Early morning robin’s tune,
clean warble, tweet, lull,
dawn presage melodic,
on steel gray branch,
orange-tint red breast,
neck and chest pale blue,
proud perch, peak poise,
canny eye squint alert,
a shrewd bird winking,
model smart phone cam,
a mild tremor in hand,
as I point this device,
to capture scenic glory,
I can oft reflect on,
with cluster and clan,
that spellbinding snap,
one recalls on record,
oh oozing charm at,
that rapid fire speed,
now oops where has,
haunting creature fled,
pictures now lodged,
in the back of mind,
my one true solace,
in lieu of botched,
endeavour on film
I came to walk and sit beside a gentle babbling brook.
Every nook and cranny deserves a closer prod and look.
It was uncanny where secrets hid unseen from the naked eye.
Until a gentle nudge uncovered treasures waiting nearby.
I probed to look far beyond the smooth stone faces.
Into the spaces between the cobbles, into their hidden places.
For canny people know that gold is found where fractures part.
They follow the cracks that lead onward to a broken heart.
So, by hook or by crook, every crack deserves its chance.
Every flaw needs far more than a quick sideways glance.
For gold dust never gathers in the nook of a perfect thing.
It waits until brokenness, finds its voice, and learns to sing.
The crannies and cracks let the daylight gleam through.
They ask to not be hidden away, nor discarded from view.
With patient hands, each fracture is traced with gold—
Until the cracked and broken become precious and bold.
Not a text book relic
Poetic look esoteric
Record book cleric
Off the hook balletic
Mesmeric cook aesthetic
Cranny & nook prophetic
Canny crook stratospheric
Which is why may be
Sitting top of the tree
The Saffa Gaffer
With a higher ABV
In formats all three
Above possibly Kohli
Greatest I did see
For me is probably A.B
Stealth hid in the corners of its soul
Patiently sowing its addictive seeds
Planting doubt in its many meanings
Each word a temporary assuagement
Its necessity cursed by its impermanence
And thus, the pen faltered in fledgling flight
Hesitations scribbles circling a meaning
The imposter, perfection, tapping its foot
Strewing the mind with contradictions canny
Thoughts tied to chairs refusing to confess
Neither AI or Spelchek will save you
For you do not throw snowballs you did not make
For you have scooped the words, compressed them
Rounded and smoothed them to perfection
And now….must hurl them
…at an unsuspecting world
Soft spoken, the small grey dove,
far below the raptor’s eye,
flew low by a naked cliff-face
and thought it good to fly
and ride the rising winds,
forever looking down
at the world beneath her gentle wings,
unaware of falcon’s frown.
Then death came stooping down
at the pale bird far below -
the fastest thing alive -
prepared the killing blow.
For to cast into the wind
the feathers of his prey,
this fleshy missile on folded wings -
another death another day.
But the dove was much too canny
and swerved above a rock
at the very final moment,
falcon hit the earth in shock.
Instant death and gladly dealt
for between these birds, no love.
The falcon’s feathers blew that day
and the blow came from the dove.
We die a little bit
Each day and each night
As we live every minute
Gleeful or glum under the light.
We die in our sleep
And rise again if we’re lucky
And blessed. This is deep
Few people are truly canny or savvy.
Believe not in all the glitters
When it’s time to go or to depart
Gravity behaves like deadly creatures.
We die every day and every night
A little mum or sharp under the weight
As darkness exists deep in the heart.
Copyright © July 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Knots-besotted
(too canny for a granny)
as sailors go (and they will)
of which I am (still) one
(when day is done)
I can bend a bowline
(from stern to stem)
with the best of them
(just so's you knows...
the rabbit out of the hole comes
'round the tree runs then back down goes)
and tie (not hit) a reef (or square) so fine
or (none too sheepishly)
yank a sheepshank
in a (fairly hefty) hank of line
also (if it's not too late)
do a (non-binding) figure eight
(with half a minding) to stop the rope
from sliding (I hope)
(and/or) fraying
to (defray the cost)
for new cordage paying
(in time a stitch)
yet there's one more which
(so all's not lost)
(clever clogs) calls a clove hitch
The curious mind is an endless flame,
That facts and truths cannot tame.
For knowing is powerful, sharp and clear,
Helping to adapt, learn and face the fear.
But knowing comes with a heavy cost and toll.
More questions to answer, more doubt to control.
But not knowing, too has its place.
For ignorance is bliss to engrace.
Where the mind lets go in free-fall.
In relief, in surrender, to just enthrall.
Knowing, sometimes it's better not to know.
To lie spaced-out, where turmoil won’t grow.
For though we claim to want to know more,
In the shadow of the knowledge door,
Lies our pull-back, and strain to resist,
Over-reaching beyond the canny twist sophist.
Yonah, Ownah of the Eruv!
Geo. Washington has the same birthday,
Like George the Father of our Country,
R’ Ribiat & Baila are blessed by many,
Even TA’s Gabbai “By Jove!”
Truly Baila’s rock solid “Belay”,
In Detroit, Yonah made his entry,
Torah sagacious & canny,
Yet “Rough & Ready”, a treasure trove,
Known for a Yiddish “Kopf” & Wood Handy,
Star of David “geometry”,
On cherry-picker, we pray that high up, he falls not on his “Fannie”,
May Yonah “laugh it off” and “keep his sanity!”
Hue and cry road map,
totem sign or lachrymose,
knee-deep self compass,
wading bird of psychic lull,
being is a misty quest,
that oblong pointer centered,
on some phantom bridge,
or other crossing transient,
poignant ache so visceral,
impulse-ridden dark patch,
end of tunnel pastel,
bogus flicker, sham beam,
bagatelle, mere hollow slant,
doomed fool’s gold water rush,
shroud of lambent steam,
wet eye craving mirror,
on false dawn ripple,
pause amid the sweep,
on the chalk freckled mall,
a canny inkling nudges
Love is sometimes unreal
how un-canny it can feel
if truly its intent is seen
how powerful it can be.
Though finite in some regard
disappointment can be hard
but we're just human in fact
and it's hard, to keep the heart intact.
So if you choose to love and live
know that it's your heart you give
not just little pieces here and there
all of you is what you share.
So with all this in mind
it's okay to take your time
your soulmate is out there too
scars and all, and all for you.
FUNNY CANNY PUNNY
The great guy Punny
makes fun, yet funny.
Witty and canny.
Spontaneous laugh
much more than enough,
serious on bluff.
Jokes not to explain
Pun doesn’t go in vain,
but to entertain.
Humours to be spun,
not grave ! Cheerful pun.
Real joyous fun.
Sure to feel sick,
true meaning to seek !
Punny the guy descent
Actually absent
on own wedding date.
To bride, he didn’t pay debt.
03/04/23
camouflage
calico cat
calm captivating cadence
cagey cajoling calculating
cantankerous capricious canny
careening caressive caviling . . .
___________________
September 02, 2022
Poetry/Alliteration/camouflage cat
Copyright Protected, ID 09-1484-903-02
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Alliteration
sponsor, Joseph May, Judged 09/02/2022
Third Place
Poor people posit that cupidity
Is synonymous with stupidity,
I argue the incessant zeal for more
Is just a canny craving to keep score.
June 24, 2022
One day you get hit by a bus
and roll around in pain
but people didn't see the bus
and say stop acting lame
bad things will happen to you
and nobody will see it
they will observe your reaction
and judge the way you're being
ignorance towards the cause
dismissing the reality
aware though as emotions pour
questioning your sanity
focusing on your behaviour
not calm not cool not canny
the cause of it remains a stranger
they judge on what they can see
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