Tried it all
Parents scared of my thoughts
Have a lot of lives
A past say; not exactly
At the end all come to a point
Wouldn't say talent or hidden either
A curse to me, didn't like the things.
Was not exactly a beginner
Never thought I had it in me
The freer the verse the deeper the cuts
Good for nothing; Yeah I was
Why care about people did they cry with you
Too much stress too little time
I want some, at least one to hear.
Life is full of struggle
We need to face,not grumble
Every move is a challenge to win
But,be true,do no sin
The best of efforts fall short and less
The lack of courage is a curse,not bless
The worst enemy of mine is the lack of courage
I feel disheartened and often outrage
The fear of courage,that I have within
I need to throw out,else need to pin
Although I work hard to reach the goal
I could reach only up to a knoll...
'All you need is love'
or so they said (sang) in song
as love conquers all
now don't get me wrong
it may change your outlook
perspective or point of view
for better or worse
as distance lends enchantment
a blessing or curse
yet we hold this self-evidence to be true
and yea verily music be the food of love
according to your taste
but take heed do not fall in love
for it will stick to thy face
With apologies to; Lennon & McCartney and William Shakespeare (1564 – 1616)
There's an ability
Might be rare but allegeds stability
The curse of thinking
Usually pretty usefull
Comes in handy
And keeps the situation cool
The dark side do exist
As it forces to over-analyze
Compels one to always think
And makes many situations, realize
Forces one to overthink
Perhaps the biggest drawback
As well as some boon to bear
If the analysis delays the setback
Changes your view
By which you see others
If they fail to observe
You'll disgust them forever
Prevents cringe habits
And avoid those having them
Many might climb on you
Like you're some kind of stem
It gives you some morals
And apathize sympathy
Those who seek it exist
And when you don't, they envy
The curse of thinking
It is as it is
Can't change its nature
And have to bear as it is
Not another limerick verse
I swear it must be a curse
Don't call the poem cop
I give up I'll stop
Because they keep getting worse
So many hateful internet opinions,
but not enough compassion or intellect;
There's always an embittered person
raging ceaselessly about everything
So much collective societal arrogance,
at times it like there's no humility
There's always someone in the world
arguing over what does not matter
Maybe they'll get a thicker enough skin,
they might even learn to care a bit less
Perhaps they will later on come to see
that through detachment they can be free
Rumple Stein lit a single
flickering candle, casting
long, spooky shadows across
the cold stone walls.
"High upon the jagged cliffs
stands the forgotten castle of
Blackwood," he told the
shivering children.
"Inside its drafty halls roams
Grimtooth, an evil ghoul with
glowing green eyes and
razor- sharp claws."
The wind roared outside,
rattling the windows as if
Grimtooth himself were
trying to break inside.
He glides through the castle
dungeons, searching for
intruders who dare to touch
his cursed silver."
Suddenly, a low, scraping
sound echoed from the
fireplace, making the children
jump in terror.
"If he catches you, Rumple
Stein whispered, leaning
close, "he freezes you into a
solid stone statue!"
He mimicked a frozen face,
his arms locked stiffly in the
air, making the kids gasp
loudly.
"Only the bravest souls can
outsmart his traps and
escape the castle before the
morning sun."
With a sudden POOF, Rumple
Stein blew out the candle and
laughed, "Sleep tight, little statues!"
I spit venom when it’s bad
Just know, I try hard
It’s not just every day mad
When I pull this card
It isn’t that I’m proud
I have an evil tongue
I bite until it bleeds
Til the final sting has stung
But enough is enough
And “my” enough is a ton
Once I hit that point
I can’t un spin the webs I’ve spun
The words begin to ooze
They’re thick and they stick
There’s nothing to undo
The choice won’t be un picked
My soul yearns to wander
the thoughts of beauty
where my dreams drift endlessly
on winds of wishes
when I read the words
forming in my mind
as metaphors scatter cold
and sentences run wild
and I'm drawn toward
mystic meadows of wordy mists
where illusions are scribed
in wondrous wonder
to become crumbled pages
of poems that could have been
Tonight I'll cry for my unwritten words
as I sit before the fire
and toast to my heart
beating like a drum
calling out the poems in my mind
that vanished, leaving me empty
drowning in darkness
When you lie to your therapist.
But you can’t howl, or scratch, or feel jumbled.
Straighten up like antennae should.
Or get thrown in the hospital like an evil shimmer.
You can’t feel jumbled in there.
You get eyesight and fingertips falling off.
When you lie to a therapist,
The cameras don’t shut off ever.
They just get more obvious like blood.
She took my hand and told me she would help me anyway.
I couldn’t shake her hand away,
No matter the trembling.
A therapist’s curse.
When you are most pliable.
What if...
They are only two small words,
Harmless enough when left alone,
Silent, so long as they do not lean toward each other.
But the moment they touch, something in the dark stirs.
A door unlatched, a wound reopened, a shadow that follows you home.
It asks only one thing of you:
What if I had chosen differently?
That is enough to send the mind drifting into places it should not go,
Through the graves of the past,
Through the choking stillness of the present,
Toward futures that linger like ghosts beyond a locked door.
Some paths might have spared you,
Others still move behind you, soft-footed and patient.
That is the curse of those two words:
They can bury you in a life that never happened.
© Poem – XVII/V/MMXXVI
LRET
Humans dream with infinite desire,
yet earth is bound in finite stone.
Scarcity reclaims what hope imagines,
and struggle rises to make it known.
Toughness builds a fleeting joy,
resilience sparks the fire of will.
But surrender waits at every corner,
a silent whisper, standing still.
Power is seized to bridge the gap
between longing and nature’s law.
Yet crowns dissolve in empty hands,
and truth of death is what we saw.
Life flickers — a fragile flame,
a gift once given, then reclaimed.
At times a blessing from the skies,
at times a chain that binds and drains.
And in this journey, I met a woman,
her presence carved into my fate.
But time was never on our side,
so love was left to hesitate.
Sometimes I curse the gods for this,
for burdens placed upon my breath.
Yet sometimes I thank them quietly
for beauty born inside of death.
Even gods in ancient texts
are swallowed by the mortal line.
For beauty lives in impermanence,
and love survives by what must die.
And still one life cannot contain
the endless weight of what we are…
A curse for the wicked
A spell to exact serious revenge, if you can’t find a picture of your enemy, imagine where you last seen him/her. If you haven’t got a candle use this picture. Hold that image in your mind. Light a candle, stare into the candle with such hatred for the person/s then read,
I hate you so much
I want revenge
For what you did to me
I want you to suffer
In hell and feel the pain
Of ever destroying my soul
I want you to feel the agenising pain
I put a curse on you
For ever more
Leave the candle on all night, preferably 3 to 4 am.
Forget about money and power
Life is indeed a divine gift
From the Almighty God of every hour
From the Eternal Spirit which can lift
The entire Universe with one finger
A divine gift must be respected at all times
Cease all stupid and useless wars and crimes
Against Humanity, civility, decency and compassion
“Thou Shall Not Kill”. Seek salvation and benediction
Rather than the curses and anathemas of the Almighty
If you don’t pay, your grandchildren will pay – without mercy
Love is a true panacea and life, a divine treasure
Karma forgets nothing. Regardless, there will be a future
The wheel is turning, and, without a doubt, it will come to a stop somewhere.
Money and power, for their part, will lead you nowhere.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to my mother on the occasion of her birthday.
Thank you to God, Mom and Dad for the Gift of Life. Thank you for this longevity.
Happy Birthday to all those born in the month of April.
Copyright © April 2026, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
I am a child of testimony
A chosen vessel of God
Fashioned to bring Him honor and glory
In my sojourn on this sinful Earth
My birth heralded a testimony of greatness
Growing up was a litany of testimonies
Today I stand as testimony personified
Beautifully and wonderfully made
Sometimes I am troubled
But never crushed
Sometimes I am badly hurt but not destroyed
Sometimes I am plagued by doubt but never in despair
Handle me with care for I am the apple of His eyes
He is with me always and so
You can only be against me at your own peril
For whom God has blessed no man can curse
Let the child of testimony move on
For his mission has been divinely ordained
And woe betide any detractors
Engaged to bring to nought his divine mission!
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