Quotes about strut, page 14
I Told You So
The ones that can not be reached,
Must be left alone.
When time after time again,
It is noticed no attic light is on.
And there is no linking connection,
Allowed or condoned in that home.
Time is wasted on someone like this.
Especially if excuses are heard,
Being made from them often...
With consistent persistence.
The walls are constructed very thick,
And none of them not at all too thin.
With beliefs what they do is right from the start...
Nothing within them sticks,
Or goes too far.
Whether they are neighbors, relatives or friends...
What they think will always be right...
From the beginning to the end.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Length Of Its Visit
Who knew,
Only time taken...
Makes a definition of it,
Less easier to fake who does what and when.
Or how long it may take,
For those undecisive to make up their minds.
Those aging as time flys by them,
Seem to take a more notice of it drifting away.
And with an impatience shown towards those,
Wishing they knew of a remedy...
To keep themselves with time favored.
As if to flavor it with youthful flattery.
By a nipping or two to keep something tucked.
While time gives them more it to strut their stuff.
Who knew,
Only time taken...
Makes a definition of it,
Less easier to fake.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Poodles
So many love to spoil their pets.
Especially those poodles.
With pedicures and silk worn vests.
Especially those poodles.
Some can be seen,
Adorning precious gems as necklaces.
Especially those poodles.
And people 'ahh' and 'ooo' too...
Whenever they see a pampered moving poodle.
Why,
Oh why...
Few are heard to brag about their cockatoos?
Those noisy Australasian crested parrots.
And,
Why oh why...
Do some prefer cats?
Even appearing to nap those cats will scratch back.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Take the I Out
But I love the I, steel I-beam
that my father sold. They poured the pig iron
into the mold, and it fed out slowly,
a bending jelly in the bath, and it hardened,
Bessemer, blister, crucible, alloy, and he
marketed it, and bought bourbon, and Cream
of Wheat, its curl of butter right
in the middle of its forehead, he paid for our dresses
with his metal sweat, sweet in the morning
and sour in the evening. I love the I,
frail between its flitches, its hard ground
and hard sky, it soars between them
like the soul that rushes, back and forth,
between the mother and father. What if they had loved each other,
how would it have felt to be the strut
joining the floor and roof of the truss?
I have seen, on his shirt-cardboard, years
in her desk, the night they made me, the penciled
slope of her temperature rising, and on
the peak of the hill, first soldier to reach
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poem by Sharon Olds
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God Is The Entity
I don't live my life on a discounted escapade.
Every bill delivered to my address...
Has just my name on it.
And they all get paid.
Because I've arrived at an age,
It is expected I get assistance.
And whatever I get I like to think I'm deserving.
Since I've never lived with a selfishness.
And most of my life I've been in service to others.
And to others I have served.
Very few times I've accepted hand outs given to me.
Especially knowing how easy it is for others to speak falsities.
About what they do in quantity...
And neither quantity nor quality from them do I receive.
God is The 'Entity' that has blessed my life tremendously.
Of this I have witnessed with no pretensions to exist.
And those who have come to go out of my life...
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Zip It
You can not tell people
Who have been trapped and raise on crap.
That they are also ignorant, fat and lazy!
Since those that are...
Will not appreciate that!
There is a fine line between honesty and disrespect.
To say, 'Hey you, fat ass! '
May not get the response one expects.
Or even to say to someone walking down the street...
'Do you mind standing still for one moment?
The ground is shaking,
And its causing my nose to bleed! '
No one will regard this as a compliment at all!
Nor a snide remark behind their backs...
'Is there an eclipse of the Sun?
That has darkened the sky,
To cause night to come...
And suddenly fall? '
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No, You Be A Lone Eagle
I find it very hard to be fair-minded
About people who go around being air-minded.
I just can't see any fun
In soaring up up up into the sun
When the chances are still a fresh cool orchid to a paper geranium
That you'll unsoar down down down onto your (to you) invaluable
cranium.
I know the constant refrain
About how safer up in God's trafficless heaven than in an automobile
or a train
But ...
My God, have you ever taken a good look at a strut?
Then that one about how you're in Boston before you can say antidis-
establishmentarianism
So that preferring to take five hours by rail is a pernicious example of
antiquarianism.
At least when I get on the Boston train I have a good chance of landing
in the South Station
And not in that part of the daily press which is reserved for victims of
aviation.
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poem by Ogden Nash
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The Ghost of the Murderer's Hut
My horse had been lamed in the foot
In the rocks at the back of the run,
So I camped at the Murderer's Hut,
At the place where the murder was done.
The walls were all spattered with gore,
A terrible symbol of guilt;
And the bloodstains were fresh on the floor
Where the blood of the victim was spilt.
The wind hurried past with a shout,
The thunderstorm doubled its din
As I shrank from the danger without,
And recoiled from the horror within.
When lo! at the window a shape,
A creature of infinite dread;
A thing with the face of an ape,
And with eyes like the eyes of the dead.
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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Strutting All Your Stuff On Main Street
On that avenue where your heartbreak is chased,
I follow you with wishes,
All your bitter kept feelings from you...
Fades away.
And I would see you,
Strutting all your stuff on Main Street.
I'd like to see you,
Strutting all your stuff on Main Street.
And with your head down like its been really tough,
Looking as if you're about to give life up...
But I wish,
You would 'dis' this to strut on Main Street.
Oh yes I miss you...
Strutting all your stuff on Main Street.
Just know I've done a boo-hoo too!
And that didn't do a thing to prove,
Anybody noticing would rescue...
Me from my grief to free it.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Ruined Maid
"O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?"-
"O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she.
-"You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!"-
"Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined," said she.
-"At home in the barton you said 'thee' and 'thou,'
And 'thik oon' and 'theäs oon' and 't'other'; but now
Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compan-ny!"-
"Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she.
-"Your hands were like paws then, you face blue and bleak
But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek,
And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!"-
"We never do work when we're ruined," said she.
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poem by Thomas Hardy
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