Faith’s cozy cottage
lies deep in the woods
Beckons trembling hearts
to partake of her Goods
Allays palpitations
assuages all fears
As she calms, as she tames
fresh rivers of tears
Quest be, will we exist ... 'tis hit or miss
be of a lifetime. I gave no degree
of my retractions that constants amiss
my seeing yon desk an intimacy
be measured as the worth of passages.
A ponderous virtue partook a smile
that placed atop lap held, arched assuages,
instantly noted, that after a while,
what had parted yon me cannot have gone
unnoticed, mainly, in closeness to me.
I barely moved; could one part day from dawn.
A book was returned, oh my, could it be?
Not lap or arched back, he stares at the floor,
torn mind as a book sits unfound once more.
Be the star that brightens someone’s dark sky,
Be the light that illuminates a gloomy night,
Be the flame of compassion to life gone awry,
Even if you don’t think your candle is bright.
Despair not in a world gripped in jaws of woe
For beyond hills of grief dwells halo of hope,
Be the spring that rises through wintry throe,
Even when struggling in laments hard to cope.
Be the forest that grows through ashes of fire,
Be the dream that assuages angst of nightmare,
Be the angel of goodwill when times are dire,
Even when fate, callously, ignores your prayer.
Be not pain of misery, be not voice of dismay,
From goals of life revered, you must not stray,
Wish not for anyone, horizons shrouded gray,
Even while a storm drenches your sunny day.
Sometimes, we have to be brave to say hello,
To a neighbor or a stranger who won't respond.
At times, we have to wave at the ducks in the pond,
Without being sprayed with spittle or water of coco.
Sometimes, we bow our head to greet a teacher,
A president, priest, a pastor, a general or an elder.
At times, we remove our hat to salute the brave flag,
To show reverence, respect, love, affection and to brag.
Be dauntless to initiate kindness or to offer the first step.
There is an ineffable inner feeling that assuages the heart
When we do so. We feel good and strong to take on a schlep.
Be gallant to say hello to the hillbilly bullies at the laundry mart,
Because they fear people with good manners and friendly gestures.
By overcoming superficial phobias, we will enjoy peaceful pastures.
Copyright © January,2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
It was ignored and should've been honored for years
but often overlooked because of heartaches and tears.
In a veiled interval overlapping months without end
is the fifth season, offering us hope that transcends.
There are no decorations hung to welcome it back
because it's always around when our lives get off track.
It's a great source of optimism when we need to cope,
although no one heralds this season called 'Hope.'
It exists but never will be found on calendar pages.
For those who don't give up, it calms and assuages.
It can't exactly be identified with months or dates
but offers a better future than any of the three fates.
Hope encourages those in need without banquet or feast
and helps us endure when furrowed brows are creased.
No one receives an invitation to commemorate its worth
but in times of trouble, it is sought and brought forth.
No greeting cards with cheesy sentiments are written
nor hearts of chocolate candy to show one is smitten.
No one worships the season with prayer on bent knees
but with faith, our troubled minds, Hope will appease.
November 11, 2022
The Fifth Season Contest
Sponsored by Anthony Biaanco
BEGINNING OF EVERYTHING
Sleep comes as a welcome guest
Who assuages in some measure
The prolonged stage of pain
Within the straits of breathless grief.
The one at final rest starts a journey
Beyond the narrow confines
Within the dimmed space
Out to the open prairie of a sunlit
Horizon, unknown to those who
Wait behind until their time
Of reaching home.
They are present visitors to a finite place,
Where the hours rush by
Without thought for the future,
Before they too embark on
The adventure to a distant shore.
The end is a beginning,
And signifies the end
Of things which do not
Correspond with
The beginning of everything.
Everything that was, is
And now is come to pass.
I'm not a real poet
just as Pinocchio wasn't a real boy
but for our hearts and faith
we live life in full awareness coy
a revelation of ourselves in bold deploy;
with this arsenal of dreams and hopes
we yield a rendition beyond simple idea copes,
and we merge and blend inner secret expression
of who we truly are within our own egressions
living on the edge of time and space intervention;
so let us have our dreams
mindful enterprise and thriving schemes
as we purloin the words and phrases
pretending we contain the wisdom of the sages
in a sequence of interactive rhyme assuages;
so here it lay,
a poetic urge openly on display
that poetry lives in each and every one of us,
it's just a question of appreciation and trust
in the wordings that we say.
No nap, no nap, no nap, she shouts
With all that she can muster;
At not-yet-2, though she insists,
She's much too young to trust 'er.
I put it off and read some books;
She helps and turns the pages.
I give a warning - just 2 more,
To hope that it assuages.
I pull the shade and pick her up
And in the crib I place her.
I gently shut the door and leave,
So I don't have to face her.
For how she howls! Indignant that
Her wish was not respected;
But in 5 minutes she's asleep,
About what I expected.
A little introduction to
The world, for, like today,
There'll be a million other times
She will not get her way.
Little time it takes
So little effort
And blessings come
To mind with glad recall.
Daily cares obscure
A few tried moments
But happy thoughts
Obliterate them all.
Thoughts of home
And precious hearts
In concert
Days of spring
And woods alive with song
Faith's cleansed eyes
That see One Love
Victorious
Challenged now to bring
Dear friends along.
Father knows
And this each pain
Assuages
Timing His
And time will prove it good
Just give thanks
Though dark
The skies appearing
Sunshine comes
Exactly when it should.
DISAPPEARED
Wrenched
Disappeared
Gone
A heart left behind
Forever bleeds
No comforting words
No nearness
Assuages
The horror
The loneliness
The despair
Soft and tender
Lovely to touch
But close to thorns
By the streams
Lies her breathe and
Flows kindly like water birds
Stages in the sky blues
In the isles of passion
Full of a thousand charms
Assuages courage and
Is of the cardiac
How ironic!
A pleasing dream of valor
Worthy achieving
But her long spells irk readers
Lives in the space sanctuary
Only traced by pink lovers
As she is bloused in virgin shades
Sporting my victimization
After carefully shopping around
I select a tasty flavor
And I wear it with a frown
The hollowness assuages
Quantum power drains from me
I love being a victim
And wallowing in my misery
I get to avoid thinking
As I play the "poor me" game
And I get to be as powerless
As someone living life to blame
Terrorists or the Devil
Even God doesn't like me
It's written there in Genesis
He's sorry he created humanity
It's all those Liberals fault
Or the Conservatives to blame
Or they don't like my skin color
Or the government wants to take me away
If I could just make it to Heaven
That's when my misery will end
I'll be God's favorite victim
And never have a think again
[I've played most of those roles at one time or another during
my life, so I get to make fun of it now]
~Two chairs staring at each other…empty.
Meters away, dark fog gathers to choke their
fired gazes piercing the needles of discord
strewn on the caving floor both mute, raging…
both divided by scrolls of dead sea syllables that
gradually, a quivering throat assuages
another tattered heart lost in the mist
of anger; moving without movement on such
a sulfur night: and the chairs creak
in anticipation of hands tasting
a pour of balm. Till words ramble ,“
I am sorry,” his hands pleading
like a sonata of crying winds. Light
touches light once, twice--and her hand
reaches out ... a nearness of their skin groping .
Two chairs move closer and await
quarrel's mercy as starglow grants
lovers the warmth of forgiving embraces.
For Lover's Quarrel Contest
Sponsor: Lewis Raynes
Those motel memories return.
The colored comic pages opened first
And water bubbling in an urn
And powdered coffee slaking my communion thirst.
Montana windswept plains outside.
Stark desolation’s existential rites within.
But earth I’ve trekked since then rolls wide:
And prayer, not newsprint, now assuages sin.
Stalking him,
Always now,
In the daylight, or down city street, no matter.
Sleek- a panther, its coat cast obsidian under a moon in anarchy.
Behind him, or in front,
Clutching deeply until each appendage of self falls victim;
The brain, the belly
And the heart unwittingly surrenders.
And the heart.
For although it assuages his fear
It absorbs the essence of the spirit.
It has given inexplicable sorrow a name.
And although the symptoms are in juxtaposition
Nonetheless it defines the nature of his disease;
In this he has found the substance for his epitaph.
And you, who are behooved by deadly youth's penchant for morbidity,
Seize now, his eyes, glance for glance,
And answer this question which binds his life to a name.
Who can be so blind as to assume
That one is amongst the living because you see him walking?
B ecause his lungs expand and so much toxic air is absobed
And expelled?
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