He was 54 years old but that was still too young to go.
He starred as Theodore Huxtable on 'The Cosby Show'.
He was asphyxiated and he drowned.
It's sad because he's no longer around.
He was a very talented man and that's certainly true.
He starred on 'The Cosby Show' from 1984 until 1992.
Malcolm had skill and charisma and it definitely showed.
When he starred in 'Listen Up', he starred in all 22 episodes.
People are sad because he's no longer here.
Sadly, he lost his life after living for 54 years.
[Dedicated to Malcolm-Jamal Warner (1970-2025) who died on July 20, 2025]
My spirit,
Incinerated.
Its ashes
Descend back into
That dark crater:
That inky opaque abyss,
Where the slightest din
Is swallowed,
Where that one fragment of light is asphyxiated,
Held down,
Stripped and raped from its alluring, golden iridescence.
It drowned in its own tears
And then scattered across its own grave.
They turn their backs
With apathy entrenched into their depths:
The reason for my oblivion
The wounded, intrepid stork
remains defiant,
withstanding the ceaseless
rage.
An unwavering,
relentless bliss adorns it.
It enfolds a blooming dawn
in its fascinating heart.
A lighted candle resides in its
fiery, boundless soul.
Unraveling the tapestry of
divine beauty is like
an undying rejoicing.
The unruffled, phosphorescent
sea is asphyxiated
by deathless fetters.
They systematically decimate the unfailing,
unrequited dove.
Their unquestioned, unsullied
commitment is to hug it.
The prevailing, widespread
dark like a bloodthirsty
hawk will be obliterated by
the joyous sun of chrysanthemum.
The unbridled, unbowed
spring like a sunny dream
is bedecked with unfearing jewelry.
The enduring, unsurpassed
Sunrise will prevail worldwide.
Its golden light never wanes...
I always feel the
stiff breeze in my heart.
The rumbling ,rolling thunder
growls in the overcast, vast,
inky sky.
The lily is asphyxiated
by an utter,
excruciating agony,
it murmurs things
unsaid.
It fills with pure,
deeep-rooted fears,
the verdict is unknown.
Raindrops water my soul
like an endless
angst weaves into the
unobtrusive path.
No, my brain is alive, not dead
To know that you hate me
And yet I love you dearly
I practice love not hatred
I care about uncontiditional love
Not mutual feelings dripping from above
In rainy and stormy seasons. In unselfish ways
I willingly donate my heart and soul to you
You can shred them and then part ways
As you wish, as you see fit. I am a fool
A martyr, a lover with all of his marbles and more
I love you and I want you
I care about you. Open the door
So I can give you more until you’re saturated
Until by love you are filled up and asphyxiated
You hate me and I love you
I wonder if I am not a fool.
Copyright © September 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Prison Of Flesh
Pregnant and constipated
Gagged
Asphyxiated
Want to jump out of my skin
Nonplussed and exasperated
Black bagged
Unenumerated
Everything is without
And I am locked within
Such beautiful clarity is within my life line
No longer asphyxiated by darkness I'm fine
Experiences come frequently with bold exceptionality
I find myself expertly escorted into a new spirituality
Giving and receiving affection on the most simplest of terms
Finding flowing Infinity with perfectly banked turns
Finding deep tranquility in the here and now
Giving my ideal love to all that let me show them how
This has never been a journey without darkening
But in all those that have crossed my path what I've learned has been starkening
With all the words spoken that I've sealed with a kiss
All the verses to paper that my pen does never miss
If your reading this then I humbly invited you
To see the reflection in what I write too
Feel it's meaning as if it was meant for your eyes only
For I possess enough love for the entire world to never again be lonely
and then the world closed in
as she lay vacuum sealed
pumped out with nowhere
to turn to other than
self-inflicted wounds
lost dreams compressed
asphyxiated aspirations
and a last breathless gasp
it was comforting to soak
up the pressure
for pain gave her the impression
that life contained her
and movement had hurt
her weary mind beyond control
you can’t squash me any more
and I can always
implode tomorrow
for a good thing takes
patience and strength
I climb in Suzanne,
She ain't no hippy van,
She's rusty and forgotten
Her soul is slightly rotten
But I believe she's grand.
I turn the key and roar her
Then I beg her like a schnorrer
Won't you let me live inside you
If not own you then to ride you
With life becoming more.
They tell me you're a clunker
And a worn out useless junker
I want you fixed and waxed
With my refund income tax
And life will be so good.
Sleeping in the back
Of my rusty Cadillac
She promises me a meal
in Gorst's finest diner
And a ride o'er the sea
to a place she loves in China
And that's the way to feel.
But I died asphyxiated
From this life liberated
When Suzanne turned herself on
Ran exhaust until the air's gone
And I smiled in my sleep
Eternal and so deep
For only Death is real.
Cold cloak chills
my aged bones it
belies
those crimson eyes
those smoldering orbs
those smoking windows
of despair
and yet
I draw closer
I capitulate
I accede
in the knowing
of what is
and what was
and what will
never be
with one touch I’m
asphyxiated
emasculated
entombed
my ashes
barely glancing
your frozen ground
your dead horizon
your nuclear dust
before they are
pulverized
obliterated
behind the echo
of your
terrifying laugh.
(click on the pic to preview my poetry book!)
Before my breath touches the morning air,
My thoughts in taciturnity upon suppression of solitudes…
Inhibition initiates interdiction within the hibernal hollow,
Where time a frozen fortress amidst the saturninity still.
The covertness of oblivions obedient in their absolution,
Daunting dorms of doldrums debilitate in their debacle…
Where the vaporous voids echo in their virginal vacuums,
The muted madness mandates the asphyxiated air.
Segregated silent sorrows suffice within my chaotic cage.
Where ignorance incubates immoral idols imposing…
The hellion hordes encroach the silent sentinels standing,
The laconism within my heart erupts with forbidden fury.
The silence sings with thunder as a tear touch’s the ground,
My empty eternal eyes dormant amongst horizons hid…
My mind in a decadent declination before walls of illusions,
And thus before a wounded wake, I am trapped in tangled time.
June.23.2020
Reflection in Silence
Sponsored by~ Silent One
Placed 2'nd...Thank You
Ghetto me be a bleating poor refugee,
albeit I’m Goshen rich in faith
Got a manger stall in the USA,
Pilate shepherd of the Cesarian peace
Time stamped stillborn delivery
tis iron Roman numeral four C
Furnace cast existence: bane brand bound
Babylonian condition, a marketplace sound
Fleeced heritage ... sob separated,
I am just the latest stolen cargo generation
being cerulean cloth asphyxiated
By legion overseers of an ungrateful nation
These pyramid gnash, link bled bones
twas being Pharaoh oppressed: Prey worked to death
in a Memphis factory plantation owned
Where noxious hate suffocate poverty-cuffed breath
Be daily double tasked in a graveyard shift
Those pale hearts so addicted
to the golden flask, err tilted
Drunk on power, they cull with a siren sift
O miry, downtrodden me ...
temporally chained to this wavy treachery
Verily, a wretched place for a black sheep —
such cotton weary misery!
So after four centuries of Cain deluge,
I do still tearfully seek
A rainbow ark sacred place of refuge
promised to the meek
Oklahoma City Bombing
25th anniversary
9:02
April 19, 1995
April 19, 2020
Written: By Tom Wright
I only hear the silence as I stride,
twixt granite chairs neatly set in rows.
The 168 chairs epitomize each life,
now neath a sea of grass that grows.
Today my psyche visits this place,
albeit, here, their Spirits do not rest.
However, a Monument and Reflection pool,
usher memories, as if at their behest.
Still I visualize a chain link fence,
with images, blossoms, pandas and such.
A transitory memorial that reaches out,
to asphyxiated lives, as if to touch.
For certain, I dare not challenge,
the eternal rest, of those who sleep.
But pausing at each chair, in silence,
I recall this day's events and weep.
I would to God, that casualties,
could discern today, my thoughts about.
Then from the quiescence of this place,
would emerge an angelic shout.
For I tire of silence.
Education grows into a market,
where parents invest with avarice.
They want a doctor or an engineer,
not a man,
in return.
Artistic sense and athletic spirit
are asphyxiated.
Teachers are accomplices.
Children smolder.
They can’t see
Robert Frost’s two roads.
They learn theories,
except that of living.
Ashes of freedom and
non-sprouting knowledge
remain.
Bachelors of Frustration
multiply
in the competitive world.
There’s a young soul too
among the bats
fluttering from a breadfruit tree.
Sadly,
we repeat,
‘It’s sad.’
First published in The Literary Hatchet
Asphyxiated and found dead
Raped and found dead
Unsure what happened, and found dead
Nepali women found dead
Snake bitten and found dead
Eaten by tigers and found dead
Left in a small dark menstrual hut
And found dead
Nepali women found dead
Shunned and labelled unclean
Ostracized for the wonderful way
God has insured they can have babies
Asphyxiated, raped, snaked, and frozen
And found dead. Someone is not right in the head.
These huts should be torn up and spit out.
Please, people, permanently get these women out!
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