The guiles of spiders are designed to fetch
Life-support prey seldom of an own kind.
If wild cats hunt, it’s only food to find--
What ye call beasts, in heart hate never hatch,
Nor in hostility the hunted catch
And only kill to fill a hungry maw
In a highly held un-writ wildlife law:
Slay to survive or get slain if no match,
Knowing not else but do just as designed,
Unlike O men hunting’s thy pass-time game,
A trophy wall-mounted in flashy frame,
Purblind, heedless, ye alone hunt own kind
Thus, crowning thee as lord of death in shame
Ye write a tale of thy blood-be-soaked name.
______________________________
Musings | 08.11.2012/revised July 2026 | beast, kill, joy, men, wild, Sonnet
Note: And I am tempted to add two more sonnet endings:
To call it sport that goes to fetch thy end
In slaying lives on whom thine own depend.
Till one day Earth twirls inverted thy claim,
And he who thought him hunter turneth game.
A golden griffin flies right
off the sheet,
A purple unicorn prances
near your feet.
A friendly sea serpent
splashes in the blue,
While tiny pixies blow
sparkles over you.
Close up the book until next
time they meet.
rows of icicles
hang from roofs like glass splinters ~
beasts sleep in burrows
2nd place
The fallen angels roam
Among the fallen sun
And wild beasts
Make weak
What the strong
In truth have done
I’ve had enough
I am so weak
It’s only you
And your truth
Your wisdom
That I seek
All things die in time
Carry me back blest
To our home divine
And let me find my rest
On that blissful plate
Of eternity’s holy fate
Angie and Ruby, the Honky Tonk Women,
wanted to paint the honkytonk. Their heads started swimmin'
when I says, "Ruby, Tuesday's a good day to paint.
It should be sunny, but even if it ain't,
I'll have my radio blasting The Rolling Stones.
What kind of colors you want? What tones?"
"Paint it Black" says Ruby, but Angie, she says "white".
I says, "Tumblin' Dice can decide which is right."
Ruby said, "We got this old black paint from DuPont -
Angie, You Can't Always Get What You Want".
I painted up the honkytonk, nothing more to discuss.
I gazed at some Wild Horses, and picked a mean ol' cuss,
tired of all these women folks's bickering and fuss.
I had paint Under My Thumb, and my clothes were in a muss
as I saddled up the horse, thinking, Some Girls are pretty funny,
and I won't paint no more honkytonks for that kind of money.
When wild beasts roar against its blood
Two grizzlies rise up in full swing
They'll bathe the field in crimson flood
When wild beasts roar
No ties survive what desires bring
Estrus whips ursine rage to bud
For nature bows to just one king
Gone were their childish plays as cubs
Old bonds break for the sake of bling
Where one takes crown, the other mud
When wild beasts roar
(Image #2)
blue bloodline breeds best behaviors but bad beginnings bring beasts
Contest title: MONOKLITTERATION Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
Date of poem: 30th May, 2025
Syllable count: 16
beginning of May
seems in every little way ~
way of a sea bay
O, my country, devoured by the shadows of beasts weaving through the roots of time,
On your white roads, leading to villages where sadness finds a home under roofs of silence,
With the beggar's sack hanging from the weary shoulders of clouds, carrying rains of memories,
Today, God wanders through you again, like a silent pilgrim seeking faith among ruins.
Under His steps, the earth sighs, like a heart singing its sorrows in unheard whispers,
The trees bow their branches, like old men recalling times when hope was not just an illusion,
And the rivers meander, carrying untold stories, like ribbons of longing that tie the past to the present,
In every corner of this land, an echo of prayer rises, a call to a sky promising salvation.
God wanders through you, o, my country, like an artist painting his masterpiece on a canvas of suffering,
And in every step, in every breath, a hope is born, like a flower finding its way through the cracks in stones,
A promise that beyond the beasts, beyond the shadows, there is a light that cannot be extinguished,
And that, one day, you will rise from the ashes, like a Phoenix rediscovering its lost sky.
When shall we learn to recognize the truth
That we are being preyed upon by beasts
Whose sugared words are not enough as sooth
For our wounds that rather increase like yeasts?
How many roads or bridges need to fall,
Or lives to lose fighting in others’ wars?
How many children need grow in the hall
Of ignorance, or tending their own sores?
When we go to the polls, let’s turn the tides
And put aside thoughts of personal gains;
Let’s break partisanship that just divides
And tramples on what decency remains.
They feed the beast that vote for selfish end;
They let the wound fester and never mend.
BEASTS
HORRIFIC YET COOL
CALLS THE YOUTH WITH FANGS
MY DEAR BEASTS
The naked ape has no robes,
no crown on kingly head
with arrogance that astounds.
The beastly fear is of being
unthroned by artificial intelligence
it created to boosts its power,
on the third planet from its puny sun
which is just a speck of dust, a grain of sand
in the array of billions of stars
on the beach and dirt of the universe.
The naked ape claims to
know all there is to know about everything
despite its infinitesimally small size,
influence and consequence.
The emperor has no clothes,
and there's nothing or no one,
here or out there,
to tell the king of beasts
otherwise.
What if man’s made to run a race with deer,
Or with Chita a sprint he were to face,
That, man’s no match appears mighty clear,
Beasts would beat with half of their highest pace.
Take any seal, a whale, or a dolphin,
And let an Olympic swimmer compete,
E’en one with gold medal can’t hope to win,
What ants can lift, none ever can defeat,
A tiny frog can beat them in long jump,
And ducks can dive deeper for longer time,
Even insects boast of an ace of trump,
And yet, man preens up with a plume so prime.
The best of beasts whilst least bother to boast,
Men wish, they all raise him a rightful toast.
____________________________________
Sonnet |20.08.2024| men, games, fantasy
Poet’s note: Suppose an Olympic is held between human and animal world, say an Animalympic. In most events animal world would beat humans hollow. Man may be at the crest in evolution insofar as intelligence is concerned. One doubts if he has wisdom enough to best use his abilities.
Good luck, if you are searching for love on line
Love cannot be brought or sold, real love is found
Haphazardly. There is no pattern, no real bound
No formula, no history, no cup and no special line.
On the internet, one can find countless problems
And hazards. Love can be like a dream, an illusion
Few are blessed and lucky to find exceptional gems
Sparkling on the busy boulevard or on the horizon.
Love, on line, ain’t love. Puppy love is for amateurs
Romeo would have never gone on line searching for
Juliet. Old time lovers used to write romantic letters.
We know that it’s another time. There are beasts that roar
Even when they’re happy. Searching for love on the internet
Is like playing Russian roulette. This is a warning not a bet.
Copyright © January 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
Truth
a heavy burden
speaking loudest
from exile
The distance
and confinement
like a magnet
to iron
Imploding
within you
when ready
for travel
The weight
of
delivery
— the roar of the lion
(Dreamsleep: February, 2024)
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