You smiled for the world, but your eyes carried the weight of unopened doors.
I knew your silence before you ever spoke.It had a heartbeat, slow and tired, asking for somewhere safe.
Come sit beside me. Lay your burdens here.
You don't have to hide the hurt I can see it without you saying a word.
Your smile is tired. Your heart is heavy. You've been strong for far too long.
I am not here to mend what life has broken.Some fractures become part of us,like rivers carving stone.
You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to pretend. You only have to breathe.
Some wounds don't disappear. They simply need a quiet place to rest.
Stay as long as you need.
If tears come, let them fall.
If silence comes, let it stay.
Sometimes healing begins with one person who says,
"I see your pain, and you don't have to carry it alone." I taste your truth.
The grief with no funeral.The apology never spoken.The child still waiting to be chosen.
The soul was never meant to survive alone. For this moment,
I am the asylum of your ache.
Asylum from Venezuela’s Instability, Had No Criminal Record
I fled a Country made of Storm—
Where Bread became a Prayer—
And Nights were stitched with Sirens’ Thread
That only Fear could wear—
My Name was clean as Morning’s Hand
When it unties the Dew—
No Shadow followed at my Heel
No Crime my Breath once knew—
The Streets forgot their Gentle ways
The Law forgot my Face—
And Hunger learned to speak in Guns
Where Children asked for Grace—
So I escaped the Trembling Door
Where Hope was priced in Gold—
And crossed the Map with nothing but
A Heart that would not fold—
O Liberty—if Thou be real—
Then open wide Thy Gate—
For Innocence is Homeless now
And knocks—before too late.
At one point in time, there's was one country
As there's one earth, one rainbow and one human race
The wind, rain, smoke, and snow don't recognize
Borders or tiny plots of land that greedy leaders
Think they possess. They will always make errors
Nobody owns a country, tower, a location or a place
As one can only palaver. We can scuttlebutt and dramatize
All we want. Earth or this land is owned by nobody
This land belongs to all. We are passing by as tourists
We are all migrants or immigrants, even the racists
Or the wannabes. We are wayfarers, passengers on a boat
We own nothing. We own no land, no wind and no float
We need to make room for each other. Today is your turn
Tomorrow belongs to no one. This is something we must learn.
Copyright © June 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Christmas rose, Iphianassa suffers in her soul’s asylum, your elixir the only
panacea for fox-skinned maínomai
Lonely sawsan, proud swords erected in red dead rivers of brotherly love,
refugees granting asylum to lost birthrights
Tempestuous mirella, vagrant sadist cutting Cheshire grins
into your fantasies, il mio timore più grande era che io morissi prima di te
Peaceful kardi, atlas moths sway against Solomon’s palms, carrying
pollinated songs to queens of sun-born blackness in Amana’s sanctuary
I ain't normal, not even close
not even as a child, played with dolls
and paper cut-outs but I always decapitated
them (do you remember mother?)
finding the head of my sister's Clarabell
doll floating in the utility sink in the
basement but my tedddy, my teddy how I beat him
until he came into my young child's dreams to
seek revenge and you destroyed him for me mother
you used a kitchen knife to cut him to pieces and
made me watch (do you remember mother?)
it was so sad, so strange watching teddy's
stuffing falling into the wastebasket
He was my only friend and you killed him, MOTHER!!!
At 22 you had me sent to an asylum because I (you said)
threatened to kill you but I couldn't/wouldn't do that
because you killed teddy for me (do you remember mother?)
He was my only friend
As long as I still have ...
Breath to breathe
Songs to sing
Words to write
Thots to think
... and poems to unveil,
I shall attempt in simple nomenclator
to commensurate this tale.
Simply put. Life is hell in a nutshell.
Insane asylum, oh asylum,
Your walls hum with despair,
In echoes carved by silent screams,
A piece of me is there.
A shard of light, a tethered flame,
Clings to what I used to be,
But shadows rise with grasping hands,
And plead to set it free.
Oh asylum, cruel and kind,
Guard my soul; let it rest,
For if I lose this fractured mind,
Perhaps I’ll find my best.
Insane asylum, oh asylum,
Your corridors twist and bind,
A labyrinth where whispers crawl,
And pieces of me unwind.
I teeter on the brink of voids,
A precipice so steep,
Caught between the chaos’ roar,
And where the silences weep.
Oh asylum, cradle my cries,
Subdue the storms inside,
For though I ache to let it go,
I dread the hollow tide.
Insane asylum, oh asylum,
Reveal the truths untold,
In the crucible of my breaking,
Forge a spirit bold.
From ashes rise a phoenix cry,
Defiant in the night,
Let madness sing its hymn to life,
And set the heavens alight.
:: 11.22.2024 ::
His life came to a ruinous end
Plummeted into insanity
The red-bearded painter
With his self-hatred, despair and desperation for understanding
He drank yellow paint thinking it would make him happy
Locked up in a mental asylum that would shatter any person’s self-belief
Deceived Vincent cut his earlobe in an unforeseen calamity
But he channelled the awful torment into beauty
Immaculate and sublime
To find ecstasy in the ordinary
And in transforming the banal into a magical masterpiece
The Starry Night, Sunflowers, Self-Portrait, The Potato Eaters, Wheatfield with Crows, Irises, The Bedroom in Arles
Each a genius’s masterstroke into Eternity
A jumble of love, sorrow and rage
Painting the canvas in bold strokes as his heart and mind burst into flames
The King of colour, a whisper into the future unheard in his times
He died in a rut with voices all over his mind.
So, he picked up the gun
And the bullet went straight into his golden heart
Wonder how many colours lost their lives on that day?
For their own good and for the good of society.
They used to put the mentally unstable away.
Society evolved; they closed the asylums.
Releasing the unstable into society.
Now we've got tent cities brimming with instability.
These are strange and sensitive times...people.
Society was much happier when it was light-hearted and high.
But eventually somebody had to go back to work.
Back in the day, people were somewhat genuine.
Now its all-saccharine grins and plastic handshakes.
If you don't stay within the ever-changing lanes, they'll hamstring your life.
You've still got your soul
but your soul never put food on the table.
It is in the hottest month of April, The hot sun is disappearing slowly, Suddenly the sky is covered by clouds,
Mother is rushing towards the upstairs,
Tasty sago fryums are drying there, The south -west monsoon wind blows swiftly, Hot summer thunder is roaring loudly, Bright lightning is plucking the eyes, The cattle are running towards the sheds , Birds are taking asylum at the trees, A dust storm is circling the narrow streets, The nearby transformer bursts noisily, The entire domain is in dense darkness, No wonder,it's the sign of summer rain.
Stars twinkling their eyes to see the twilight of amazing asylum
Away in an asylum
No release from his bed
Poor Fred can't escape
The loud voice in his head
The medic’s crowd round
By the bed where Fred lay
They admit they can’t help
There's no treatment today
Doctors are convinced
He’s not mentally ill
So they cannot assist him
There’s no magic pill
The voice they discover
Belongs to Fred’s wife
She’s so overbearing
And causes great strife
Docs are in agreement
That they fear for Fred’s life
He’ll stay with them fee free
To escape from his wife!
Fred loves the asylum
He lives there to this day
If his wife comes to visit
Staff just turn her away!
Born in the broken hut of an old story
he persists as a writing,
as words hammered from his own breath.
There is not enough
of the right kind of madness in the world,
too much reasonableness has led to
an increasing violence.
He spoke as if he knew,
but the writer but scribbled his mind
barely thinking, only persevering.
He arrives in the cradle of each morning
fully clothed in words
as a somebodies best and worst idea
yet
only the most keen eared of souls
will know how deeply
he is walled-in
by dread and an appalling silence.
Every busy city needs a vigilante,
Every seething cauldron needs a ladle,
Evil lurks in the dark,
It attacks like a shark.
Gotham city needs a defense,
Batman needs a place,
To house the assailant,
To take them away from the city’s terrain
Arkham asylum has held the fort,
Like a rope held taut,
The villain, it has held bound,
As many as could be found.
Some scoundrels escaped,
They were trailed and taped,
The road led to the asylum,
Securely reinforced to the maximum.
January 13, 2023.
Gotham City’s criminally insane -
like Mr. Freeze, Penguin, and Hugo Strange -
Each definitely had a twisted brain.
Gotham City’s criminally insane
did time in Arkham Asylum in vain.
Did any of them ever see a change?
Gotham City’s criminally insane -
like Mr. Freeze, Penguin, and Hugo Strange.
January 11, 2023
For The Arkham Asylum Poetry Contest
of Robert James Liguori
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