Anti Bullying Poems | Examples

Harvesting Love Not Hate

If you plant the seeds of love
You'll reap gorgeous flowers of love
If you spray the seeds of hate
Many plants and trees
Will blossom flowers of hate
And you won't like the fate
Nobody enjoys death and miseries
Ugly, dirty and evil flowers
And people with ill manners
Love is the answer
Hate is a toxic cancer
Be positive and make sense
All the time 
Is obviously not a crime
Violence is unacceptable
Peace is divine and preferable
Please use good common sense.

Copyright © May 2017, Hebert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.

secrets in a box

Secrets in a box

I have a box on the shelf in the spare bedroom
The box has blue and white stripes, I think
It was a shoebox, perhaps bought for a child that
I was not born; my youth is in that box
Sometimes, when alone, I open the box, and it has
many photos of life lived in the seventies
Many friends are smiling for the camera
My ex-wife, too. What they have in common is
that they are all dead
I received a delayed letter from Alex, a friend  
By then, I knew he had died, the letter in the box
unopened 
I look at the photos like a visitor from a past life
I do not feel sorrow or guilt. I was a difficult 
person to live with, even though I had friends
that loved me
I put the lid back on the box. The visit is over
I must go on living in the now.

Syncronise With Aus One'

Now is the time..Stand and be done..
Support the Nation, as does Aus one'
Where'ere you are based ' all Aussie
Daughters and mothers sons.'
Get behind; good old Bosi..
And great things can come.!

4:20 evening

Please love me in completion
That you have seduced me
into the cuspuss of having
Only then to say that their are
Others
To claim it's natural to be mean
and uncaring, sorts the very dignity
Of Savant people
The ruins of your past relationships 
are uncovered
Revealing the architecture of our
demise
Speak me as yours to restore the
decency of saved and never-savaged
Peoples
A nurtured land to bare the fruits
Of our labor
That our togetherness is neither in vain
or unwanted
To each ends and in full supply might

From Phat or Fat 
Tricking a man to
Marry
By: Wellknown Writer
we be together
To devalue the terms of being used
and neglected
That we as one might never see suffering
as a means of punishing ones
Preferences and misgivings
Oh love perfectioned in trust
Speak me as yours
Might I sort the fruited plains
For our wines

Shadow Waters

Shadow Waters
The water-bearer leans his urn silently,
pours starlight over forsaken streets
where neon lights flash their final confessions
and shattered promises accumulate like rain.
Here in the reverse trickle of time,
where advancement is lost in its own reflection,
the era turns in, searching for explanations
in dregs of what we believed we'd gained.
Electric prophets air hollow gospels
while the crowds scroll through ghost lives,
each contact another strand that entwines us
to this tapestry of lovely despair.
The constellation turns above, unchanging
those very stars that once held out liberty
now witness us tumble into the labyrinth
we built from our own radiant ideals.
In tower suites and lower-level clubs,
the children of the future sell their souls
to algorithms who recognize their secret names
and dole them out in morsels, afterwards.
Yet, still, the water flows, unceasing,
carrying seeds of something not yet born
perhaps redemption sleeps in darkness
of this shattered, brilliant age.
The carrier's face away from us,
sloshing the future drop by drop
while we stand dry in the flood,
suffocating in our own lighted shadows.

Kindred Spirits

*Kindred Spirits*

 I am often labeled as possessing "special" needs, and while there lies a kernel of truth within that phrase, the needs which burn brightest in my core are no different than yours, dear friend. Just as you crave acceptance, I ache for it too; a longing that colors every sunrise and sunset I witness in this grand tapestry called life.
Like you, I dream of companionship forged through laughter and shared confidences, bonds that render the weight of solitude obsolete. And just as knowledge illuminates the path ahead for anyone brave enough to pursue it, I yearn for chances to learn and grow, to fill the wellspring of my mind with wisdom gained through experience and discovery.
In classrooms filled with desks of various sizes, I sit, eager to absorb lessons tailored to nurture my unique potential. Though some tasks prove elusive, my spirit remains undeterred, for I understand that progress is not measured solely by speed, but by the indelible steps we take towards becoming the best versions of ourselves.

the new morality

The New Morality

Trump has spoken, we get up from our chairs and salute, actually not. 
The fact is, we are tired of this endless war
That is economically viable for many, an industry of death
we do not see on the factory floor where weapons are made.
A morbid industry, many states need to stave off poverty and
unemployment. Weapons used are someone’s property.
We are backward, us humans we have yet to understand that
most work is not needed, give people money so they can go
climb rocks and go fishing in the stream, swim in the ocean, and
enjoy life, which is an interval between deaths. We have finally
reached the zenith of existence, yet we, for an outdated reason, insist
everyone should work till they drop. Relax, let the Middle East
find its own nirvana.

Alien Invasion

Fear of the Outsider, the interloper, the alien
Is as old as humanity itself.
Xenophobia doesn’t just apply to someone foreign 
And “not like us”,
It applies to anyone who may threaten 
Our way of life, the status quo, the norm
And way “it’s always been.”
From local bar to climbing crag, surfing beach, 
Ghetto corner, and Union shop floor,
The locals, sometimes multigenerational deep,
Tend to claim their turf
With the worst of human qualities;
Fear and loathing
Sublimated into snide ostracism, 
Backstabbing gossip and withering looks
If not fully expressed with seething hate 
Slander, bullying and assault.
Meanwhile life goes on for the Xeno
Head down, eyes averted, pathways diverted,
While in their heart
They recognize the love their haters have
For their cherished way of life and ground
Is not exclusive
And no different from their own.

(9/6/25)

this is a comma ,

this is a comma ,
this is an apostrophe '
this is an ampersand &
and this is an asterisk *

upper wealthy

The Upper Wealthy 

It was said that famous families
only lasts for about three generations 
The Churchills, the Kennedys, and many
Others have a sale by date.
I thought of that while watching a program by
Crise Hedges, who happens to have grown up 
among the stratospheric wealthy, and he
spent time trying to distance himself from
that class of people
He can't, everything about his language 
manner, the smoothness of those who have
not had to strive
Cris was interviewing a man who writes
books about the rich, who, according to     
him are bad for our society and economy
Clearly, the rich are different from those who have
No private plane when going shopping
They send children to the top school in a limo 
They have a big household staff to keep
them in clover, and security, to be rich also 
Mean someone is out to do your harm
The two men began annoying me, telling
stories about the wealthy, sounding like
a couple trying not to sound envious

a poem within a poem

lol. get click baited.
there isn't no poem.
just me.
and you.
and your thoughts.
hmm...
I have an idea!
how about a game?
duck, duck, goose, how about that?
no? ok
just comment your favourite, food.
yeah, good enough game.
ok, get commenting.
I'm off.
lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
ok bye.
bible
slime block!

a letter to my editor

a letter to my editor
I have tried to get more cash to spend
on introducing me to a bigger audience
I contacted many of my readers on X and asked for
A contribution sent to Hillshire will not come
amiss so far nothing.
I could have asked the man himself, but I will not
He suffers from the insecurity that rich people 
People who suffer from that, we like them for the money
I happen to like Elon Musk because he struggles
with a deep-seated shyness like my brother did
So his life is not that easy
So, therefore, just print the en book and send
a couple of copies to me, I shall be nothing more
than mulch in the acre of poetry

tristesse

Tristesse 

The hotel room in St. Asaph (Wales) was damp
and smelt of spent body passion, I didn’t have a coin
for the gas metre; in the decomposing bed, a woman
Snored, and from the depth of my soul
the beginning of an anguished scream.
The morning was ashen as my face, and fine drizzle fell.

The hotel bar was closed, and I walked with aching bones
for miles while the heavens descended.
Apocalypse Now!
No such luck, when the clouds parted, the hills
where green with grazing sheep is.
Dear God, where were you yesterday when I married
A scullery maid, have you no mercy?

I Am The Frost

I am not warmth denied.  
I am clarity revealed.

You call me cold, as if that were a curse.  
But cold is not cruelty.  
Cold is precision.  
Cold is the silence that listens longer than the noise ever could.

I was not born in comfort.  
I was forged in exile—cast out by blood, by law, by the trembling hands of those who feared what they could not name.  
They called me devil.  
They called me waste.  
They called me dangerous.  
But I did not burn.  
I crystallized.

I walk alone, not because I choose solitude,  
but because the world chose to shut its doors.  
And in that silence, I found my shape.  
Not broken. Not bitter.  
Just sharpened.

I am the frost that coats the edges of truth.  
I do not flinch.  
I do not beg.  
I do not melt for comfort.

I am the one grain that stands apart.  
I am the breath in the winter air that reminds you you’re alive.  
I am the chill that wakes you from delusion.  
I am the clarity that comes when the fire dies down and the lies stop burning.

You may fear me.  
You may misjudge me.  
But you will not erase me.

I am the frost.  
And I endure.

Heat Is A Lie

It softens the edges of cruelty,  
makes judgment feel like care,  
makes exile look like protection.  
It wraps the blade in velvet and calls it mercy.

I have stood in rooms full of warmth  
and felt nothing but frost inside my chest.  
Because warmth without understanding is suffocation.  
Because heat without truth is manipulation.

They smiled as they sentenced me.  
They prayed as they cast me out.  
They said it was for my own good.  
But I saw the fire in their eyes,  
and it was not holy.  
It was hungry.

Heat demands conformity.  
It melts difference.  
It punishes the cold for daring to remain solid.

But I did not melt.  
I did not bend.  
I did not become what they needed me to be.

I am the frost.  
I do not lie.  
I do not soften.  
I do not hide.

In the cold, everything is revealed.  
The breath. The wound. The truth.  
There is no illusion in frost.  
Only clarity.

So let them burn.  
Let them bask.  
Let them believe their heat is holy.

I will remain.  
Sharp.  
Clear.  
Unmelted.

Because heat is a lie.  
And I am the truth it cannot touch.

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