We hike the trails where emerald silence grows,
The forest hums beneath the morning light,
The mountain breathes in rhythms nature knows.
The beach wind plays with gulls in seaward flight,
We splash through waves, our footprints wash away,
The forest hums beneath the morning light.
By lakes so still they mirror skies all day,
Canoes drift slow like dreams in midday sun,
We splash through waves, our footprints wash away.
Through wooded paths, the deer and foxes run,
We pitch our tent where starlight softly lands,
Canoes drift slow like dreams in midday sun.
A fire is born from our own weathered hands,
We share our tales until the embers die,
We pitch our tent where starlight softly lands.
We hike the trails where emerald silence grows,
The mountain breathes in rhythms nature knows,
The beach wind plays with gulls in seaward flight,
We share our tales until the embers die.
All of a sudden
The stars have stopped shining
Blimming sadness in Heaven
Too many babies are maimed and hurt
Too many infants are starving and suffering
Too many women are crying and mourning
And too many men are being sought
For summary executions
Where countless elders of the sad nations
Have disappeared without a trace
The pain is excruciating. What a disgrace!
All of a sudden
The sky has become extremely dark
Bloody chaos in Heaven
The cemetery is in the park
The buildings are bombed and bulldozed
For heaven’s sake, too many soldiers are overdosed
Where ships, vessels, yachts, boats and canoes are sunk
Somewhere is buried a dead skunk
Where everything is comatose and decomposed
No one can honestly envision a bright future
Where nobody can dry the tears of Mother Nature.
The stars have stopped shining
The moon is visibly absent
The sun is on strike and fasting
And the weather is eerily aberrant.
Copyright © June 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Ramble Through a Birch Forest
the path is straight and narrow
not a rock in the way
birches as far as the eye can see
their trunks, like tall slender
asparagus stalks, reach skyward
their caps, leaves bunched
at the top like celery
I look at their white bark
imagining sweet birch beer
distilled or the sturdy canoes
dug out of tough trunks
I would like to stop
and ponder these things
but I must keep my date
with you
Mountains of snow, with colder snow underneath.
We all have phones in our pockets.
I set a timer to the last time we talked.
Left it all in the snow.
A river is where we used to hang out.
Is now just a river with fish, and not us.
The fish wonder where we went.
They head south.
The tire swing was taken over by wasps.
Whispering wasps which are disagreeable.
Stinging, and buzzing.
We had an argument here, before that tree was overwhelmed with those wasps.
Mountains of old texts.
We have newer and newer phones over the years.
Delete them, or don’t.
The mountain will grow.
Colder snow and river canoes.
Friendships which left scattered clues.
An argument which was like a wasp in a tree.
We took different paths, which were almost free…
Until I reached the toll booth.
And he asked for five dollars and the truth.
Give money to make the old road disappear.
Delete that last text with a tear.
Is a limerick milk and rice?
It is in letter form.
Will a butterfly flutter by
as pastel petals fall?
Astronomers, the moon-starers,
Say, “Yay! Cat’s ecstasy!”
Do canoes that ply the oceans
show discretion in directions?
Be silent now, and listen still,
to bather’s pacing breaths.
The tall and solitary royalist reigns;
but, will he resign?
Hear the minstrel, Mr Silent,
make a testament and statement:
“This is a play on jumbling words:
it's Anagramalia!”
canoes tiny splash
glides on reflective mirror
great for bass fishing
They call me simple now
Because I have less
And want less
And talk less
After the sting
When my cheeks and mind had cooled
I hoped so
I have been washed up on the sides of shallow streams
And whipped around on white water rivers
And up to my shoulders in alligator swamps
To my knees in heavy mud
I have been enraptured with the false promise of the bay
And thinking that I had reached the end of hope
I have laid my limbs down around the buoys
And bobbed my time away
If there is an ocean after all
And if I am nearly there
Well good
All my broken canoes
And the shoes I left buried in quicksand
Will meet me here
Where the rain comes back to the sea
And ten thousand currents coalesce
To be simple
Our
Hawaiian Sun
got burned
yesterday
and cried all
night ...
usually day after
our tradewinds turns and ...
they'd
betrayedwinds
and our baby then
shone me
the coconut tree
N U T S!
all gone
just dangling palms
looks like tourists palms
ahh, fiddlestcks
more unfinished castles
in the sand
crumbling ...
kind of defines McLean.
Glaring white lake stretches up to bushes’ shades.
Adirondack chairs and canoes align in grace.
March 26, 2023 11.37am
Dreams continue as he pursues and fits into those new life shoes/
Steams of old morose songs singing sad blues in dark venues/
Has his hold paddling multiple life canoes/
His eyes mold maddening views of how not to use or misuse /
Less issues to load tissues and blow revenues /
He construes the con’s cruise how he’d abuse and throw a fuze /
Irrelevant spoofs but now he refuels and will refuse /
To lose how he broke a fuzed fool loose into bomb grooves /
Explodent raising the roof with booms and more proofs /
Next go sent is praising a nerd goof’s blurred sluice see through /
An Oxymoron to use without suboxone, oxycontin or any proxy plottin /
That’s rotten like heroin in pill form not an option /
From hereon in I’m building and recovering /
I’ve beaten my cranial region and more covering/
It’s a pain in the neck and the back sore hovering /
Pain multiplied by the passion is what caused action /
The symptom is contamination leaving one ultimatum /
Create a new life curriculum to cure ick-n-glum
river is waist deep
ambience of lily pads
swings elephant trunks
multitude of rubbernecks
in dugout canoes; and me
1/31/2023
. for public domain
Wind has long formed ripples,
pebbles too, upon a shallow river bed,
a hand agrasp a wooden oar,
fingers dangling in play,
skipping rounded stones,
a gentle breath exhaled,
a sound so soft and brief,
a water bug lept off a fallen leaf,
rumbling hooves upon the ground,
an earthquake miles away,
a sonic boom high in the sky,
a blast of thunder from a storm,
a raindrop, a teardrop, a dewdrop,
a letter torn to pieces tossed upon the waves,
a sealed bottle with hope in a message,
a piece of litter thrown thoughtlessly,
bows of gliding canoes and great ships,
muscular arms chopping in competition,
cannon balls and falling masts in war,
sailors who stepped off the plank,
melted ores from raging craters,
and kites and balloons with broken string.
In every ripple a partial record of a history,
some great, some small,
much forgotten, but not all. That's all. That's all.
I stand on the edge of a spectacular canyon
A river in the distance far, far below
With mountains rising above each side
Reflecting in the rushing tide, as though
One might miss the verdant foliage crests.
New River Gorge they call this place
A flora and fauna national preserve
Nature's playground at its absolute finest.
Far below in the foamy surging rapids
Are braver people, reader, than I am
Piloting canoes and paddling furiously
Taking their river ride quite, quite seriously.
One visit to New River is sure to win ‘ya
To wild and wonderful West Virginia.
Reposted on Poetry Soup
October 13, 2022
CAUTION.
Be wary, be wary son.
When dealing with women.
Lest you become weary.
They are not like men.
Women are active volcanoes.
Can erupt at anytime.
You'll sink like the canoes.
I've warned you many times.
Women are more focused than men son
But they are very confused human beings.
Listen, listen to me son.
You have to be a catious being.
Whilst dealing with them.
You need to know what exactly you want.
You either say yes to them.
Or you succumb to their want.
Do not go for the looks.
A woman's flower does not last forever.
First read her books.
You'll find one to live with forever.
@Tha Formidable Cheru.
I had closed absolute ideas when I was young.
But they changed rapidly, as I changed.
Other people did not appear as flexible.
I am pliable to the maximum degree.
Why can’t you stick with something? Someone asked me.
I do, but only as long as they uplift me, enlighten me or delight me.
Other ideas are put into canoes, and I float them down no-return river.
Ideas come to me in the middle of the night.
They come to me as I am brushing my teeth.
They flow down my back, past my posterior, down my legs.
They pool onto the bathroom floor.
I do not bother to scoop them up, because I get so many.
I can get these tomorrow or the next day. Or maybe never.
Other people have religious and political beliefs.
I believe in spirituality, mysticism, imagination, love, and me.
Love is what I think this world is here to teach.
The only lesson actually…..the big idea is to love everyone.
Everyone you meet and everyone you will ever meet.
I think this is the Godmind’s idea, because it is the only one I have ever kept.
All other ideas are gone now, or twisted up into treetops or floated down the river of me.
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