Lawrence S. Pertillar Poems

It takes awhile,
To find one's rhythm.
With it to discover,
Each note of it selected...
...

A seed to plant,
Is seldom unconsciously done...
Without a meant intention.
...

I almost lost myself.
Over you.
No eating or rest did I get.
Over you.
...

Truth is seldom,
Welcomed as a friend.
The moment it appears on the scene,
People are heard demeaning it.
...

Opened are the eyes,
Returning from trips...
Fantasized,
On cruises through delusions.
...

Neither diplomatic.
Or on automatic.
Are the sighs sober.
Dramatically emphatic.
...

Getting comfortable with chaos?
Doing it with it done.
And having fear appear.
Although none is near to come.
...

WHY?
Is often heard to be a question,
Asked of others.
But seldom is that question asked,
...

People who choose,
To leave their comfort zones...
For a stroll through nature,
Done to condone...
...

The business of the poet is done to live,
On the edge of idealistic impressions...
To express.
Mixed with a twisting hint of realism.
...