Best Rebels Poems
The Poets are our quintessential rebellious, rebels
The Maroons, the Braves, and the Daredevils
There is a ton of biases even in simple poetry
The Poets are known to be born freedom fighters
The unafraidheroes of hell, the sweet bees
Which can sing and sting, and deliver honey
Even in Poetry, we encounter weird free-loaders
Sick unabashed orators and pusillanimous braggers.
The Poets are born to be different, legally liberal
Awkwardly conservative, strong ass-kickers
Blunt truth seekers, and not obedient ass-kissers
Call the generals, the Police, and bring the arsenal
Of bloated words, and epithets; dumb or foolish attributes
Write verses and elegiac poems to pay countless tributes
To the sorry plagiarists, and to the ill-polished writers
Nobody cares anymore about the well-versed truth tellers.
Copyright © November 2017, Hebert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
With hair ablaze
a jester unconfined.
I scoffed at the mundane
its life declined.
My wardrobe
a riot
a rhapsody bold.
Mismatched socks my standard
stories untold.
In classrooms of tedium
rules I'd defy
Grasping forbidden knowledge
'neath watchful sky.
Craving for wisdom in
esoteric wells.
Chased squirrels with saws
casting fanciful spells!
Detentions for antics
the school's icy stare
Derided in classrooms
a spirit too rare.
Math teacher's scorn
a job painting lines foretold.
I retorted, "How much does it pay?"
- detention took hold.
Mom asked me why I never brought my girls home?
I chuckled and said, "They're not the type to be shown!"
The wild ones
the rebels
the ones full of flame.
Not the kind for a dinner
not the ones with a name.
Misfits my comrades
a menagerie strange.
United in chaos
defying the change.
Years danced in a blur a pantomime bright
But a disquieting word a sense of not quite right.
A whirlwind of antics a panoply grand
Impromptu escapes with career-shifting sands.
Near-death encounters with fauna
a squirrel, perhaps?
But the thrill
oh the thrill
fueled my madcap laps!
The thrill of the unexpected
a fading strain
A gnawing suspicion
a predictable bane.
The mask I had crafted
of rebellion's grand guise.
Cracked and revealed
the truth in my eyes.
The jester unmasked with a lesson I gained.
That the extraordinary in the ordinary
can be just plain.
No longer I chase the fantastical dream...
But accept the real where
beauty can stream.
For the truest defiance lies not in the fight.
But accepting oneself in the ordinary light.
So here I stand
flaws and all
unashamed.
The laughter remains though the fantasy's tamed.
With lessons in tow I'll mend and I'll mend.
Explore the mundane and find joy till the end.
For the greatest adventure
in life's simple quest...
Is finding the magic
within one's own breast.
"REBELS" WAS THEIR NAME
Judge not, that ye be not judged.
Matthew 7:1-3 KJV
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Each fair familiar feature of their face
aglows with the dim lit day's assistance,
rests upon strong shoulders reminiscent
of roses bloom, see their trust and proud grace.
Before those same red cheeks were flags of shame;
tearing at their hearts, rebels they were named.
Who knows, are they friends, sisters, or lovers?
They don't look alike but but they live strong,
telling their own truth stopped rumor's hover,
truth clears the blind eyes, errs are not lifelong.
While the shrinking sun delights in its role,
can they sustain falsehood, forgive such ways?
They chose to stand strong, still in mute dismay
but in their bosoms dwell two holy souls.
__________________________________________________________
~~Inspired by the painting: Twilight Confidances
by Cecilia Beaux 1888~~
__Olive Eloisa D. Guillermo__
4:30 pm; January 17, 2015
I was newly thirteen when the seventies took me underwing,
then married and grown when they creased inside time’s fold.
I was not attracted to those scholastic or athletic,
but to those lacking labels and considered rebels.
Moving yearly filled my army-brat life with sad good-byes
that swerved my teenage years thru countless, deep cries.
When the decade first began, I had paper and pen in hand
to secretly write the poetry holding my heart slams.
At thirteen, poems first bubbled in me to be pen-freed.
I still have most as lost girl written within my teen season.
In the seventies I fell in love with love, astrology, spirituality,
Kahlil Gibran, Thoreau, individuality as resonated in me
from Ann Rand’s, “The Fountainhead”, and lyrics on which I fed.
The Who, Moody Blues, Pink Floyd, Neil Young and Elton John
sang lines that thrilled me and I fantasized were mine, all mine,
as did Carole King, CCR, Eagles and Beatles when they sang.
Rock n Roll beats and crying guitars inebriated my limits,
such music moved me in defiance of compliance to physics.
Thru rock’s depths and denim, I was a seventies thoroughbred
who has poetically wept since first the decade's innocence bled.
Christmas Rebels
It was about a weak
After that night walk
The unknown dangers,
Made known, turned me weak,
I was managing myself,
After my heart was pulled,
From where it sank,
I was yet in the oven,
Of my haven,
To dry up the coldness,
And the wetness,
Of that fearful night loneliness,
Today is Christmas,
The whole mass,
Was joyous,
Every home, glorious,
Meat was plenteous,
Rice and beans.
Was every homes means,
Children bouncing in,
New goat skin jackets,
Mother’s dressed in costly
Beads and all the way,
Father leads.
For Christmas had taking over,
Taking over the African Shrine,
It supplied a joyous sunshine.
Our pockets were full of cowries,
Like a goldmine,
Happiness was mine,
For the usual war seemed
To be hidden, and our teethes where like,
“Forever opened”.
Oh! Joyful, blissful, plentiful Christmas.
Providing joy each time it surface,
But joy has a slender waist that breaks so soon.
Christmas night came, so we visited
Our beds as night rang it’s bell,
(To be continued in the next, same Poem).
But night’s bell came with tears and without love,
As our bamboo door talked,
“KNOCK! KNOCK!!”
Before my voice could speak,
Legs ruined down my door,
Then eyes in different heights
In the starry night like
Torch lights… attacked
Me with their voices.
They came in mass,
Some brandishing cutlass,
Some matchets, guns and arrows.
Gang upon gangs,
Displaying their flags,
Blood stained, tattered, hair, shaggy.
They held human heads for their
Oracles of war.
They were muttering songs as if
Forced to sing,
They had leaves and grasses in the
Middle of their mouths, they were mostly teens,
They were the Hausa rebels…
“Wait! Wait!! Wait!!!
Where are the bells?
Is this day not Christmas?”
I was asking myself,
A short tick man came out of the mass,
Not looking like human,
He looked backed at the rest,
Feeling like the best.
He weakened my hear drums
By the manner of his question,
“Hausa or Birom?”.
To send my religion to the bottom?
Whom for this day, is Christmas?
And sweet Messiah’s Calvary at Golgotha?
I wasn’t prepared for that,
So the truth came out like a blast
“Birom!!”.
“Yee! Yee!! Yee!!!
Enemy tribes” they shouted
Like savage talking drums.
(To be continued in the next, same Poem).
Where is humanity?
as Congolese players,
stuffs and fanatics
were about to sing
their national anthem
at Afcon tournament,
they put their right hands
on their mouths
to express the silence
of the international community
into the problems of DRCongo.
they pointed their left hands like guns
on their heads to express different atrocities
which continue taking place
in Eastern of DRCongo.
They seemed so confused after hearing
about the bombardment of the rebels
In one town in East of DRCongo
which killed many folks.
the USA, France , UK , Germany governments
are supplying the rebels behind
the government of Rwanda
As they are pushing the deal to balkanise
DRCongo into many countries.
Many people who understood this powerful mute speech of Congolese players
were so sad.
Congolese blamed different media
for not showing the Congolese supporters from the beginning to the end of their match with Ivory coast ,
as they were wearing some tee-shirts
and uplifting some pamphlets
written " Stop Genocide in DRCongo."
Congolese government found
that the CAF is also complice to that action and stopped their team to participate
to any activity of solidarity which will be organised by CAF.
Some Congolese destroyed their Aerials
of some French Channels which were reporting the Afcon.
Some Congolese marched at the embassy
of France in Kinshasa
And called for the closing of USA, France
, UK , Germany embassies in Kinshasa
As many westerners
are promoters of the wars
in DRCongo.
Where is humanity?
As Congolese continue to be killed
Like animals while the whole World
is silently.
When
raindrops
fall
upon
unwary
trembling
leaves
summer
shakes his head
and wonders why
rebels dare
defy
his
patient
lenient mood;
time to
turn
on the
heat.
----------------------------
15th June 2015
Contest: Shall We Waltz?
Sponsor: Kim Merryman
Placed 2nd
Then the leader in a flash
Sent his bullet through my
Pregnant wife’s stomach,
Sending the bullet out of her
To my little girl’s brain.
He was a killer glutton, for he turned to my
Son’s brain, scattering it,
With his axe, making the brain
Splash on my dazed countenance.
They swiftly and organisingly boundled me up
Amidst my confusion and helpless struggles,
They cut off the veins at the back of my fits,
Leaving me in a river of blood.
Death claimed my home,
His weapons were the Christmas rebels,
On a melancholic Christmas night.
My saddest Christmas ever.
THE END OF THE MATTER…..
By Charles Melody (Lightening Ink)
For all the victims in jos crisis.
Rest in peace.
The collaboration between the street and the Y2K mutants had commenced. These 8o’s baby’s filled the night’s air with green lite smoke, and choked back opiate related dreams from white coat masters. These were the city trolls. Forced to bend to society’s creation, of the new crazed sensation. Symbolic doses, hit the millennial air, as many become ready to hallucinate the night away, with a love for everything once ignored. Now the new age scene has turned many into fossilized poppers. As the years trickled away, the rotted souls, which were bought and sold, helped to build up treacherous narcotics related, public sedated, stick-up kids. Stuck with felonious tactics, many became devious. This was now the new age past-time. It was debauchery fitted and fallen into the midnight hour.
Madness was now shared, among those celled up with bites taken out of the family’s love. Years wrinkle into the fold of existence, as the drug fiend and high and mighty pushers create tactics to have pockets full of presidential green backs. These buckeye babies were now renegades forming freelance robbery hits from city to city. This was excitement for the ages. Their dopamine rushed out onto resurrected pipes, as bloody needle points were beginning to fornicate the blue passage. Now underground these were the people infected by thrown away existence. Authors of their own free-lanced hell. A swollen deviation tears threw, like a wicked witch twister. Now crucified by the same authoritative empire they once tried to live by. No longer will family love be embezzled, nor will they be upheld to hear the cruel-hearted deepest sold-off cries.
I tell you innocence is stolen
a crime that's not reported but
i'll ask for it's return and paste
up home made flyers.
These drugs,money and power
collapse apon the tower
killing most ambitions
and there never seen again.
Temptations rose a plan
that rode on broken honors
that harassed all our fathers
and pushed them to an end.
The papers and the giants
those kings of under mining,
pilots who fly the dream
of dreamers.
and there never seen again.
Could i call you friend?
could i ever see your face
unveiled.
Stop playing pretend
this world is such a riot.
The stars are cold
and age never bids you well
we are all dying to get in
this world is such a riot.
Of mice or men they ask you
are you brave or just unsure?
would you walk across the fire
knowing just how bad it burns?
well they'll trick you with a smile
and a hand shake full of faith.
but they laugh the while inside
knowing you won't survive the break.
and the choir keeps on singing
it's celebratory graces.
as you march off to the
airplane. soon your
dreams will be departed.
and they grab you by the coat tails
just to make the message clear
that even before you start the dream
you won't make it out of here.
Could i call you friend?
could i ever see your face
unveiled.
Stop playing pretend
this world is such a riot.
The stars are cold
and age never bids you well
we are all dying to get in
this world is such a riot.
so take my hand but im unsure
of just how far we are going
but this world must never know
were the rebels in the riot.
so take my hand but im unsure
of just how bad this world is going
but this world must answer because we know
we are the rebels in the riot.
We may be young but wer're more than a box,
In a mirror you may see the reflection but not much
We're eager to get out there and show what we've become
Seem not to give credit for all the work we've done
We're human too, and intend to make the same mistakes as you
Caught in a thicket, concrete among the rebels
Hit with hard metal and then showered with shrapnel
Shots fired. Get on the ground
But I'm brick dry and the ground is my foundation
So I am in no position to be taking such action
I'm grounded. Man, I feel surrounded
Disarmed and hung out to dry, a sitting duck
Caught in a thicket, concrete among the rebels
Cause lost and found, but found in tatters
This isn't cause for celebration but all the same
Loser takes all; lost all but emerged a sage
I had stepped out of the scene for a shut eye
Came back to find the scene completely rearranged
And there hardly time to marvel at how strange
I drowning man will catch at straw, and I'm flailing
Trying hard but failing to grab my bearings
You know how you can get a concussion
In a freak accident and come back completely different?
Yeah, that's the report I'm filing
A Rebels Stance
As we stand talking face to face
Upholding the laws of social grace
You may see me timidly holding my stance
Chained to the bond of my circumstance.
But under charades of fancied beguile
Merrily skips a loose denial
And tearing the ropes encircling me
Is a mind that goes running, running free.
You look at me now and see an acceptance
Of all that’s been told despite an objection
But I am no prisoner of all that conforms
You’re looking at posturing tuned with the norm.
Deep inside this material prison
Defiance dances in passionate rhythm
Ignoring the shackles binding me
Is a mind that goes running, running free.
Within this mysterious essence
Disguised in such typical form
Are fields that wildly span the horizon,
And a voice singing on in a storm.
When the land of the self is examined
Its truth is a beauty to see
Neath the dust of its blanketing body
Lies treasure you cannot perceive.
Ignoring the choke that silences my voice
Dances a body with powerful choice
Unmindful of myths you've heard about me
Is a mind that goes running, running free.
Bullets oil with blood,
Hearts smitten with cruelty
Our minds sealed with carnage,
As we marched, for the harvest is ready
With our machetes from China,
Our ak47 from Russia,
And the Americas’ bullets we moved into their shrine
Harvesting our crops
With tears and anguish in their faces
Our grips in the sacred place of their virgins,
Resizing males’ hands for short sleeves
We drank with human skulls,
With incisions of bush doctors on our chests ,
O yes the African juju !
We danced round the camp fire
As we chant and chat
With amulets of poverty tied round our waists
Chilling the night with french wines
Our veins drunk with opium
Wining with the spirit of the night,
a jubilee of happy ignorance
Tonight is as hot as hell, hell because we have lived in hell
Our village is in hell,
Corruption is our traditional ruler
Political killing is our manifestos
Kidnapping is our vision
We the rebels shall rubble the principalities
We shall establish banana republic where dogs eat dogs
For in this shall our echoes be heard
We the rebels shall build castles in air for every citizen….
Awoh Kingsley