Why I Could Care Less' by Lawrence S. Pertillar
I grew up in the projects,
My sister and I.
I was the older...
And expected to be the protector,
Without excuses or alibis.
I had no one older to express my frustrations.
My mother was both my mom and dad then.
And my sister and I were latchkey children!
I grew up with an edge.
A bit of a chip on my shoulder!
I really didn't have a childhood...
I always felt quite older.
And throughout my life...
Witnessing those who whine about petty stuff.
I look back upon my life thanking God,
How I grew up.
I thank God for my parents...
And their struggles to maintain.
My sister Andrea who helped me remain sane!
The Women's League Day Care Center...
With their counselors who guided me on my way.
The residents of Bellevue Square...
To this day I may see a few from those 'golden days'.
And to those who take others for granted.
With demands their selfish whims be met...
If it had not been for them,
And their pointless greed and attitudes...
I probably would not express,
Why I could care less...
About them now being in distress and duress.
My mama taught me a few things about survival...
'What goes up comes down!
Folks who grin and smile...
Will someday show frowns.
Now go outside and try to be a child,
Like the other kids! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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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My Sister, My Friend
You came along in 75
“A sister for you” Dad said on the drive
Little did I know just what that would mean
But to find out I was keen.
When you arrived home all wrapped in pink
A beautiful baby I did think
You were a couple days old and I was two
I was your big sister and I loved you.
There was the time when you were two
Words were few but you did what you had to do
I was only four and in strife
But from the fire you saved my life
You started school in year one
You and I had such great fun
I was older in year three
But the age gap didn’t matter to me.
When you were 10 you got sick
I thought you’d get better really quick
Unfortunately it didn’t go my way
But you were an inspiration everyday.
The way you took it in your stride
It was just the start of your bumpy ride
You handled it better than expected
Your role as a sister you never neglected
Dialysis, hospital beds and infections
And fears of kidney rejections
Pills, tablets and medication
But still as a sister you showed dedication
As we grew older and life got tough
Just when I thought Id had enough
Forgetting your problems willingly
You were there to comfort me
Little gifts you gave to me
Thinking of me unselfishly
The fridge magnet is in its place
And the sister book in the bookcase
You’re not just my sister you are my friend
We’ve been through so much there is no end
To the love that I have for you
I am sure the same for you is true
So this poem for you I write
With a little hope that I might
Give back some of the love and care
I’ve gotten from you and more to spare
I guess just what I am trying to say
Is I thank the Lord everyday
For giving me the best sister I could hope for
And someone to look up to, love and adore.
I am proud to call you MY SISTER, MY FRIEND.
poem by Jayne Jones
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We Were Latchkey Kids
I can not remove those impressions made,
In my youth.
Nor can I replace misconceptions done,
Of how my growing up in the projects...
Was not for my sister and I lives filled with fun.
I for one had little if none.
We were latchkey kids!
Chores and responsibility came early for me.
And I made sure my sister Mim,
Didn't think what I did...
Was going to make her life a breeze.
If I had to wash dishes and sweep...
She was not going outside to play,
A game of hide and seek.
I was young and disciplined.
And she, at times, grew to despise me.
But we...
Were latchkey kids.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Older Sister
(carly simon)
She rides in the front seat, shes my older sister
She knows her power over me
She goes to bed an hour later than I do
When she turns the lights out
What does she think about?
And what does she do in the daylight
That makes her so great?
Oh but to be, oh but to be, oh but to be, Id like to be
My older sister
She flies throught the back door, shes my older sister
She throws french phrases round the room
She has ice skates and legs that fit right in
Shes wicked to all the beaming dreamers
Wholl later boast of an evening
By her fiery side
Oh but to be, oh but to be, oh but to be, Id like to be
My older sister
And in her black gymnastic tights
She runs into some elastic nights
Sophisticated sister sings for the
Soldiers of the soccer team
Their silver i.d.s and sororities
They tinker with love in their model ts
Oh lord, wont you let me be her for just one day
She turns everybodys heads
While I wear her last years threads
With patches and stitches and a turned up hem
Oh, but to be, oh but to be, Id like to be, just once to be
My older sister
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I Was A Child A Bully Would Challenge Me
When I was a child a bully would challenge me. He was bigger. I would run away. Over and over this went on. One morning I woke up from a dream in which I seem the bully punch some one I love over a fence. I was furious that morning. That morning the bully said something about my sister. Later that day we met at the park to fight. It was all set we would fight. It seemed as if every child from the school was there. I did not care. All that I seen, felt, all that ran through my mind was him punching my sister over the fence. The bully looked so surprised when I stepped into him and punched him right in the face. He started crying. When he got back to his feet the crowd of children were cheering. One of the older children ran in. He would not let him continue, blood poured from the bully's face. The older child might have sensed that I really would have changed the bully's life even more profoundly.
poem by Michael Kavuoti
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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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my little sister's GONE: (
She was five when her sister left
And with her gone she felt like she experienced death
She was too young to even know what that meant
Apart for seven months is what they spent
Her older sister was her best friend
She always looked up to her
Her smile she would always lend
She witnessed drugs
Barely given a hug
Barely shown any love
And just when she lost hope
Her sister would always show up
At the most needed time
Her sister never knew it
But she always completed her inside
And then her sister would go away again
And the same thing would happen
Then suddenly her sister stopped coming around
For a better life is what she thought she had found
A better life that didn’t include her
But she never knew that every day
Her sister thought about her
She always wondered where her sister went
And why she always left without their lives together spent
One day she gotten taken away
To a family friend
And for a while she would stay
But she was still mistreated
Barely eaten
Always hit
But she never told her sister this shyt
When her sister would call
She’d say I’m okay
Cause her sisters on speaker phone
What more could she really say
Her sister always promised that she would visit
And every day she waited
Hoping she’d keep it
But then she realized she was stuck
But knew that her sister still had love
It was just hard for her to see her face
And she felt like in this world she had no place
One day her sister came for her
She went to church and looked for her
She asked where is my little sister
And they all replied GONE
That’s when I soon discovered what exactly had been done
I always promised my sister Shilah that I would come and see her
And she waited until she finally gave up
And now she’s gone and I know it’s my fault
If I had only come sooner
She would still be here
She would still know that I cared
She waited for me to keep my promise
And I did but it was too late
and now i feel dis-honest
poem by Shilesha Johnson
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Avoid Drama
There’s drama in everyone life
Everyone bring around a little baggage with them
The husband and the wife
Probably complaining about someone they don’t really like
It sort of weird you see
There’s so much wrong, and I could be right
Even I have a little drama about me
Baby daddy drama – I hate it all
Parents saying I didn’t do enough with my life
Second older sister took a fall
Oldest sister is now a wife
Youngest sister is not so well
Baby father is no where around
Only time can tell
He’s no where insight to be found
Avoiding drama may come easy for some, and others not
The struggles of life pops up in a while
It isn’t all that
Worries take over- not even a smile
There’s so much drama
I can’t even avoid it all
Baby daddy, ex- girlfriend drama
It’s all I use to think about
Why you have to leave your baby mama?
I find it hard to avoid drama
There are drama queens
The baby daddy and the baby mama
The adults and the ex-girlfriends in there teens
The husband cheating on his wife
He causing problem
And messing up his life
Dramas is all around us
It comes out
And hurt us
Dramas
Avoiding it
Dramas
Running away from it
It will come back in a way
And messes with our head
Avoiding drama, it couldn’t be okay
poem by Margo Reid
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My sister dont
My sister please dont cry
My sister dry your eyes
My sister don't end your life
My sister your not his wife
My sister he's cold as a snake
My sister he's just a fake
My sister everything will be better when you wake
My sister Ive seen the pills you take
My sister he's full of lies
My sister don't even try
My sister your the one everyone likes
My sister don't start a fight
My sister it ends tonight
My sister I need you, don't end your life
poem by Jackrabbit Krjs
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For Sharon (my little sister and second mother)
You were always my little sister, whether you knew it or not,
Even though you thought differently, when you were just a tot-
Even way back then, you wanted to take care of me,
You put on the Big Sister act, it didn't bother me, you see-
But when I reflect on those early times, I find I am mistaken-
For those years you stood by me, for granted you were taken.
You married young in life, your roads were rough, like mine-
But now your days are treasured, like aged and ripe old wine.
You've found the one that loves you, that one with the special glow-
That very special mate...hold him tight and don't let go!
And here I'm writing verse to you, to give you thanks and blessing-
For the times that you took care of me, for the grooming and the dressing!
Thanks for the times you freely gave, thanks for all of the care-
That was sisterly love, that only a sister could share!
You were my little sister- I was the other brother -
And now, the secret's out - You were my second mother!
poem by David Lessard
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THAT, I Do Know
You see this?
I've been doing it,
Most of my life.
Writing.
I began in the '50's
The nineteen fifties.
With little or no encouragement,
At all that I could see.
OH...
My mom use to buy my sister
And I writing pads and finger painting sets
to keep me from writing on the walls.
And...
I guess a few spankings supplied an incentive!
Now that I remember certain events.
It was my sister Mimmie,
Who discovered I could write poetry.
And she didn't believe me.
People 'assume' I was nourished,
And encouraged by my parents.
I don't think they knew what I did,
To be honest.
I was born 'this creative being'.
With demands I made.
No one 'gave' me a thing,
But a headache.
With a parade of negative comments,
About my exposed interests.
They assigned to being a little effeminate.
But I played ball and stuff like that.
I wasn't hung up on gender!
That is more expressed today,
Than in those days I grew up.
So...
I am quite amazed today,
Especially...
That someone would ask me 'how'
I do 'this' and what they need to know...
To do 'that'?
'Gee, I don't know what to say.
Or how to say anything at all about it.
Uh...you...uh...well? ...I...uh...Gee.'
Sometimes I'm left speechless.
I just know...
If it is something done that is loved,
It will discover a way to express itself.
THAT,
Is what I have discovered over many years,
Of unrelentless devotion.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ayesha
Thank you, sister,
for being there
And letting me know
you will always care.
Thank you, sister
for loving me so
you helped me find
where I wanted to go.
Thank you, sister
when times got bad
you stood by me
as no one had.
Thank you, sister
for being my friend
I will love you until
the very end.
And I thank you, sister
like I have before.
But this time, sister
it means so much more.
poem by Mahfooz Ali
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Baby Sister.
I have heard people grumble
'I wish I had a sister so humble'
with whom I can share everything
My shoes, my clothes and my earing
A sister who helped me during my projects
A sister whom I always needed for consent
A sister fights with me endlessly
Yet who helps me selflessly
A sister with whom I share all my thoughts
without thinking I should tell her or not
A sister who helps sharing my chores
A sister who sometimes acts too stubborn
A sister whom I boss over
A sister who understands my every fear
A sister who wants me to shop
And when I tease her she begins to hop
Love you dear sister for always being there
I promise for you I'll always be there :)
poem by Henal Jasani
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From Childhood Till Date
She plays with me
She sleeps with me
She takes (my) lot of care…
She is no one else
She is my sister…
She smiles with my smile
She cries whenever I cry…
She whispers with my whisper..
She is no one else
She is my sister…
She loves me,
She hates me
She teaches me
How to look far…
She is no one else
She is my sister….
She cooks for me,
She shops for me
She takes me for a long drive
In her lovely black car…
She is no one else
She is my sister…
She takes care not only mine
She takes care of my son…
She takes care of my home…
She also takes care of my Mr.
She is no one else
She is my sister…
(I gifted this to my sister on 5th Aug,08)
poem by Sumita Datta
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My Stepmother (for Edgar Andrade Baguio)
When my stepmother first came, her eyes were sharp and bright as little
knives. Her youth and my childhood ran into each other - she was the victor.
Although my father was still alive, I felt orphaned, depressed and alone,
crying by myself, grew up alone. In the first year of peace, everyone drifted.
My father went out - returned with gray hair. I have my father to compensate
me for the loss of my childhood. Sometimes vague envy found father sitting
in silent expectation...
A decade goes by. My stepmother is still as beautiful as at first, though older.
She returns to ask my father to forgive her mistake: My half sister has
another half sister. My heart was no longer jealous - I only felt sorry for my
half sister, who was really too young... I hoped she would not find herself
once more on a tipping wagon. My father died, rain poured down in the
courtyard. My tears gleaned some contentment: Mother and father together
now, forever.
After that she aged quickly, solitary, silent as a shadow, her eyes no longer
sharp as knives. When my son entered the world, she was the first to carry
him, she who changed him the first time, placed him in the gently rocking
hammock. My half-sister asked her mother, only half-joking, Will you favor
my first child this way? Lullabies contain no riddles and tears run down
forever. My stepmothers silent eyes smiled brightly when my son threw
himself into her arms: 'Grandma! '
- Thanh Nguyen's narrative poetry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dear sister
Sister is
Not only
Sister...
MY
Truley girl friend...
Sister
Not only sister...
My child's...
Teacher....
Also my child hood
Teacher...
With a loving servent...
Playing partner...
Sister is
Not only sister...
Guide + Advoicer
With my life...
Sister not only
A sister
My dear mom
A youthFull mom...!
Sister not only
Sister...
My dear and dear...
Of family V.i.P
At one of
My life heart...
Dear my dear
Sister...
Your sister's
how are you...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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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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Psalm for my Sister
I will lift my eyes and smile as I give thanks to my sister.
My radiant complicated sister, who is more than my sister,
she's my friend.
I will thank the good lord above that we were children together
I rejoice to remember playing house or barbie dolls.
Our secrets, our surprises, even our fights.
I feel deep longing for those days when we were little girls together,
Life hungry, each fighting her own battle,
Yet supporting each other against the world
My sister, my beautiful sister.
Thank you for this women who shares my parents
My past, my blood, who see's me whole, the beginning long ago, and the person I am now.
My sister, who's faults are so clear to me but dear to me, just as my faults are to her.
Yet for all the differneces and the miles that come between us, we still battle the world together.
I laugh for the joy of my sister,
and sometimes I weep for my sister,
I long to comfor her and hold her close
Dear Lord please watch over my sister
the sister I love so much.
1994
poem by Sharon Reniff
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Growing Up
I didn't know why I was really born
I had a sad childhood and was always torn
Didn't know my daddy, didn't really know my mother
It was just us three, with my sister and my brother
We stuck together and formed a bond
We were all we had and were very fond
We would defend each other all our life
There was pain and fear and plenty of strife
We were abused and neglected most of the time
Then, you could starve and beat your kids, not a crime
We were passed around to home after home
We never had much to call our own
We had a different daddy once a week
They made us full of fear and awful meek
Some were very nice and some were very mean
Some would beat us constantly, and some would only scream
We all grew up rough and we all knew it
And if they knew about this poem, they would have a fit
Mother couldn't help it, her mind was very weak
All her life she suffered, her life was so bleak
But we survived it all and grew up too
And mother she forgot, and didn't have a clue
I loved her so much, through thick and thin
The angels came and got her, that's why I can pen!
poem by Donna Nimmo
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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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