Best Aftermaths Poems
She is not made of atoms,
but aftermaths—
the kind that linger in a room long after
the lights remember to flicker back on.
Her spine?
An origami of fallen yesterdays,
creased by collapse,
but folded forward into flight.
They call it resilience,
but she knows better—
it’s architecture,
a cathedral of nerve built from
"this will not break me,"
hummed on repeat until it didn’t.
She speaks fluent scar.
Not in pity,
but in translation.
She translates grief into gardens,
anger into architecture,
your silence into a symphony
with minor keys,
because sadness, too, deserves an audience.
Her empathy is not soft.
It is surgical.
It sees you,
sutures you,
and leaves you with just enough scar
to remember you survived.
And her creativity?
It’s less coloring-book, more quantum mechanics.
She rearranges particles of pain
into poetry,
invents emotions that haven’t been named yet,
spins metaphors out of moonlight
and missed calls.
She is the punchline of a cosmic joke
you didn’t know you were telling—
a glitch in the matrix
that decided to build a garden in the code.
Not here to be understood,
but to unmake the question.
Not here to fit—
but to fracture the mold
and plant sunflowers in the cracks.
She is not your mirror.
She is your prism.
Try to define her—
and she will refract.
Soul
Breaking
Lies whispered,
Seeking escape,
Soaked in caged deceit;
Mimes mocking withering
Posies, left parched and sundered—
Suspended beneath obscured dusks,
Dripping amidst blinding aftermaths,
Idly shadowed by lewd scars of talons
Amidst alcoves of echoing nocturnes
Unshackled by your sweet afterglow,
Healing me with the elixir
Of our dawning horizons,
Strumming eurythmic tunes,
Suppressing starless
demons, betwixt
Soul-stirring
Destined
Love.
Each day presents a choice of paths
As we journey through life’s meadow,
Seldom do we foresee the aftermaths
Making our way in sun and shadow,
Knowing not what the future may hold
With certainty, we valiantly press on
Placing one foot after another, boldly,
Through eve’s night and morrow’s dawn,
Until time comes to stop and rest awhile
To reflect on the paths we chose to take,
We find ourselves greeting with a smile
Most of the decisions we chose to make.
Hopefully, the better choices outweighed
Overall, we took the right paths,
A swath of right and just decisions laid
With no one accusing us of the aftermath.
Written October 1, 2022
[Thanks to Mr. Robert Frost for
inspiration to write this poem.]
My demeanor, the aftermaths of recklessness
A child once, a man to soon
The glory to my name gone, the grace faded
Change do I offer no opposition to
Derogatory remarks, have I afforded restraint
A new cry heard; my steps subtle.
Your age, can I speak not of
Every moment, filled with more youth than the first
Memories created; gems remembered
Your hand in mine, a single entity we formed
For each other, were our lives
The joy spent, a cost to you.
A meeting of hearts, the night inspired
The ecstasy unspoken, but felt
Our naivety the error, unconsidered
An unthought conception, implanting itself
Impulse driving our passion, forth
Creators we became; the end I found.
Your figure lost, its voluptuousness
Atrocious had you seemed, to my young mind
The tips of your caress on my palm, offered no connection
Conditions to my love, a reality
Together could we be, never again
The burden was yours, my eyes were free.
To witness I chose, an obligation it was
The lights so bright, intensity I felt
Your tears and screams, nourishing life
The mistake shadowed, by bare beauty
My hands were gifted with purity; my luggage fallen
Reconciliation was to late, but my hands knew no release.
My depart planned, my destination unmoved
His gentle touch, redirecting my path
The regrets unknown, my chin's resemblance I admire
Your forgiveness, I do not desire
Mutual feelings, the base of our relations
A conditional love, the root of an unconditional one.
Once a burden, now a source of joy
The end of had I decided, devoid of reconciliation
His subtle cries, owning my love.
Sometimes, I want to tell you.
Laying by your side, it’s a mystery to explain
Why I gave up my poetry for so long.
It’s a mystery to explain why I told you my mother is dead,
When I really don’t know what happened to her in those jungles.
I loved you, telling you everything I knew about myself,
Only to find, as the years went on, how little I really knew.
I can’t dream of my father, his face was blown off by an
Anonymous enemy rifle before a picture could be taken.
I don’t have the voice to sing songs to you,
Or the stories, to tell our children who their grandparents
Really were.
The past has no gifts for me except an amnesiac’s freedom.
History has been swallowed into a speculative grave-
I don’t have a trace anymore, except the tales of strangers
Who saw my heritage slowly burned away
Timber by timber.
Here I sit alone
Alone in the dark
No light anywhere
Not even a little spark
The lights went out
Halfway through the storm
Life tomorrow will be
Nothing like the norm.
Hurricane Zeta
Came through with a fury
To the shelter
We must go in a hurry
The winds were so strong
And blew with such might
Listening to the howling winds
All through the night
When morning came
Without the normal lights
Looking around you at
The aftermaths fright
Trees were blown down
And powerlines snapped
Moving along carefully
As not to get zapped
2 days so far we've gone
Without electricity
Who knows how long
It will continue to be.
10/30/2020
As His Young Fan Stood, Terror In His Heart
Coming home from war a different man
his only son, by far his biggest fan.
Yet horror of war deaths in his mind dwell
death of his brothers, war's mad, raging hell!
Blood and guts in war's horrific display
screams in dying, as they began to pray.
Helpless to save brothers, his dearest friends
brought violent seizures, gut wrenching bends.
As his young fan stood, terror in his heart
nothing helped, no wisdom could he impart.
One more victim of war stood there in fear
afraid that his father's death had drawn near.
With God's love and grace he said, "Son, please pray
for the blessing that you'll not face war someday."
Robert J. Lindley, 10-16-2017
Sonnet, (War Horrors And Its Aftermaths)
AMASOWONMWAN
At arm's, I am but your brethren,
Ne pas comrade
Pour food, most have sold
Their Honors for gold
Others, a pot of pottage
The tree only bends to the wind
Because it doesn't know how to do otherwise
Ainsi be wise, precautions taken
Births no aftermaths
You are not your father's son
Lest, you wear the family's emblem
Upright;
Off white greyish, ripen with time
Solely relying on faith
Hoping for the best,
Yet ignoring all good
Seeing nothing right with better.
Amasowonmwan
Strangers shan't lay a curse on you,
Nor take your portion
A few know your real names?
Iten edo
Even the gods forbid that a father bury a son
But then also
The child is the father of the man
Alright?
The darker the skin colour
The deeper the roots,
For sour sweet tastes the truth
Like rumor, solid liquid smells it flavour
Symbolisms of our ancestral struggle.
Fear what you know
Not the unknown,
All these and more
Are reasons why people drown
At ovia river.
ghops
Bathing with Bathsheba
By Mark D. Stucky
As you bathed bare below the high palace
were you intentionally seductive?
The citadel was in plain view,
and so apparently were you.
Or were you simply innocent,
and the king abused his power?
Was it a me-too moment
those three millennia ago?
Nonetheless, you became complicit
in David’s paternity cover-up.
You closed your eyes to consequences
of a conspiracy plotting betrayal,
and unfortunate Uriah
lost both his “lamb” and his life.
When David’s resulting infant
died from a fateful illness,
did you whole-heartedly mourn
for your late husband and child?
Did you desire a do-over
to undelete their ended lives?
. . .
But is today a we-too moment?
Are Americans all Bathshebas?
Will we bathe in regrets for sins
of commission and omission,
over our actions and inactions,
flirting deliberately with danger
or acting intentionally ignorant?
As a complicit collective,
with democracy endangered
by a groper and his groupies
and eyes carelessly closed
to gun and climate violence,
will we grieve aftermaths
with broken, anguished hearts?
(See also my poems "The 2023rd Psalm" and "The Art of the Devilish Deal.")
(Edited photo taken originally by hike4life687 on Pixabay.)
All of the aftermaths occur after the wake of a bunch of terrible events: Hurricane
Katrina, the September 11th attacks in New York City, War in Iraq, and others. these types
of tragic events and a bunch of aftermaths have been around since the day the world was
created by God. There's no telling what will happen next if these tragedies keep coming
unexpectedly and stuff. It seems to all of the Americans today that after these tragedies
like the deaths of their loved ones, the deaths of most U.S. soldiers, Hurricanes Ike and
Rita destroying Houston, Texas, these people are trying to deal with the loss of their
homes and other people have been mourning the loss of the ones who've lost their lives to
these tragic events or by the hands of evil people. The aftermath of those events have
been haunting the lives of all U.S. citizens since day one. What makes most people sad is
that they have to deal with the fact that their loved ones are gone and other people are
still trying to deal with the fact that America almost lost its innocence, even after
9-11. These events have been talked about on the news at 5:00 p.m., 6:00 p.m., and 9:00
p.m. This is so wrong, especially for us Americans. Tragedies and the aftermath of all
heartbreaking tragedies are starting to make us even more sad and depressed. Everybody
doesn't like it. And if all types of tragedies continue to rise and there's going to be
more aftermaths after those tragedies or whatever, we'll be in for a rude awakening.
Today I wrote a valentine to myself
Happiness as I sealed the envelope;
For to truly love', one must first love themself
I placed the valentine in the drawer of my vanity
Thinking I may need it on a stormy day
I sat on the chair, looked in the mirror and brushed my hair
I took notice there were not many lines,
though the vibrancy had once left me
The door I closed so tight on his love took many years to do
and when it was over,
through a near by window, the sun!
Today I wrote a valentine to myself
and I must admit I rather enjoyed a chocolate
Suddenly,there was a faint rap upon my door
And when I opened it stood the most handsome gentleman I've ever known in my life
I could tell that he had missed me though a kiss I was unsure if he would like
I politely asked if he would like a chocolate?
He accepted
We talked of school days and it was nice
I asked him not to say a word about the chocolate but somehow, I knew he would
He waved Bye to me and said, Okay Grandma!
Its times like these when your know your heart is alive and able to give
For sometimes such beautiful things come from past tragedies
It is just God's way
I see it nearly every day
I somehow believe that many aftermaths have a snow, white dove
Faith, hope and love
And the greatest of these three is love...
We cowardly witnessed the genocide of many human beings
Live, live, live in real time
That was an odious, callous and vicious crime
We said nothing, absolutely nothing about the sad and awful events
Many of us were either silent or complacent about everything
Even God was absent and quiet. He did nothing, nothing
Evil doers are not humane; they are hardcore criminals
We witnessed the bombings of babies, buildings and animals
We saw the massacres and the aftermaths. We could smell the blood
And could hear the cries coming out of the television screens
We saw the live and dead bodies, the hearts, the livers and the spleens
Rotting and spoiling in the filthy streets. The color of the mud
Is grim and abnormal, because of too much sufferings and tears
Too much pain and misery, too much disgust and shame
Too much atrocities and killings. We all know whom to blame
We know who are responsible for so much evilness and wrongdoings
Humanity got thrown out of the window in this part of the universe
We wonder if these two legged machines have a heart and a soul
We wonder if they ever look in a mirror, in a clear pool
We wonder how it would be if everything were to happen in reverse
Where is God? Why this ignominious silence?
Live, live, live in real time
That’s an odious, egregious and beastly crime
How can anybody sleep at night? That makes no sense
These days, everything is live, eerie, vivid and instantaneous
Grotesque things are never acceptable, admissible and hilarious
We want peace and we dream of peace
But the guilty ones must pay from west to east
And from north to south. We want peace and justice.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to Love, Peace, Equality and Justice.
Copyright © June 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
My friends warn me
I’d warn myself
You’re a bad boy
Smoking, drugs, and tattoos
I couldn’t help myself
Tried to ignore the nagging
But baby it was just so much
Couldn’t drown the demands of my heart
Don’t know why? Don’t care why?
But its you
My heart, body, and soul wants
My parents disapprove
Told me not to see you
My friends say I’m crazy
Drools when they see you
You told me to stay away from you
Too good
Too innocence
Too beautiful
To be touch by you
Your life
Your so called friends
And family
Bad boy you are
But you are mine
I won’t leave you ever
Told me what’s good for me
Was to forget about you
Forgetting you
Is impossible boy
You are like a drug in my veins
As times pa$s I need more and more
Of you
I love you, you told me
I was the first to see all of you
The first to hear it all
So why push me away
When you declared
“I can’t live without you”
This is the recognition of a good girl
Marking a bad boy
A bad boy caught in my innocence
Not caring the aftermaths
Just happy together
No parents, no laws
Nothing can separate me
And my bad boy
We’re forever him and I
Forever
Death won’t do us part
Nothing but a good girl
Falling for a bad boy
Nothing but a bad boy
Loving a good girl
Give peace a chance, will those of nobility declare
Intelligence of spirit, who could ever compare
Valiantly fighting the evil in the world, unwilling to fail
Earnestly helping those needy, without ever becoming frail
Peacefully sacrificing time and energy without ever reconsidering
Endangering themselves to constantly make a difference
Antagonizing the establishment for an instance
Coming home with battle scars to wear and none to share
Emphasizing they are not heroes, only that "they care"
Angering all others, for showing they disagree
Considering the options with nowhere to hide
Hiroshima and its aftermaths, would never subside
Attempting to disrupt, what those warmongers insist
No necessity to justify, the results do persist
Coming full circle does our world continue to exist
Ending in oblivion, if we don't learn how to desist
There is rumbling in the skies
It’s not thunder
Babies sound a chorus of cries
Where is mother?
They have mastered the drill
To take cover
Prayer the only sanctuary, they stay still
Survive or wander
There is no heat to keep them warm
There is just rapid fire
They are used to the sound of a bomb
Aftermaths are never familiar
Tears are falling and dust is rising
There’s a mass murder
Aircraft engines rolling, shrilling crying
A heartless gunner
Cable television breaks the news
Airs oblivious pretenders
Victims silenced, war-mongers with more views
Superpowers slumber
The sound of war is the inaction of peace
Blind, deaf and afar
Creating a vacuum that thirsts for violence
So hush
And listen to the sound of war as you wonder