When She Played It Was On Her Piano
As a kid I had ambitions.
And the first of them was to do my chores,
Before my mother would come home from work.
And she would pack them on too!
'I told you to sweep this floor.'
I did!
'With what?
A sandwich?
Do it again.'
My sister, Mimmie, would look at me.
And smile!
I couldn't wait,
To give her the spray can...
To kill the roaches!
I didn't know we weren't suppose to have them,
Until I was eight years old!
And that's not a joke.
One day when my mother went to work,
I made sure Mimmie got introduced.
She's a grandmother now.
And every once in a while...
She will mention how mean I was to her.
Nobody is going to sit,
And enjoy me getting whipped!
And that has been my philosophy...
Learned very early in my life.
Those days are long gone.
And being assigned to responsibilites,
I believe every child needs.
However...
Too many parents have raised lazy and spoiled children.
Believing one day,
They will awaken and be accountable for their actions!
Today as I reflect on my childhood,
I am glad my mother did not allow me to go to sleep...
To chance an awakening to what I knew I should do.
What I had and was going to do got done,
Before I had an opportunity to give it thought.
Procrastination,
Was not a lesson my mother taught.
I've seen parents,
Do everything possible for their children.
To wonder at a later date in time,
Why their children disrespect them.
Even 'if' I looked as if I wanted to say something back,
My mother would put a 'switch' to my behind.
AND...
I would have to fine one she liked to use on me.
That was before the calling of 911.
Today...
They would call that child abuse.
When I grew up...
We got our 'butts' tore up.
Just for looking as 'if'...
We did not enjoy getting whippings!
And I aint hardly kidding.
How does that 'old' saying go?
~Spare the rod and spoil the child.~
Well...
Mimmie and I were very spoiled.
But...
A rocking of a boat,
Did not float at all...
With Ms Edna!
When she played,
It was on her piano!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
To Be Free of Not Having Children
My mother would have my sister and I...
As kids,
To go look for a nice sized switch.
Then strip it before she whipped us with it!
And then dared us to cry...
As if we weren't already hurting inside.
Then made us stand up straight,
As if at attention.
Telling us not to roll our eyes.
And not a word she wanted heard mentioned.
One day I did something...
And I chose from my mother to run.
I was stunned she was running right behind me fast.
She snatched me by the neck,
And proceeded to spank my ass!
Disciplined?
My mother played softball,
And my father had been a boxer.
Do you think I have survived all these years...
Trying to out foxed those two.
Knowing what they could do...
And convinced they did well at what they did!
Disciplined?
We were not told twice,
To do something again they said they did not like.
And my father did not have to raise a finger.
All he did was use his eyes.
'Daddy, please! Don't look at me like that! '
But my mother on the other hand,
Commanded well our ship!
Whenever she began to raise her voice...
Mimmie and I knew we were heading for something quick!
And crying we would do first...
Because we knew there was no exit!
I can hear my mother's voice today.
If I had threatened to call 911.
She would hand me the phone and tell me to dial.
And if the police should arrive...
They would discover a missing child.
Both of my parents were extremely humorous.
However...
My mama did not play,
If we did not obey!
In those days when parenting
Was out of the hands of the government!
And although we may have grown up 'slightly' dysfunctional.
Dysfunctions and all...
Today?
We are happy we grew up the way we did.
And if I had children,
Living today as these 'hardhead' children do...
I wouldn't dare them to call 911.
That option?
Not available!
Not if I'm to play poppa.
No!
They wouldn't get a chance to!
And I might be visited as I sat in prison!
But any child of mine...
Would get a rod struck to their behind.
Like lightening...hot and sizzling.
Sparing me the grief that today's parents find.
My children would pay me attention.
And we together would share respect.
Perhaps that's why I live my life blessed.
To be free of not having children!
I could not stand by as they lived lives,
Attracted to standards bathed in degradation.
I'm not 'that' patriotic!
And to live without feeling guilt...
Or in a remorse,
That leaves me in debt AND regret!
I am grateful to be that blessed...
Yes.
I know my limitations.
And I am glad I do not have children,
Insisting to see me pushed to them!
I love my life lived...
Without displaying a rage that drives me crazed,
And confined!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Heffa
'Don't let me chase you...
Heffa! '
My mother would say this,
Before she did my sister's hair.
And I would sit in a chair...
To watch my sister.
And she would cry and I would stare.
'What you looking at? '
My sister Mimmie would say!
I'm looking at you!
What you gonna do?
'You kids better not start nothing with me.
Hold your head still, girl!
And don't you say another word, Larry! '
I would think to myself...
'Is Mimmie a 'heffa' when she gets her hair done?
Why when I called her that...
She would chase me,
And I would run?
Then my mother would say,
'Would you kids stop that!
Both of you get on my last nerve.
Stop that fighting crap.'
Ma, what is a 'heffa'?
And why is Mimmie one?
Is it the way she looks...
When her hair is undone?
If I called her that,
She wants to fight with me.
Daddy don't call her a heffa.
Why do you...
Exclusively?
My mother would look at me,
As if I was crazed.
I could tell in her eyes,
She was trying for 'something' to say!
I never heard my mother curse.
She didn't have to back then.
But I grew to understand...
'Heffa' was a word,
Black women shared between them!
And my sister Mimmie...
Thought she needed to keep me in 'check'!
And 'if' I didn't leave her alone...
A grown man I would never become or get!
I grew up in a family of very strong willed 'heffuhs'!
Dedicated to:
Those women in my family whom I love dearly.
And I have learned what they say to each other,
And amongst themselves...
Is between them as women!
And they have provided me with 'much' wisdom!
I know now...
What is said 'endearingly' between them,
Is not for a man to repeat!
Even though they can say what they wish,
About us!
'Right, fellas'?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Give Me Mimmie
Give me Mimmie.
Her honesty I accept.
Give me Mimmie.
What she does,
It's done at her best!
She 'may' have a flaw.
Not too many I have seen.
She's my oldest 'and' younger sister.
And when she whips her dander up...
Watch out!
She can let off some steam.
A jewel, a star...
A bright light shining.
Never to complain,
She refrains from whining.
Wife, mother and devoted grandmother too.
She says she has retired!
But from what?
She's 'so' busy.
She's always finding something to do!
Give me Mimmie.
Her honesty I accept.
Give me Mimmie.
What she does,
It's done at her best!
She's funny when she says she is going to relax.
By preparing a meal for fifty or more people...
For some function at her church,
Where she is very active at!
She doesn't hesitate,
To express the wisdom that she has.
It's sharp and quite clear,
To whomever it is passed.
And she entertains with humor.
When she jokes,
You are going to laugh.
She's quite accomplished...
Undertaking several task!
Yes...
Give me Mimmie.
Her honesty I accept.
Give me Mimmie.
What she does,
It's done at her best!
Dedicated to:
My sister Andrea Doreen 'Mimmie' Pertillar Dixon
'Love you, young lady! '
Larry
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Being A Mother
MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
MOTHER IS A WORD
MOTHER IS A PERSON
MOTHER IS A WOMEN
BUT WAT IS REALLY A MOTHER?
MOTHER! ! ! ! ! !
MOTHER IS WOMEN WHO GIVES BIRTH
NO........
MOTHER IS A WOMEN WHO CARES OF HER BABY
MOTHER IS A WOMEN WHO IS WILLING TO GIVE HER LIFE FOR THEIR BABY'S
ANY WOMEN CAN HAVE A BABY
ANY WOMEN CAN GIVE BIRTH
ANY WOMEN CAN BE CALLED MOM
BUT ONLY A REAL WOMEN
ONLY A REAL MOTHER CAN TAKE OVER HER RESPOSABILITIES
ONLY A WOMEN CAN DO WHATS BEST FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! !
A MOTHER LIKE ME
A MOTHER LIKE U
A MOTHER WHO CRIES FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO PRAYS FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO GIVES HER LIFE FOR THEIR CHILD
A MOTHER WHO STARVES TO FEED HER CHILD
A MOTHER WHO IS WILLING TO SLEEP IN THE COLD FOR THEIR CHILD,
A MOTHER WHO MAKES HER CHILDREN FEEL SAFE IN HER ARMS,
BEING THAT MOTHER! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
BEING THAT MOTHER TAKES ALOT OF WOMEN N A PERSON
BEING A MOTHER........
poem by Leticia Sanchez
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Home is the first school and mother is the first teacher
Home is the first school and mother is the first teacher
Parents are the builder of children’s characters and minds,
The mother won’t be a fighter but should be a well preacher,
If she is an illiterate she must carry her children to tuition,
Howsoever the mother should educate their children first,
And she should send her children to school daily and regularly,
Teachers are not blamed not to fulfil children’s educational thirst,
Both the parents and teachers should make them the best citizens,
As we can’t work with one hand likewise we can’t walk with one leg,
Hence, parents and teachers are the same faces of the same coin,
If parents and teachers do them careless they suffer in life to beg,
Do well and have well it is said to see your own profit in life or ruin,
That is why parents and teachers are the best artists of the child,
If an art is spoilt the statue of the child looks like an ugly and a wild.
poem by INDIA Mazid S Kazi
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When my mother was dying in the hospital, he thought, when she knew her end was coming, it was not me she looked to but someone who stood behind me: her mother or the ghost of her mother. To me she was a woman but to herself she was still a child calling to her mother to hold her hand and help her. And her own mother, in the secret life we do not see, was a child too. I come from a line of children without end.
quote by J.M. Coetzee
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The 'Weird' Child
I was the 'weird' child.
You know...
The odd one out!
The one with chores and responsibilities.
The one all the kids would laughed at,
When I had to stay home...
Sometimes with my sister and I alone.
And told not to answer the door or telephone.
And if we did...
'You'll be sorry for that,
When I get back.'
My mother would say.
In a way that was understood.
And when my mother and father would return...
No excuses were made,
Or jokes told.
If the floor wasn't swept...
A frown I would get from mom.
If I forgot to line the garbage can with newspaper.
I was told to empty it.
Wash it quick...
And do it without a sound.
And I was grounded,
If I looked as if I wanted to say something about it.
My father 'tried' to be strict.
But my mother handled the 'raising' business.
My mama had us go get a 'switch'.
From a bush.
Strip it.
And whipped us with it.
If we did not do what mama said!
I was the 'weird' child.
Made to feel different then by my peers.
And today I see many of them,
That bring me to tears.
They don't know how to do anything...
But complain!
And when mama would lift up that switch,
Prepared to swing it...
I gritted my teeth.
And I closed my eyes.
But she was the one that ended up crying.
My sister and I would look at each other...
As if to wonder why.
~She whipped us...
And she's crying? ~
'Sssshhh. Shut up! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Mother
A mother shows the child the world
A mother is its world when small
A mother shows the child what's love
A mother loves her child like a doll!
A mother makes the home and bed
A mother cares for all at home
A mother trains the child to walk
And stand on own, perfectly talk.
A mother is the teacher prime
A mother moulds the character
A mother shows the child to pray
And trust the unseen God all life.
A mother is the child's best friend
A mother knows its needs and wants
A mother cares for child when sick
And feels so proud, when child achieves.
Children, thank God for a good mother
On ‘Mother's day! '
Copyright by Dr John Celes 13-05-12
poem by John Celes
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Thankful For A Fixed Income I Magically Manage
I did not grow up picking Lillies from the field.
I was a latchkey child with chores and responsibilities.
That's the way my mother raised my sister Mimmie and me.
To be independent and aware at a very early age.
I can sometimes be difficult, direct and demanding.
Traits others discover within minutes in my presence.
However...
When I give of myself and time,
That is done without question.
I am one of those Give-Back-To-The Community kind.
And I've learned after many years of doing it...
Not too many in the community appreciate the sacrifice.
Since I am limited with 'bling' to impress!
I've been told many times,
'Why are you here wasting your life?
You can go somewhere else with the skills you have.
And make lots of money! '
It sickens me to hear this,
From those who assess others...
By what they 'visual' possess.
They same folks that express 'unity'.
Based on conditions met!
But...
My mother didn't raise me like that!
She taught 'me' to make contributions.
Delivering to others my best.
Needless to say we had many arguments about this.
Guess who won?
The only regret I have?
Not too many were present to digest her message.
Although I am grateful and blessed,
To have listened.
And thankful for a fixed income I magically manage.
And a can opener I use without protest.
Yes...
I am skilled.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I've Been Doing This Most Of My Life
'I never thought you were that serious.'
About what?
Serious about what?
'That which you do.'
Please.
I have no time for riddles.
What are you talking about?
'Your writing.'
I 'keep' telling you,
I've been doing this most of my life.
Almost 60 years now.
'Lies!
That's impossible.
I thought you told me you were in your late 40's? '
You see...
Even I am confused.
That's how long it has been.
When I was then a mere child,
In the mid...
'70's? '
70's? ? ?
Are you kidding?
I've been doing this...much...
You know?
You are right!
I write so much...
I forget!
It's 2011 isn't it?
I am so glad you are here.
God works in mysterious ways.
It just seems as if,
I've been doing this much, much longer.
'I know it was in the '70's' because I remember,
You told me your oldest sister, Mimmie...
Believes she is your mother sometimes.'
LOLOLOL...
Yep!
That she does.
But...
Don't tell her.
She will 'never' forgive me for revealing her real age!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Today...The Kids Make The Demands
I am not going to say,
One of my three sisters and I...
Were model children growing up.
Although we were told,
We had faces of angels.
And upon hearing those say this,
My mother would smile knowing...
Angels? No!
Whenever my mother disciplined us,
She would describe in detail...
What was about to happen.
And 'then' sent us out looking for a good 'switch'.
Meaning? Pick a nice twig off of a bush outside.
Clean it of its leaves...
And bring it to her to inspect before she whipped us,
For not doing what we were told to do in the first place.
Confusing but so effective!
I agree,
There were moments of contradictions and dysfunctions...
When applying my mother's punishments to our misdeeds,
However...
We did not question or argue.
AND 'if' I should raise my eyebrow as if to disagree...
Just the doing of it would deliver that switch to my behind.
My mother did not play when she told us to do as she said.
The only thing that bothered me was her crying after whipping us.
Today...
The kids make the demands.
And not a tear to dropp from their eyes.
Today...
Kids will call 911 to report child abuse.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Where's Daddy?
My mother and I were close.
And had a unique relationship.
People thought I was a mama's boy.
And I didn't mind.
Since both my mother and I,
Would laugh when we discussed this.
I remember talking before I could walk.
And when we were out together publicly,
She would say to me...
'Please Larry, do not say one word.
I don't want anyone staring at you.'
~You mean like daddy does? ~
'Exactly.'
And when I got older,
When my sister Mimmie was born...
I use to ask my mother,
~Why is she so quiet? ~
'Give her time.
She's only a few months old.'
And...
When she did get older,
And we'd all be out in public...
My mother not once told her,
To be quiet.
I tried.
But she never listened to me.
And my father?
He would just stare at us in disbelief.
~Ma?
Where's daddy? ~
'Who knows? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Those Sugarcoating Days
The last time I had the opportunity,
To sugarcoat anything...
I was a child making candied apples.
From a family recipe,
My West Indian mother, Edna, taught me.
With a dipping of the apples in the mix.
To then let them sit,
In the icebox.
And my sister Mimmie and I,
Were left to get impatient.
During those days when the iceman came,
With blocks of ice.
And the milk and soda was delivered to our door.
Leaving those sugarcoating days,
Not to exist for me any more.
With a wish for them to return..
I do not do.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Tears of Masho
She gave her child away
She had AIDS, they say
Her children should have
Parents to care of them
when she by death
should say goodbye to life.
And her dear own child was
sent to adoption
to a far away land, to a land
she had never been before-
A strange paradise
for her child and which
She as mother could not reach
by her bare feet or sandals.
She did not get the
address of the new parents
She could not write
them in her own tongue
She was not even allowed
to see the last glimpse
of her dear own child,
to give her last embrace
and words of goodbye.
And this child, Masho, who
used to be cuddled by her
own dear mother,
cried day and night
in the new land thought to
be a new paradise.
She watered her pillow
with her own tears and longing.
And she could not understand
why she had to leave her
own mother and playmates
in her own village far away
just because her mother
is condemned to die
by AIDS, they say.
_________
Response to the debate of adoption of children in Denmark, to a particular case of the Ethiopian child, Masho. November 27,2012
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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A Mother's Love
What is a Mother's love? Only a Mother will know,
When a Child is sick with fever, and the pulse is slow;
A Mother will not sleep or rest, till the child is well,
This is what my Mother did, she cared, I could tell.
What is a Mother's love? As it's only a Mother can feel,
When a Child is so bad, she makes her Mother feel like a heel;
Like the Mother will keep her patience till she wants to cry,
But in the end, when; the child is sorry, then she will sigh.
What is a Mother's love? Only a Mother can say with Love,
My Mother never did give up, it's the Same as God above;
When we Hurt our Mother, show Angers, a grieve them too,
We need to say sorry, and also to God this is true.
God and Mother's are almost the same, Forgiving and Receiving,
God just patiently waits for us, to be well behaving;
And say sorry for our sin, He' ll never give up on us,
So is a Mother's Love, she shows love, she'll never fuss.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Song: XI
Mother, mother, do you not hear?
Mother, they come; there is news to tell!
– Give me your hands, my daughter dear:
'Tis but a ship that saileth well.
Mother dear, have a care, give heed!
–They go, my daughter, away they speed.
Mother, the danger is sore, alas!
– Child, my child, it will quickly pass.
Mother, mother, She draweth near!
– It is down in the harbour, daughter dear.
Mother, mother, She opens the door!
– Child, they go, to return no more.
Mother, She enters! I am afraid!
– Child, they now have the anchor weighed.
Mother, I hear Her speaking low.
– Child, my child, it is they that go.
Mother, She makes the stars go dark!
– Child, 'tis the sails of a shadowy bark.
Mother, She knocks at the casement still!
– Child, maybe it is fastened ill. . . .
Mother, mother, my sight grows dim. . . .
– Child, they sail for the open sea.
On every hand I can hear but Him. . . .
– O child, what is it, and who is He?
poem by Maurice Polydore-Marie-Bernard Maeterlinck
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Prayers of parents make a peaceful heaven to a home
Prayers of parents make a peaceful heaven to a home
The children who neglect their parents will be cursed,
The Nature makes such children’s house a hellish dome,
They are lucky children who are blessed by their parents,
It is said that there is a heaven under the legs of mother,
The children love or not to their mother but she loves all,
She embraces good or bad children but she can’t smother,
Mother is habituated to pray to God for all their happiness,
A few children won’t love their parents but love their wives,
In old age parents are in need of only their children’s love,
Who devote God, adore parents will be happy in their lives,
Love of parents always comes to children from the sky above,
God bless those children who are blessed by their parents,
And God curse those children who are cursed by their parents.
poem by INDIA Mazid S Kazi
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These Memories Did Not Come Cheap
These memories did not come cheap.
Not a one arrived with Little Bo Peep!
And Tommy Tucker I was...
I sang for my supper!
And did a little more than that,
If I didn't want my backside slapped.
My parents weren't the kind
To count from one to ten.
My father had us laughing a lot...
But my mother was no comedienne.
She whipped our asses.
Especially when my sister and I,
Made bad choices to go for a jog!
When sprinting was mother's specialty!
These memories did not come cheap to me.
Not when finding myself young with adult responsibilites.
A work ethic was adhered to in our home.
I was dared as a child anytime I felt grown...
Either bite my lip or the front door was shown.
And even when I did get grown,
I never showed anyone disrespect...
And it wont be accepted,
If in my face it's to be thrown.
I'm not prone to ducking!
These memories did not come cheap!
Not to me.
And they wont be sold that way either!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Your Assessment Pleases
If I had no embedded indoctrinations,
Or a thumb to suck when I was young.
Would I be as stunned to discover,
Those unaccustomed to living in the projects...
Had less dysfunctions,
Than the ones I was 'told' I had?
Especially when I grew up in a time,
When all my neighbors kept their doors opened.
And parents disciplined not only their children,
But any child within their reach.
And those who lived in suburbs then,
Would pretend they did not sit on toilets.
And I often wondered about that.
Since my mom would often say...
'Just be 'you'.
Let others folks think they have silver spoons in their mouths.
And walk around with their butts on their shoulders.'
For a very long time I looked for this.
I wanted my mother's visions to be validated.
~Ma?
May I ask you a question? ~
'What is it now...
Larry? '
~Check this out.
I've been looking all around for folks,
With silver spoons in their mouths.
And butts on their shoulders.
I walked all over too!
Where did you see this? ~
'Boy?
Something is wrong with you! '
My mother had her way of telling my sisters and I...
We were 'different' children.
If I had no embedded indoctrinations,
Or a thumb to suck when I was young.
Would I be as stunned to discover,
Those unaccustomed to living in the projects...
Had less dysfunctions,
Than the ones I was 'told' I had?
And I think about my childhood every now and then.
Wondering about all of those 'fortunate' and well dressed children.
Living in the suburbs.
And why they seem to have more problems then we had?
And why those 'kids' now with children...
Can't seem to hold themselves accountable,
For allowing the world to get sooo
Crazed!
'Boy?
Something is wrong with you! '
~Thank you, Ma!
I 'think' I know what you mean.~
'That's good to hear.
Now prove it by leaving me alone,
And go outside to play...
Like you're a 'normal' child.*
~Again...
Your assessment pleases.~
*Boy, if you don't get outta my face! *
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Not In The Next Few Chapters
I remember how 'old' people seemed,
When they were in their twenties.
And I was then a child...
With a wish to be a teenager.
And I remember walking on my toes,
Wanting to be taller than I was.
Or at least keep up with my father,
Whenever he walked to the neighborhood store.
And I'd walk behind him,
Thinking he was a giant.
And when I then became thirteen,
And my sister Mimmie was still eleven...
I got very bossy.
We were both 'latchkey' kids and...
Well,
I was grown...
I thought.
And I made sure she did things around our apartment,
I just was too 'grown' to do.
Like sweep the floors while I looked at TV.
She hated me.
I didn't care.
I remember being eighteen and being called a 'rainbow',
As the rest of the enlisted boy/men stood at attention...
After arriving at Lackland Air Force Base,
In San Antonio, Texas.
We were called 'rainbow'
Because we were still in our 'civilian' clothes...
And instantly demeaned.
That was their way of making sure we understood,
We were in the military and mom and daddy weren't around.
We were guaranteed to be made full fledged men.
Thirty came in a hurry.
And I had already been divorced and remarried.
And that was in 1977.
I don't know 'why' I didn't like my 40's!
Maybe because they came and went too quickly.
And I was 'still' passing for the age of twenty-five.
That didn't last too long.
In 1987 I got a phone call from my mother,
Telling me my dad was ill and she was concerned.
So as the eldest and only son,
I thought I would leave San Antonio, Texas...
Where I made my home then,
And make a quick weekend trip back to Hartford, Connecticut.
Well...
One very long weekend later,
It is now close to 2011.
My 40's and 50's were a blur.
And today at 63...
With both my parents deceased,
I am just NOW able to say,
I can enjoy every moment of my life consciously.
And feeling a whole lot younger than I look.
I know this may sound crazy, but...
I've got to relive something that I've missed,
Between my 40's and 50's I can remember...
Other than my parents passing away,
And my getting a divorce.
That was number two.
And...
With God's blessing,
I 'hope' not to do a number three.
Not in the next 'few' chapters I hope to write!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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