Lawrence S. Pertillar Poems

This late afternoon breeze...
In the midst of June,
Pleases me.
In a Spring quietness,
...

No one on Earth
Can be that blatantly ignorant.
No one would set up a scheme,
To destroy their inner being.
...

Not here to deal with those,
With thoughts of a lowered life.
Those who can not appreciate others.
But find themselves embittered...
...

Pain is only felt
By the one who is feeling it.
Both the history and the depth of it...
Is only known by the one who lives it.
...

That's right.
That's what I like to call myself.
Mister Muffin Tucker.
You can call me Muffin,
...

If it was not easy for me to give...
You would have never known my face.
Or the appearance of it shown,
As often.
...

They make claims that are wished,
With announcements delivered to dish.
With the same hollowed tiredness...
To kepp 'this' safe!
...

They are all equally demented.
Convinced of their own self worth.
Projecting scholarly personas...
With intentions to undermine.
...

On these battlefields they leave no triumphs.
They leave no scars or wounds to pride!
Heartaches are collected,
Within memories devastated.
...

Warm.
Sticky.
And thick...
With humidity!
...