In whose mirror's transparency
A clear liquid's
What reflects of self admiring
Dream-fluid is.
Of whose image's row on row
Wall to wall sheen
What tis helps maintain the upkeep
Swan, duck that preen.
Perhaps death is more like an awakening
A liftoff of the mind to heights unavailable physically
Could it really be a birth into a higher form and
A higher consciousness with sensations
And vibrations of new heightened awareness
Would it be a death of cellular function to only birth new higher abilities and perhaps even networks
Could death be the beginning of something
Far greater than our present reality even has
Vocabulary for…and it’s mysteries open up a vast new dimension of possibilities untapped in our present form of being
Death may not be at all as it seems to some as an end or a discontinued existence. It may be a doorway or another birth canal towards a calling and purpose in our existence.
Murky liquid road,
shire horses tow narrow boats
trading London bound
Water is essential to everyone
All species need H2O to survive
No one can live without this weapon
A dehydrated lion will die in
Minutes without any type of liquid
Eternal God, I thank and glorify you
Nights and days for everything
The pride of my People is not dead.
Kanal la pap kanpe
Pèp Ayisien kanpe
Pou defann dwa li
Nou fèb men nou ini.
Wow! Many people are shocked
Antique myths are still relevant
Nobody is afraid to die fighting
Ancient spirits live forever
My fellow friends and Poets
Eternal God, we pray and thank you
Nights and days, for miracles around
The Globe, where Peace is paramount.
Kanal la pap kanpe
Pèp Wanament yo ap
Wè ke jaden yo ap byen aroze
Pèp Ayisyen pa pè pran frap.
Copyright © November 2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
There’s an old canal close by where I live,
and an empty lock made of stones massive,
traipsing around there, the place can amaze
just seeing how the whole of it was made.
There’s no mortar here, between these great stones,
they align perfect, no a gap is shown;
to do this with hand tools and draft oxen,
not just one lock, but again and again…
There are still hollow where great doors did swing,
sealing the lock up to keep water in,
holding it back without concrete of steel,
and no great engines, just pullies and wheels.
The canal itself, so humanely straight,
by spyglass and spring they made it this way,
with but shovel and pick to prove their own worth
they dug a river across the damn Earth!
Two centuries later it still remains,
two hundred years on who would know my name?
Sure, I write poems, but poems are talk,
these men carved themselves in the very rock,
the canal they built now sanctuary
for birds, fishes, turtles swimming lazily,
the towpath they built no a walking trail,
where kids ride their bikes when weather is hale,
seeing what grandfathers built back in time,
what men do with hard work and focus of mind.
Just one more day until the front door slams
The car is packed
The road is open
We are off.
Off to take in the slower pace.
The stillness of the navigation.
Walking pace through life.
To take time to watch a minnow dart
See a kingfisher flit
Hear an echoey tunnel.
Rise with the sun, rest with the sun.
Use natures clock as our own.
As centuries before man woman and child
Lived and loved aboard,
All life is here,
in these wooden walls
This floating kingdom,
all I hold dear.
Just one more day.
Just one more day.
The canal poked like a finger
into the wrinkled abdomen
of the Port. Along its length,
ketches once bruised
wooden wharves unloading wheat
shipped from outports across the gulf.
Pigeons stalked the spill of grain
from hessian bags torn
by wharfies hooks. Port Adelaide’s
pigeons were kept well fed.
I can remember being harnessed
to a pole and taught to swim
in the cold, dark waters of the canal.
I thrashed and kicked but could not float.
I did not have my fathers dolphin grace
whose aquatic triumphs were engraved
on a silver trophy that stood proud
atop a fireplace shelf.
In its final days the canal slowed
to a halt. Wharves were empty
and gave way to rot. In the end,
dump trucks cascaded fill down
embankments until it choked.
A car park now seals its grave
where plastic bags sail endlessly
across an asphalt lake.
A shopping precinct recalls its name
in gaudy signage.
Memory still has me dangling
on the end of a pole, flailing arms
desperately searching for something
solid to hold, suspended
like a lead weight
above a cold abyss.
Those who crown themselves with miters and croziers
Are dry and barren canals to which I shall describe
Boats remain frozen in their abandoned and void place
The waters being a simulacrum of doctrines
Only the arid wind gives a sense of forward time
The bubbling and fizzing spring they cut from themselves
Those who pass by recognise there is nothing to drink
Only worms and serpents live within the canals
Their waters of void do not show heaven’s face above
No vision of sparkling angels appears anywhere
Nor can people see their face on the canals
Behold the crown jewels of those called servants and watchers
Inspired by this verse "Those people are dry canals." from The Apocalypse of Peter:
http://www.gnosis.org/naghamm/apopet.html
The Escape Artist
David J Walker
He was
Well dressed
In a Goodwill sort of way
Pinstripes down his
Breast
Cuffed at the end of
Each long leg
Shoes buffed
Into mirrored shine
Checking his Canal Street Rolex
For the incorrect time
This is how his
Day goes
Blowing Orbicular grey smoke
forced through his churlish nose
Awaiting the arrival of
The next Greyhound bus
That necessarily must
take him
Anywhere else
Giovanni Antonio Canal
of the famed waterway mall
Canaletto,Venice born&bred
panoramas thereof enhanced his 'street cred'
The Paying (I wish) Public marvels
at what comes out: those explosive, star-spangled
phrases and melodies (the few times I get it right);
but what of the great-real that went in, the life-struggles,
the tears, the soul-smothering isolation – not to forget
the little left of me, squirming squiggly, imprisoned
with the many nameless, sparsely filled, crumpled-up
white-pulp battlefields in the wastebasket – my inky piles of bones –
clawed-out guts (the years of painful extraction,
likened to going to the dentist, then being told, that I have a serious abscess,
needing an immediate Root Canal, though unfortunately
Covid has prevented our delivery of anesthetic)...
Oh well, here goes again:
Roses are red – so is a poet's blood;
The moon strings silvery, strum-able beams –
myself too busy to play them, running on a
treadmill, going nowhere, in my Write-blocked-nightmare,
ominously pulled from words my stalled mind should be chasing...
So, my Love (Poetry), she does
and she does not – till one
mightily fit for publication:)
heptastitch (2,4,6,8,6,4,2)
boat bridge
odd corridor
the Ponte di Rialto
first way to span the Grand Canal
eleven eighty-one (1181)
a bunch of boats
crosswise
wood bridge
better by far
the Ponte di Rialto
unique for shops built thereupon
twelve hundred fifty-five (1255)
but wood is weak
collapse
stone bridge
most durable
the Ponte di Rialto
unchanged in four hundred years plus
since fifteen ninety-one (1591)
marble marvel
inspired
foot bridge
still used today (2021)
the Ponte di Rialto
one of three hundred ninety spans
which link the islands of
veritable
Venice
May 28, 2021
contest: Heptastitch
sponsor: William Kekaula
The Suez Canal is finally free
Precious toilet paper can come to me
This too large cargo ship
In the world a backward flip
Twas as crazy as Boston Harbor's tea
More than fifty ships go through the Suez Canal on any day.
However, a very large freighter has blocked the passageway.
The ship called the "Ever Given" comes from a company in Taiwan.
Unsuccessful efforts to move the vessel have been going on.
Tugboats and personnel are trying to get the big ship free.
Meanwhile, hundreds of other craft have been stalled on the sea.
This incident is having a negative impact on the world economy.
From a story found in the Los Angeles Times.
School was out for annual Christmas break
Ice and snow hung around many a week
A friend and I did what one should not do
Went onto a frozen canal to skate
Some lads we knew were giving us some cheek
Boohoo
One lad pinched my friends hat from off her head
Chased him I did, what came next haunts me so
Iced cracked and yes I was in for the swim
The boys were brilliant, I could've been dead
Bravo!
The Speaker Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Sara Kendrick
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