You're ever at my beck and call –
Perfection reflected from my mirror.
On a sail ~
A voyage that carries off my challenges.
All my sorrows and sadness ~
Locked away in your jail,
The yashmak of my despairs and desperation,
Along with all my worries and wailing.
Yet eye-service lurks beneath the veil.
'Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! all stand,'
said the bailiff before remand,
as legal eagles had looked for loopholes,
flaws in the law,
large enough to lose a lorry,
is that what they became lawyers for?
If I had taken their advice,
blindly handed out to me,
I'd have gone directly to jail,
if not in a trice.
Attorneys, barristers, solicitors,
ambulance chasers,
searching for victims
so they may litigate,
seen one you've seen them all,
what's not to hate?
The game of life is fkd we supposed to value money so people get it by any means
then its from the cops we runnin and people doing life for sellin green to the ones who tryna escape by gettin high, they known as fiends...
an now they both behind that barbed wye and cut like seams
and in that cell its people who got more hooks than Kareem
but only thing they lookin forward to is money on they books and if you dont got a fam then even in jail you scheme
when you get out you need a money plan so its right back to sellin beans...
3 strikes its life you land all cause you were tryna build support for your fam like a crib with the beams
They reside on the other side.
They bathe in fertility.
They own yard-keepers and servants;
Dogs, cats and charming plants.
They breathe the camphorated air like us,
Swallow the transparent dust,
Cross over and fall in the muddy rivers
Like our siblings living under the tiny tents.
They reside on the other side of town,
Over the mountains.
They bathe in tranquil fertility
Of the country-side.
They ignore that we are the same
And that we experience daily the same dilemmas.
One day, them and us, all of us will answer
Present deep in the river, under the karmic bridge.
P.S. This poem was originally written during my college years. Nelson Mandela was still illegally and wrongfully jailed, spending (wasting) 27 years of his heroic and precious life unjustly incarcerated. Mr. Nelson Mandela and my African brothers and sisters are the sources of my inspiration.
Copyright © circa May 1984 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
In iron shadows, cold and tight/
I sank beneath the weight of night/
A crime unclaimed, a fate unfair/
And all my prayers fell on deaf air/
For six months, my tears took flight/
Rising like embers into the night/
I called for grace, for mercy's hand/
But silence met my last demand/
Sentenced, shackled, years were spun/
A war begun, one battle won/
I looked to the sky; eyes burned in rage/
The heavens above, no hand was raised/
Faith had faltered, left me bare/
Hope had vanished, none to spare/
Through depths uncharted, I made my throne/
A kingdom forged in fire and stone/
The Qliphoth sang its wicked tune/
I took my seat beneath the moon/
What Gods had failed, now demons rise/
A shattered soul, no compromise/
Life moves on, do as you will/
The stars remain, yet burn so still/
One battle lost, one battle won/
I wear my scars; they weigh like none/
Bow not to Gods, nor fleeting fate/
But to the one who walks through hate/
Dear Homeland Security Director No-em
I feel compelled to write you this po-em
They won't let me post bail
Get me out of this jail
I'm not a gang member and want to go ho-em!
My bright and exquisite pink heart-shaped tat
is being mocked by a gangsta in a Maga hat
All hope I must banish
I don't even speak Spanish
My doomed fate is sealed, just another stat
My bars the words, the prison guard my verse,
Rattling the staves of this poetic cell,
I struggle vainly, locked up in this jail.
Yea, thus is my predicament, my curse.
Oh, how jealously, you smirking blank verse,
I look upon what freedom guides your quill;
For formal phrasing does of me compel
Stubborn structures—the styles which I rehearse.
But, boldy bumbling, art is now arising!
Walls becoming my score, and tallies tones, ?Confined to meter, bound by rigid rhyme,
I yet find measures full of surprising
Motifs. The modern poet at sonnets groans,
But I, I do believe they’re quite sublime.
Whole world's gone to hell,
Here I sit in jail,
Cold floors touch my hands,
As tears flow out in strands,
God help me please,
I'm a product of the breeze,
A leaf gone with the flow,
Thinking this is where I should go,
I did not show Grace but stone,
These choices were my own,
Pray this isn't too late for me,
Please God hear my plea!
We all saw it
We all heard it
We all read it
And smelled it.
Meanwhile Deedeepee is rotting in jail
For probably having committed a similar crime
Some do the crime and others don’t do the time
Similarly, some go to Heaven and others go to Hell.
The world smelled it
The world read it
The world heard it
And we saw it.
Some people are above the law
Some people are found to have no fault
Somewhere, God needs to tight the bolt
So all can hear the unwonted song of the crow.
No jail time, no fine and no probation
However, we all felt the humiliation
For God’s sake, an Honorable Christian like Jimmy
Would have never been in such a gnarly quandary.
We all smelled it
We all read it
We all heard it
And the world saw it.
No further explanation
We wonder if justice was done
No further condemnation
History is always fair, just and fun.
The world heart it
The world read it
The world saw it
And we smelled it.
Copyright © January 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
he had never felt this alone
disrespected, abandoned, ignored
he dared not ask for any favors
he knew none were coming
he deserved this hard, gray concrete crate
a place to chastise himself for bad choices
no one would come visit him here
he did not expect them to
nothing about this place was friendly
the men guarding it treated him like a non-human
he understood this, soaking up bad feelings about himself
I intend on escaping
Devise a plan
I cannot be kept
By my mum, in this pram
Sliding out easy
Her not knowing i can
Feeling my freedom and Joy
As i ran
sounds of my footsteps
Echo and Bang
Mum now behind me
The chase has began
If loving you is an offence, put me into your jail,
But border not your heart with a fence, but just by your love,
To the deepest part of your heart, let my boat safely sail.
If loving you is a deep sin, keep me in a love hell,
So far, your love would be there to win, as a gift from 'bove.
Then my mind would be in peace of a love, that's nice to tell.
If loving you is a mistake, mine would be a fine one,
So far, for your sake, love would be as gentle as a dove,
I'll then bake the best cake, to celebrate your love I'd won.
Joe is the sun of a gun
Known to be on the run
He left jail
Made his bail
AWOL isn’t much fun
Example Among Many
Standing before a distraught spouse
It was about half past noon
Hearing heated words of strife
“I’m leaving you and very soon”
“Those sacred vows; I meant for life
But you broke that precious trust
I have been your faithful spouse
Never have I felt such disgust”
A week later at about noon
An emergency call came
One was dead in their bedroom
Soon the police knew who to blame
Quickly brought in shackles to court
Was found guilty by twelve peers
Beyond reasonable doubt
No one was elated, none cheered
“Your malicious actions are rife
Life without parole you’ll pay
For the murder of your spouse”
All there heard the trial judge say
Sitting in jail with time to think
Tears running down a worn face
A sad heart began to sink
Had lost more than one could replace
How many times must it happen
Over and over again
Atrocious deeds of passion
Causing much heartache and pain
Could this be a primeval curse
Consequence of Eden’s fall
Lingers to spoil human worth
Tainted history since mankind’s birth
If you are surrounded by criminals
It is very likely that you've become a criminal
Criminals are like worms in a rotten fish
No matter how thorough you wash the dishes
The stench remains; the stink is unbelievable
Corruption and money are part of the mess
Nepotism is at the heart of the financial chaos
Criminals belong not in Congress
Not in the Senate, but in filthy jail
Of course not in the Parliament of some poor countries
Many politicians are fishy liars who're heading to hell
Criminals are as sneaky as rodents hiding in the vanities.
Copyright © March 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Related Poems