I said...
Maybe they will listen to you?
'I'm sorry.
My ears have closed shut.
Did you say something? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Some Folks Are Just Unavoidable
Some folks are just unavoidable,
No matter what is done.
But an avoidance must be attempted...
Or their evilness intended,
Will not be overcomed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Aging Of Entitlements
The aging of entitlements,
Has created a deep hole...
For those who perceive,
Their lives are compared...
To those of royal thieves.
They want to continue to believe,
They are deserving to stand tall...
On the backs of the poor.
As a cementing of doors...
Prevents them to advance.
The aging of entitlements,
Has created a deep hole...
For those who perceive,
Their lives are compared...
To those of royal thieves.
As the throwing of trinkets to appease the needy,
Is treated as if good deeds are done...
By the ones who welcome their blood ties.
To a history of gluttonous feeding of selfish greed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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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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Creatures of the Doomed
Those ungrateful,
And living to inflict sins upon one another...
Are soon to discover,
Much more than just discomfort.
To bear as they weep in sorrows returned.
They will not be pardon for such misappropriation,
Of their deeds whirlpooling in degradation.
Or unconscionable acts committed...
Only a demon would be left pleased,
To see this vortex whipping people to their knees.
These are not those days,
To be one of self praise to vent intentions
Meant with such craze!
Treason for reasons to condemn humanity...
Will have souls like this,
Suffering eternally in a morbid unhappiness.
For crimes that brought them limited bliss...
To dwell in a hell in relentless punishments,
As they drift from a remorse that gathers endorsements.
Stay tuned...
Creatures of the doomed,
Will have their day.
Judged for misdeeds...
That did not leave
Watchers unseen pleased.
Cloaked as they are,
And absorbing this draining pain.
Awaiting to unleash this,
Upon the deserving culprits!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Just Do Your Deeds and Be Done With It
Just do your deeds and be done with it.
Why struggle against ignorance...
When the force of it,
Can create powerful setbacks.
Just do your deeds and be done with it.
Without the need to seek attention.
Your deeds done will speak for themselves.
Leave them to do what it is to benefit!
And go.
Those living to fulfill an ego,
Will never understand...
Why their lives lived,
Have less peace in them!
Just do your deeds and be done with it.
That is all The Almighty requires.
And this 'Deity' is the judge of your soul.
No other opinion does The One solicit!
Just do your deeds and be done with it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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He Is Not Stressed
Whatever was done,
Had been demeaned and declared as easy.
Back 'then'...
In 'those days' folks can not leave!
Simple were his deeds considered.
Back 'then'...
In 'those days' folks can not leave!
And criticized for his desires,
To obtained success.
Back 'then'...
In 'those days' folks can not leave!
But that was yesterday!
Today...
He is not stressed at all!
Nor overly protective,
Of an investment,
Others made at a loss in pretentiousness.
And again he finds himself,
Blessed to be ahead of the rest!
And sharing a happiness...
For him that has been cost effective!
And those folks back 'then'...
In 'those days' they could not leave,
Are still there!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Best Solution
Ending all acts of degrading participation,
That makes one feel underestimated...
Is the best solution,
To keep from having deeds done reduced...
By those producing critique and abuse.
It becomes easy to release comments to defeat.
Than to take a stand on one's feet,
To make public what one believes.
Especially when one is seeking popularity,
Instead of clarity many refuse to accept and receive.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Play Me For a Fool You May
Play me for a fool you may.
To inflict a public stumbling fall.
I am not that weak to sit still and weep!
Or complain that my knees
Scrap from a toilful crawl.
Slander, backstab, defame with games.
Laugh if you must if this is your aim.
Make sure my friends and family see me shamed.
But I've learned to get up,
From any ditch trenched by those gutless...
Satisfied to whine on their shiftless butts!
Play me for a fool you may.
Tell others who demean,
I am wallowing in dismay!
During my struggles seen...
I may be in complete disarray.
But one day you will see,
Me erect and standing tall.
As conflict upon conflict...
Comes to visit you afterall.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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