Best Well Versed 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.
I can offer you sympathy,
try to feel you through empathy.
But if you take it for granted,
silence will be your remedy.
Remember the seeds you planted,
when unnourished will bloom slanted.
Hearts yearn for balanced devotion,
like birds sharing what they chanted.
When there is too much commotion,
tears seem to fall in slow motion.
Will you give my soul an embrace,
try to sense its deep emotion?
Ego only portrays disgrace.
Some actions are hard to replace.
Judgement is harshly negative.
Selflessness should be your showcase.
When the conscience seems tentative,
your heartbeats become expletive.
But if you've helped quench someone's thirst,
the thoughtful become sensitive.
Before the heart and soul immerse,
the eyes observe compassion first.
Awareness brings sweet harmony.
A purpose that should be well versed.
Written: January 20, 2024
___________________________________
Weary of heartfelt kindness,
on rugged slopes,
Charming and brilliant,
will fall back into darkness.
Yet they suit rose and oak,
I survive,
Mates and minds meet on Earth,
Mingle with subdued dust,
Few opinions or facts,
Slurries, or rules, are vestiges,
yet the finest has vanished,
An aversion to caring hearts,
Amidst rugged scenery,
Charming and well-versed
Shall revert to oblivion,
Dot with ivy and blooms
I endure unblemished
Soar into space, mates, and sages,
Mortar and grime
Low empathy or moral venture,
yet the finest has faded away.
Beneath a veil of dense foliage,
I'm back to my ethereal abode
peaceful midst of rustling woods
My worldly life is over,
The cacophony drove me
loudness, delight, and pain,
faded into timeless quiet
I am at ease
Dancing across your mind and heart,
infusing your soul with tender views
Grief will lessen in-depth agony,
At sunset, daylight will wane
I'm here.
I can be felt as you cross this place,
Feel the soft breeze on your skin
sun-dappled woodland floor,
high-up branches whisper,
I'm everywhere
I've returned home,
My clay-creating plug-ins
Earth blessed me with an idyllic life,
has brought me back in,
To adore her radiance,
Under my leafy shade
It is my place of peace,
I'm home.
Fresh...novel - ingenuous in this nifty world of poetry
The congregation of well-versed and eloquent poets
Reflexion occupied and inhabited within your bosom
Comments - indited and penned by your hand,
Enunciated and explicated by your psyche
Behind of what is envisioned and construed
Philia augmented and fruited
Yielding the sweets in acquaintanceship
Not just co-writers
Not just gurus and advisers who meliorates and nurtures me
Competent as it can be
But buddies and intimates who're TIED UP
Great sophisticated poet - Nette
Words of heart so new -Nikko
Unbars the door of wisdom - Dr. Ram
Now,we've educed this bind - never loose...
* Jun-jun Villanueva
*Nette Onclaud
*Nikko Palmario
*Dr. Ram Mehta
****TABLE FOR FOUR contest
An old herbal gard’ner turned bard
dedicated and well-versed
now works his pen from his backyard
in plants and poems immersed.
His choice nouns engender meaning
cleverly minted with scents.
Rare verbs gingerly gleaning
from time’s savory essence.
Somewhat focused on composing
but nettled by a drizzle;
unexpected down-hosing
causes this poet to fizzle.
Lo! His inspiration now gone
like the ink upon his page.
Mrs. Bard calls from the lawn
“I just watered the sage.”
January 5, 2012
I never thought I'd turn into a flower,
supine, looking at the sky,
sometimes vibrant, but so fragile -
with an innocent vulnerable rainbow heart.
My eyes gaze at timeless horizons,
resembling fragrant pages of my poetry.
My verses are like a bouquet of emotions,
an abundance of fresh pastels,
which sometimes bleed dark and deep.
I'm well versed in the beauty and ugliness of silence.
Not all is hidden behind metaphors.
It's simple to gaze at stars for our musings.
Yet, in the glowing garden of the poetic gardener,
my bottle of tears cannot save my cursed orchids,
trying to blossom despite unrealistic hopes.
I search the sky for heaven
on days when the sun does not shine.
I wonder if the sombre rain has arrived
to wash away all my sorrows.
I'm afraid of the sky's shades, moods and tantrums.
The weather's black velvety emotions are a reminder,
how the season's of life can massacre my oasis.
What is my life,
but an anthology of dead poets,
empty promises and forgotten dreams,
like a plethora of pale petals.
Who will sit and listen, if I tell my story.
What will the clouds carry with them,
what whispers will the winds keep secret.
A blank page is my destiny with invisible ink -
after all, doesn't everything die?
Except eternal love.
But is it a blessing or a curse.
It's that time of the year again,
when roses wither for winter.
I'll never forget how well I suffered,
despite regretful nostalgic murmurs,
constantly echoing irreparable losses,
when paradise faded away from my grasp.
I'm tired from lying flat,
yearning for my posture to become upright.
As twilight brings darkness
and I can't see the moon,
an aromatherapy of vintage memories,
ignite into a hell of confusion,
especially the lyrics of that song,
where you think it's been written about you,
which is a timely reminder,
there are things in life I need to forget -
to let go and not to fade like a silent petal.
Beware of Evil; it is a cunning
trickster, well-versed in tactics of deceit.
But alas, my words fall upon deaf ears;
greed's addiction isn't easy to defeat.
Flattered by your image in the mirror:
you consider yourself learned and clever.
Yet blind to truth, you fail to see its light,
and thus, have no beacon whatsoever.
And as life's games continue, Evil smiles
with contentment, watching from the shadows.
And navigating the dark corridors
of your mind, Evil sneaks by on tiptoes.
Realizing the folly of your ways;
you choose to walk on a different path.
And in prayers, laced with repentant thoughts,
you beseech God's mercy; yet fear His wrath.
Exposed to God's unconditional love,
Evil's glided facade starts to crumble.
And denouncing Evil for what it is;
you see the light, and no longer stumble.
There are mornings when I’m doom and gloomy,
Other days I can wake up with joy,
But there’s one thing that I know for certain
No one feeling can define the boy!
Almost seventy-four I have critics
Those who judge never are that well versed
Most especially those on the sidelines,
God, those arm chair athletes are the worst!
Now if we should meet in the arena
And you’re beat up and sweaty like me,
Then your voice might be one worth a listen,
For your knowledge was bought with a fee!
I would rather have human connection
Than to try to find just happiness
To be vulnerable to the future
Give up shields spawned by man’s craziness.
One can’t block loss and not limit real gain
Or ban hatred and not limit love,
Let me give up my pride and stay open,
Prefer warmth to protection of glove.
Long Tooth
August 8, 2016
HOLY COW! It's Bigfoot, there in the brush
Lower your voices- he's skiddish
Now, hush
I know his habits, I'm privy as hell
An expert and scholar, I've studied him well
While in line at the grocery
For years I've immersed
In various tabloids becoming well versed
I even speak sasquatch
Oh, you don’t believe?!
It's a cross between Latin and baboonanese
His dads a zookeeper, his mothers a chimp
Her name is Chin Chin- his name is Chip
He's a renaissance man
Well at least is half way
The other halves savage in need of a shave
Just stash those cameras he hates paparazzi
And Jack Links commercials
And rappers with posses
He loathes boy bands and people named Josh
And meat from a can
And Spicegirls called Posh
He's against any wars
but supports the troops
And completely abhors
When his fur cakes with poop
detests media bias
mainly FOX NEWS
But believes Bill O'reilly
has interesting views
He enjoys fine wine and deep conversation
Flinging his poo and masturbation
Those would be two of his favorite hobbies
The world calls him Big Foot
His pops calls him Robbie
Well versed
rehearsed
Best man
began
He joked
provoked
Each word
was slurred
Blah blah
faux pas
Defamed
and shamed
The bride
soon cried
Now crushed
she blushed
Red faced
disgraced
Without
a doubt
He put
his foot
Inside
his snide
Wide scouth
loud mouth
Not quite
contrite
Ashamed
he blamed
His botch
on Scotch.
3/ 21/ 2018.
All true logics be lifted of holy grail,,
When divisions of human skills,,
Become well versed of love skills,,
Dispersing density of human wills,,
Given to the infancy of holy grail,,
Human skills will be sovereign thrills.
All true wills be lifted of holy grail,,
For life’s Precept of infinite pride,,
Is in a son’s concept willingly crucified,,
Not in a son’s logic of concept that lied,,
But in concepts logic of precept mercy died,,
Not in the conceptions of himself relied.
All true logics be lifted of holy grail,,
O death concept where is thy sting,,
Draw the bow string of cupid’s fling,,
The very Precept of life is in everything,,
Toward heaven’s bevel, Agape’s thing,,
Fill up the cup, mount up on Eagle wings.
All true wills be lifted of holy grail,,
Precept faith is Agape of futuristic wings,,
Concepts’ futuristic flings, have no wings,,
The wings of flings are in imaginary things,,
As the insects of strife in humanoid’s life,,
Infatuates human passions by concept strife.
Selah
I was read to as a child,every night at bed
Fairy tales, short stories, prose, or poems is what was read
Beatrix Potter, Mother Goose, Childcraft books were chose
But my favorite things to listen to were poetry and prose
I learned these things all by heart knew,when to turn the page
Mom thought I could read quite young ,was advanced for my age
But I was a fooler to those around ,cause I would memorize
Each page that was read to me, my reading was just lies.
I was fortunate to have a Mom that was well versed in liberal arts
I was read all sorts of things and would recite different parts
I listened to many poems from Percy,Keats,Frost and Thoreau.
Wordsworth,Longfellow, Lord Byron sometimes we wouldn't know.
When a child is read to when very young they get well versed in rhyme.
Then writing them as they age is something that fills their time.
whims may become a blessing or a curse
pushing one toward certain ruin or worse
drinking from the deep well of evasion
well versed in dark practices of persuasion
fixating on dreams of what ought to be
avoiding what mirrors reality
totally free of social encumbrances
in spite of what the best assumption is
wandering through this life oblivious
hiding from anything too obvious
urge to be free of all expectation
jumped right into without hesitation
do not question need to swallow it whole
subtle art of self-induced mind control
Wrinkled, but beautiful still
Even in decrepit apparel and uncombed;
Jagged skin and sensual fragrance lost
But still spongy her touch is and the smell
Only thing I’d miss the most in the universe.
Toiled through hardship and still indebted,
Altruistic she- uncared and unattended her own needs,
But protected her offspring despite dearth
From cold and famine, the fatal scourge,
And well-groomed into esteemed mortals.
In spite piercing pang and pain within
Beautiful soul, still smile on the parched lips,
For bold but tender my darling is,
So kind at heart and divinely soft in speech,
She is, perhaps the surrogate of Goddess.
Aged and hoary now appears my hero,
But conversant, cultured and well-versed,
The fount of worldly wisdom she is
Who speaks of art of living and greatness-
The lessons from myriad mistakes of her past.
Dearest and my favorite, still the one I so adore,
And now Silver Jubilee of our intimacy,
Fonder my heart becomes of her, my love,
Indubitably the most desired and undeniable,
Only is she the joy and ecstasy of my life.
Best friend she is to me since infancy
With whom I played and quarreled often,
And my sweetheart, indeed my first love,
With whom I had my first kiss and shared a quilt-
My beloved mother- the creator of this poet.
I love you, mom.
(My list is in no particular order of importance. All these poets are equally humorous for me!)
Jan is one great funny lady writing here at Soup.
Just beware; sometimes she finds humor in our poop!
Ilene Bauer uses humor very down to earth.
I imagine her a woman wise and filled with mirth.
For a long time, I’ve been friends with English bloke, Jack Horne.
To poetry succinct and clever I swear Jack was born!
Maurice (last name of Rigler) is another clever gent.
Well versed in grooks and cleirhews, he’s quite intelligent.
Maruice Yvonne, who writes free verse of which I’m very fond,
is also great with humor (and his real name is Armand!)
On the Soup’s Best Humor list are Skat and sis, PD.
Their funny bone they both are keeping in the family!
Hailing from Australia is a bloke named Lindsay Laurie.
Telling funny stories with an accent brings him glory!
Viv Wigley wrote a tale so funny I could almost cry.
It’s a rap about him crushing on a butterfly!
Arthur Vaso also is a funny brilliant guy.
With tongue in cheek and poking fun, Arthur’s flying high.
A lover of the limerick is Jerden (first name Roy).
And with this form we all can hope he's been a naughty boy!
Finally, my friend Tim Ryerson’s a funny man.
Of him and many other funny poets I’m a fan!
Written Dec. 12, 2015 for the Who are Those Funny Poets Contest of Judy Konos
(there are many other humorous writers but these are the ones that stood out for me as I attempted a top ten list! Others I have mentioned as favorites for humor can be seen at this link to my poem called “Five Funny Limerick Guys“): http://www.limerickpoemsandpoets.com/poems/humorous_limerick_poems