Tread not on me, brother!
To live is to expand.
Deterrence! Slay the Other!
Cold core countermand!
Boots a-click-clack, cobblestone.
Midnight raid and how!
Help the boy to hold his own!
Sacred, O my cow!
Written in the ancient s blood?
Time to cause a flood!
Rill and river, ricin, rud!
Break, fade, flash, firewood!
Bats before the bayonets?
Batons too can kill.
Settle in before she sets?
Providence, thy will.
Wild as any modern force?
Stranger than the sea?
Shift, O river, from thy course?
Not the likes of me!
Covert action! Civilize!
Cut them down to size!
Aim for whites of foemen eyes!
Dare to criticize?
Thunder, roll o'er city street!
Alarums to ring!
Riot team, best ye complete!
Jerk them on the string!
Silent aftermath, thy path.
Kingdom, how ye grew.
Pour out poison on the math!
Hope, need talking to...
Hands tightening, my neck is broken
From the front to the back his batons a choken
Fear in my body for my posture is a slopen
Cheer in the voices from the violence of hate
Screaming death to us all, it must be our fate
Hollering for mama to open the gate.
See you later they said, just you wait.
Get on home boys, he said and don’t be late.
No where to run,
I guess they were having fun,
I got you now boy, they said it was a gun.
Sincerely, from the grave, your loving little son
White flags with invincible dots of black.
Dark clouds covering the sky's slack,
Hunting down every tear shed
only to end up faking the perfect smile.
Lines; lining up to make longer lines
in queues of different shapes of life.
Lines; lining up in ascending order
in comparison to different stages of life.
Longer; it increases,
As life pierces with spears,
Then sobers up in tears.
Long — longer than infinity,
With past passing batons,
Creating different seasons,
From falling to rising,
To rising to fall,
Then failing to succeed…
Longer; again it increases,
Fitting into each season,
With happenings happening for a reason
Because
He — the Maker — takes these long lines
to mould the perfect shape
That will align with the lines needed
To make it all radiate at the finish line.
She is quite the Mistress of the air, synchronize swimming where Eagles dare-stare, no need for landing batons or clearance, she has her own flare.
She wraiths the hapless night and the brilliance of day, rakes the sky, knowing her beauty laid, showcased on big screenery-
rewards God with a show bow and cloud kiss of why His All Knowingness plays, ~The Mistress (proud)
For God's sake, we all make mistakes
We all commit inmumerable errors
Nobody is perfect, everybody is under the sticks
Like the old days in the school of horrors
Where students are mistreated or beat with wires
With sticks, belts, whips, rigoises, batons and fires
Because they burn your skin when you get hit
It is a shame that kids got punished out of hate
Love never hurts, love triggers hope and success
Sometimes, we find ourselves in a mega mess.
We all make mistakes. Let's forgive and forget
Let's continue to move and pay the musty debt
To society. Apologies do not heal old internal
Wounds, but they help soothing the past blows
We all make mistakes. We must not be in denial
However, we must fight for better tomorrows
When we have thick skin, the sky is not the limit
There is a bright light and hope after every defeat.
Copyright © February 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Manhã
A Consultora,
na manhã
que aflora,
maneja
os sonhos,
feito pérolas
em um colar...
Pincéis, batons,
sombras, como
pétalas ao vento,
em cada gesto,
um sopro de
encantamento e
no dia a dia,
tece um
lindo manto,
sempre, sempre,
mais e mais.
God! Why did you ever bring me here?
I know starched khaki: how it looks like.
Cop’s pistol looks much like woman’s purse
But in its chambers not face powder…
God! What makes it sweet I should be here?
Pin-sharp eyes search me for a cheap strike:
Next, a clever charge and self I curse;
With the stench in cell room wails louder...
God! Next time, help escapes of the sought,
The batons cops brandish not a friend;
On my head exploded a cracked skull,
Not a pleasing sight back with a whack…
Not likely my appearance in court,
My pocket dry case comes to an end.
Right now a noon blessed with a sky dull:
Handcuffs I hate for image they hack.
On the 16th of September 2022 Mahsa Amini 22 was arrested by the so called morality police in Iran, because some of her hair was showing from beneath her head scarf
3 days later she died in an Iranian hospital, after been beaten over the head with batons, whilst in morality police custody
A morality police spokesman denied responsibility, but said they must enforce this religious law because if women do not dress properly, then men could get provoked and harm them,
Women in Iran, and all over the world are now protesting against her murder, some hacking off their own hair, and refusing to wear head scarves.
An estimated 185 people women included, have died in Iran since the protests began after Mahsa’s death.
morality police
to overestimate her guilt ~ is to underestimate their filth
burnt her wings she can’t fly away ~ now her stumps make angels in the clay
By
David Kavanagh
Shall I forget my asking a brother:
“Who of The Two has A Much Taller Order?”
And Dairy Hand mishandled An Udder,
For round spinning to watch Close Adder…
Martin Luther and Nelson Mandela,
If they were Fidelis - Fidelia,
Then Stark Crudity of South Africa
Matched Mixed Decency of America
And True killers, sometimes reasonable,
Same as Searching Eyes for The Treasonable;
Or would one Some Healthy Type Writer
Praise like Zealous Breathless Writer?
More air outside The Cell for Martins,
Nelson in Dark Prison with Batons.
Martin Luther could time find for Quotes,
Nelson Mandela for The Word that floats...
And one had had A Far-Too-Funny Wife
That drew a picture of Another Strife,
The bizarre assembling for journalists;
For her Cosmetics the longest lists...
There always is some First Among Equals:
The same family but Yells aren’t Squalls…
Seasonal batons on planet earth are what they are.
Their 'meets' are annually, and they like to compete.
They have lots of freedom, but are well coached.
All four of them are united in their 'events'.
Each one has special roles to meet their goal.
They are from the same stock but each is unique.
She may wet you, wind you, or even hurricane you,
but all things being equal, Autumn is my kind of season.
082522PS
Armed to kill with their guns and batons,
How can we defend ourselves against them,
Hooligans in uniforms with weapons,
Police preaching peace and protection,
Yet proving themselves a constant contradiction,
As they beat up defenseless innocence,
And are feared by the mayority of the nation.
Who protects the people from the police?
Why are violent thugs given authority?
We give them the power, we let them be,
Turn a blind eye when your friend leaves the cells,
Battered, bruised, black and blue,
No questioning the law, too scared to sue,
There would be less danger on the streets,
If we unarmed the police,
If we took back our own authority, of our lives,
Realise that its our choice,
To continue believing the hype,
Why should we live in fear and lose our independence?
I refuse to abide when I dont agree,
I refuse to conform,
How can it be a crime to disobey,
This means that we are slaves?
Freewill is inexistent nowadays,
I wouldnt want to bring a child to this world,
Where infants are anulled to become consumers,
Slaves who keep the cog turning...
Its sad, but we are born into a prison.
In a relay race, someone selects the baton;
And someone selects the runners.
The runner neither selects himself,
nor chooses his own baton.
He/She carefully receives the baton
and runs his/her fastest to the finish.
100521PSCtest, Bite Size Poem No. 22, Line Gauthier
Twirling their flashing batons in a fabulous fashion
Two high steppers with tasseled boots led the parade
All of us third grade girls wanted white boots now
And a full short skirt with matching panties
And naturally, the giant glitzy light up baton.
Only one of us got a light up baton
It was too heavy for her to lift
which was a bit of consolation for the rest of us.
Especially those of us who had not gotten the boots either.
Fear or embrace? What you don’t understand. The man or woman, on the street, tasked to protect our meat, wear stars to proclaim their feat. They don’t have the time to decide what they see, is a threat to you and me. What’s the answer to using tasers or obsolete batons, instead of deadly force, that closes the door.Look to other countries where sons and daughters spend mandatory time in military or polezi. No time for them to party or turn into a crack whore. Who would shoot their own sons, daughters, when they fell out of line, even if tricked out of their mind. Could fear and initial drawing of the Glock, be replaced by understanding embrace before walking that walk? Isn’t the fabric of society on a time clock?
Black Americans marching on the street
protest white cops on a black killing spree.
And many will likely be gassed or beat:
to unlock change; unity is the key.
The racist hounds of hell have been let loose,
and Death's icy breath chills blacks to their bones.
Risking being found hanging from a noose:
they march unarmed amidst batons and stones.
Some white suburbanites are angry, too,
outing bigotry; they stand side by side.
History will note what the blacks went through,
memorializing the tears they've cried.
The rights of their children are what's at stake;
and those rights no one has the right to take!
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