Though my world view become tarnished with age,
Let my imagination not so follow.
May its memory burn bright with the vigor of eager youth,
Happy to confront the dichotomy of discovery,
Which doesn't comport with my upbringing, my schooling, or my experience.
Only then will my self-worth meet the expectation of my promise.
Only then will I fulfill the destiny that Providence allows.
That pool can magnify, fool, or obscure.
But down at the bottom, that pool can cure.
Like an Axe Used To Split Kindling for Fire
Like an axe used to split kindling for fire,
Her beauty repeatedly strikes at my heart,
Encouraging sparks of desire that inspire
Me to bravely approach her without swagger.
I, in livery, and she, robed in fine cloth,
Comport in accord with that which is proper;
Express youthful, sentimental, foolish tropes,
Indulged in cautiously during our rapport.
Blustery adaptations amuse our spirits
At her pleasure, confident in my prescience.
We play charades insouciantly within limits,
Aware of time and place and our adolescence.
Music warms the heart’s revival of remembrance;
Our minds exploit these encounters with exuberance.
God laughs when fools behave like racists
All persecuted individuals are His children
God laughs when a few are obviously chosen
And receive preferential treatment under the basis
That the lighter complexion is superior and better.
God created one race. The same blood flows like a river
In all God’s children veins. This blood is red, not amber
God laughs when a few are obviously chosen
All persecuted individuals are His children
The lighter shade is neither superior nor better.
Fools love to divide, to disunite in order to conquer
God laughs when extremists comport themselves like fools
God does not like when his children are treated like tools
All persecuted individuals are His children
God laughs when a few are deliberately chosen.
Copyright © May 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Who the heck was a supporter
of this brain-dead Katie Porter?
Seems her daughter’s mind was tortured:
she asked, if raped, who’ll escort her
to a neighborhood aborter
now that Trump can surely thwart her?
Porter should receive no quarter;
It's quite clear it would comport for
Californians to report her.
I feel for the abused Chinese Korean Japanese..'
In twenty twenty, the vision was skewed altered
By some loaded news' as the bbc and itv and sky
Did the bidding, from on high.' They reported of much?
Mainly fear and death and as such.' they whipped into a frenzy
Did not comport sensibly, rather ran stories on a spitting
Causing a killing ' that claim though un-proven' fed through
The people like leven; most poision-ed.' So fellow humans
Suffered, against them curses were uttered.' Then violence
Unseemly unleashed.' Such a shame there was seen.'
I ask why such was the theme.? I hope much better is
Engendered, And should these media outlets be held?
Sequesterd.? There should be a redress.! I'm proposing
To combat false information, that should not be the least.'
Instead on truth may we feast.)
For He ministers, and will here govern precious?
(Yeshua) most welcome' He alone is the best!!
Our nation - at a crossroads now
With intersecting planes
Of concepts much at odds somehow -
Exacerbating strains.
The Democrats perplexities:
A "Heart without a Head"
Explains irrationalities -
(Dysfunction - simply said).
Republican proclivities:
A "Head without a Heart"
Explains their personalities -
(Flatlines on MDs charts).
Both play the same devout "blame game"
With terse polemics wrought
As zealots on both sides proclaim
Their hyperbolic thoughts.
They come and go yet most remain,
Though times change in due course,
And seem to think it's their domain -
Their livelihood resource.
And, money flows and money goes
Awash in large amounts
But how, from where, no accounts show;
Just smoke and mirrors doubts.
With most seats safely in the till
Few voters needs to heed,
Instead exert, exhort their will
On things inflating greed.
Then, how do we comport with this
Vast wasteland so immense?
We wax and wane and turn and twist -
It's our experience.
Harry finally had his day in court
So he wore a dark suitcoat to comport
But he let go a fart
Tore the courtroom apart
A full tank of gas ~ a hole in his shorts
I cast my gaze on other folk,
and sort them out with shoulds and musts.
My problem is a certain bloke;
his comport fills me with disgust.
Reflecting on him, all I see:
myself, just staring back at me.
—————
for the Bite Size Contest no.60 Poetry Contest
sponsored by Line Gauthier
written on 02/01/23
To Avalon! To Avalon! Twenty-six miles from door to door.
The Catalina Channel Isle: my destination off the shore.
We sail a wide and glassy sea, arriving Friday evening, late.
The Grand is seen from far away, guards the harbor, silent waits.
To stroll the boardwalk, drool as salted taffy’s pulled,
tour Zane Gray’s pueblo house, protect your lunch from diving gulls.
Catch a movie at the Grand’s mesmerizing, giant screen:
magical, this castle fort, not believed unless it’s seen.
Sleeping on the boat at night, rocked to sleep by gentle wakes,
row the dinghy in the morn, skindive for abalone steaks.
Journey back home Sunday night, late arrival into port.
Monday morning, foggy dreamland: school simply does not comport!
—————
(memories of childhood trips to Avalon Harbor on Catalina Island off the coast of California)
You’ve got to have a certain knack
when opening your Silly Sack;
the beasts within will soon attack
with no hold barred, no turning back.
Now these are not the monstrous sort,
it’s just that they do not comport.
Of mischief, they are never short,
treat mayhem like it is a sport.
Prepare for giggles, snorts, and laughs,
guffaw at awkward giraffe gaffes,
where pigs with dirt soap take mud baths,
where self-signed cars give autographs.
Juno the dog is in there too;
you know what she likes best to do.
She’ll give horse rides, and when we’re through,
we’ll see our parents at the zoo!
So loose the drawstring, open wide;
heck, you might even jump inside!
A Silly Sack’s the place to hide -
with imagination as your guide!
----------
I wrote this as quatrains first, then remembered the contest and wrote it as limericks - frankly, I like the quatrains better...
You’ve got to have a certain knack
when opening your Silly Sack
for the beasts within
will attack to win
with no hold barred, no turning back.
Now these are not the monstrous sort,
it’s just that they do not comport.
It’s mischief they seek
and havoc they wreak,
treat mayhem like it is a sport.
Prepare for giggles, snorts, and laughs,
guffaw at awkward giraffe gaffes,
where well-tailored storks
use knives, spoons and forks,
where self-signed cars give autographs.
Juno the talking dog - she’s in there too
and you know what Juno likes best to do.
She’s as big as a horse;
we’ll ride her, of course,
go see the adults kept down at the zoo!
So loose the drawstring, open it wide;
heck, you might even jump down inside!
But there’s no turning back
from a loose Silly Sack
when imagination is your guide.
—————
for the Children’s Limericks Poetry Contest
sponsored by Eve Roper
written on 11/30/22
To craft a poem short,
one that cavorts,
holds court,
exhorts,
perhaps retorts
of sort
and not resort
to ***ort:
a sport
that does comport
in support
of a certain forte.
----------
H/T to Maurice Rigoler's The Art of the Short Poem
Did I not speak words of greatest import
While seeking your attention for the vote?
On my best behavior I surely did comport.
With unsavory characters I did not consort
Lest my reputation be found in the moat
Did I not speak words of greatest import?
I did my best to bring constituents comfort
Over your little ones I never failed to dote
On my best behavior I surely did comport,
When my opponent my words did contort
I held my tongue, trying hard not to quote
Did I not speak words of greatest import?
Legislative successes I was quick to report
I visited the tiniest villages, some remote
On my best behavior I surely did comport,
You turned me out with harshest retort
You even throttled my red, burning throat
Did I not speak words of greatest import?
On my best behavior I surely did comport.
written January 15, 2022
THE BEAUTY OF THE RISING SUN
Wake up Pamela,shouts the cock crow
The beauty of the rising sun is now set nigh
Look the window and see the glow
Take sleep away from eyes with a good smile
The rising sun is soo pure, beautiful and bold
It's supremacy over darkness is a joy to behold
Like the breast milk from mother's breast it nourishes the day
Its glow brings light as it says old things are pass away here is another day
The pillow might be the comfort
Oh,look through the window and see people go
The bed might want to give you a lasting hug
But the joy in the rising sun will make you comport
What a beauty to behold
Even the morning breeze give way for it's glowing flame
Rising with steps and calm until it conquers all hood
The rising sun brings us new day without blame.
What's required beyond Grace for a friend to be cool?
Disagreement's sufficient to void what friends bring
to Lord's table, His feast, where the enemies' flags
fill the hillsides like trees seen from mountain king's fort?
If a friend says, I'm crazy, may prayer help brain
scan what fosters such feelings! Can feelings be wrong
if relayed from the heart of a comrade-in-arms?
Don't they merit attention, a color-blind friend
can't judge contrasts, one poetry deaf, can't love art?
Can Life's play not be blessed by a faint actor's part?
Let me feel what I feel and not have to pretend
a savant's skills have wowed; all should bow to bling's charms!
Is the athlete (who leaves pack behind) the most strong
or the friend, who lifts more than what's fair (won't complain)?
Let me honor myself and not have to comport
with staid views some might flirt with, who denigrate rags
of less fortunate comrades. The 'Humble,' I sing!
Where is Grace less contrived than God's servant, Court's fool?
Long Tooth
November 9th in 2020
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