The aging carousel,
The ancient ferris wheel
Rusted and paint chipped,
The roller coaster closed
For years now
Unsafe but irreplaceable.
Wooden skeleton still standing
Over the carnival lot.
Graveyard of memory,
A funeral plot,
Where ghosts of youth stroll by
Laughing on their way
To eternity and oblivion.
I remember
when we were just little kids
we always spent the afternoon together
every year
like a pair of clubs and spades
at the holiday carnival
cruising The Paratrooper
as fast as a drop of a coin
masticating on heaps
of salted buttered popcorn
with steaming pepperoni pizzas
and cotton candy both pink and blue
saccharine and light as cirrus clouds
until our bellies erupted
splashy rainbows from
our lurid, esophageal dungeon
like two offbeat carnival kids
living up the holiday fun
The Americans have a government
that's a "carnival of chaos".
Its mistakes and ineptitude
are a study in pathos.
From Venezuela and across
to Iran, they only see loss.
It's a needless war
so why give a toss?
Maybe we should pray
and make a sign of the cross
that, come this November,
they'll just vote out the dross.
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
The vixen is teaching her cubs to dance,
The dance of the fox trot.
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
Mid-March marks the wild animal masquerade
As the crimson embers of dusk fade,
The worm moon is rising.
Stars swoon to the moonlit tunes
Of the song thrush and warbler,
More subtle and melancholic
Than the chorus of dawn;
The jazz of the chiffchaff
And nightjar acoustics.
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
Slow, slow.
The glade is spotlit,
Luminous, sublime and silvered.
Humble earthworms deep in the ground
Awoken and beckoned to the spring sound,
To the rise and fall of the dance.
The cubs’ eyes alight with secrets,
The vixen wears her finest gown
Silken, and lustrous,
Her dog fox cloaked in shadows.
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
Last summer's velveteen foxgloves
Silence the rhythm of her paws,
Beautiful but deadly.
He brushed in tails is a smooth elegance
Of sleek copper shimmer.
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
Slow, slow, quick, quick,
They gather as a promenade of hunters.
Let the carnival begin!
That’s Xmas or Noel for lovers
Or carnival for impostors
I believe in loving everyday
I believe in love every single day
Tomorrow is the festival or parade of all colors
It is the festive carnival of all the flowers
However, don’t be surprised to see
That the following colors are very popular
Red, pink and white. Smile, if you are a lover
And don’t smile, if you’re lost in heart of the sea
Of all types of roses and leaves, and you’re confused
About the fuss and anxiety about the day of roses and lovers
Since I celebrate love daily, I am amused
By the voluminous preparations and sacrifices for one day
Carpe diem is my motto: Happy Valentine’s day!
Please enjoy every single day of the year
I'm sincere and deep in my heart: I love you too, dear.
Copyright © February 2026 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
I love the month of February,
The shortest and coldest month of the season,
For an array of personal reasons.
And yet, it feels like Feb is the longest,
For the events that happen haphazardly,
Amidst treacherous winter storm blasts.
Quasi everything is frozen and solid near the nest
Of the American bald eagles,
Except the Mardi Gras masks under the rumbles.
February is the season of love,
The month of Saint Valentine,
A quintessential paradise cove,
Where lovers take refuge. Pure, Pristine,
Snowy, short, Pure, dark, and lovely; Feb's now
The celebratory month of Black history,
One wonders why and how
We get the shortest one. It's another story
That we should let the nomad seagulls
Decipher. No bathers on the sandy beaches,
Solely, a few birds are perched on the branches,
Far away from the cribs of the bald eagles.
February is a month of a kaleidoscopic contrast,
Where snowfalls happen quite often,
And hardcore lovers dream warmth under a heaven
Full of hope, love, beauty, and ice.
Copyright © January 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
On our first date we had a fabulous fun
joining in procession of a street Carnival .
We were prepared to meet unfamiliar guys
from various different organisations.
Bugle, Saxophone, Tuba, Clarinet, flute
Mostly in high pitch, few were low ! Trying
to synchronise with beats of Drum and Trumpet,
in chorus ! Gorgeous, though not in desired symphony
Enthusiasm surpassed lack of perfect tune.
We enjoyed horse riding with some unknown people
flying coloured flares shining on silvery spangles.
Memorable night ! Fantastic fun in street festival.
Chariton Iowa has a carnival every Fourth of July
The entire town flocks up there to watch them set up
They are open for business in a few hours
Ferris wheel, merry-go-round, tilt-a-whirl
The true magic happens in the evening
sky is lit by neon lights fancier than a sheriff’s topper
ambiance is mystical and magical
you can hear the screams of carnival riders
wonderful smells fill the air – funnel cakes and caramel apples
lines waiting for them as long as a box car
everyone chattering together, for this is a small town
two or three people carry large pink or blue teddy bears
barkers try to entice me to spend my money
I know better than to give up everything on the “maybe” wins
I am heading for the Ferris wheel and tilt-a-whirl
the merry-go-round is for the little ones. They are giggling
Strangely, the carnival in the evening is ten times more magical
Because of the sky? The crowd? The emphasis on the bright lights?
No idea, but it always seems like a dream come true, a fairy land
Something to cherish until the next Fourth of July
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I step outside into autumn’s morning dew,
watching the world awaken, letting my senses come to.
The forest trees are laughing once more
dressed in their gold and crimson carnival clothes.
Their leaves, a gentle rustle, softly serenade
as they sway in the breeze's placid shade.
I breathe in the scent of damp soil, rich and dark and deep
that fragrance of earthy homeliness I will forever in my heart keep.
In this arboreal place, I find a certain type of peace,
the tranquility envelops me, my worries I release.
Celebration
The day the Carnival came our way
With drum and trumpet and brass trombone
And all the townsfolk danced that day,
At that Carnival where I stopped to play.
Carried along on that arousing beat
And by that revelry swept away
To a Magic land upon that day,
Where joyful spirits of celebration dance
And all the people in rhythm sway.
In that magical land far, far away,
The day the Carnival came our way
Barry Stebbings
Oct 2025
warm October day
merry go round
laughing children
the clock strikes dusk
the sun fades away
a thousand golden lights blinks
to set the scene on fire
crowds carouse
for the merry-go-round
that bright crown of the carnival night
under that picturesque parasol
children clamber up the golden saddles
atop alabaster rides
galloping through infinity
then drums snare with cymbals
while clarinets and woodwinds shriek
in jubilant symphony
laughter jingle
as the circle twirls
and the colourful world dissolve
to a colourless blur
Beneath the sky’s deep purple hue,
Music calls, the laughter too;
Wheels turn slow, the lights all spin,
And pull us gently further in.
The air smells sweet with candy threads,
With buttered corn and warm baked breads;
A carousel of painted dreams,
It ripples on the moonlit streams.
I watch your eyes in neon glow,
They shine in ways you may not know;
The call of bells, the beating drums,
The thrill before the next ride comes.
We win no prize, yet still we keep
The moment safe, our hearts to steep;
For nights like these are never sold,
They live in us when we grow old.
As the tents fold up tight,
And lanterns fade into night,
We walk back slow, still side by side,
With all the joy we could not hide.
The Funhouse Mirror's Truth
The air was sweet with cotton candy, bright and pink,
a whirlwind of laughter before I could even think.
My little brother's eyes were wide with pure delight,
My twin sister's hand was wrapped so very tight.
My mother's gentle smile, my father's hand in line,
all in a world I could no longer call mine.
We rode the elephant, a slow and gentle sway,
through the carnival chaos, on that summer's day.
But past the spinning lights and painted stalls,
I saw him watching, a face behind the walls.
A jagged grin, a tear of painted blue,
his eyes locked on me, no matter what we'd do.
I tugged my mother's sleeve, "Look there!" I tried to say,
But she just smiled and looked another way.
My brother's cheer, my sister's joyful cries,
sounded so distant, beneath the painted skies.
We won a prize, a stuffed bear, fat and round.
but I felt no joy, no solace could be found.
Because in the reflection of the funhouse glass,
I saw him standing, a shadowy, silent mass.
And in that moment, all the fun fell out of me,
A private terror only I could see.
We walk, hand in hand , we talk ~
cotton candy and caramel apples,
music, rides and fanfare,
sounds of joy and laughter in the air.
Let the festivities commence:
flashing lights and chaos,
screams and giggles,
rides and arcade games.
The carnies are hyped up
with their wiles and guiles
to entice us in all ways.
Summer is not complete 'til
we’ve had our fun at the carnival.
Reality and time warped ~
our youth tangible
within our grasp
under the spell of unbridled
gaiety at the carnival.
The sights and sounds of
youth and joy and memories.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
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