Lake being so calm and crystal clean,
ripples and reflects so serene.
Every nerve dived in beauty,
while eyes perform their duty.
Blessed with moon's light,
mysteries evolving in the night.
Lake seems to be taken aback,
as if frightened by the wind's attack.
Perplexed to make a decision,
mind occupied by fear's illusion.
Whether to move in or to stay,
just longs to feel joy on the way.
I stood up to leave,
with my mind at reprieve.
Heart being so confined,
still no footprints left behind.
Words
May seem to mask
What is referred as This..
A story of a departure
From home..
It was five to midnight.
The railway station,
Dark and cold.
In a pool of light,
A woman stood alone on the platform.
Waiting.
Suddenly a tall man in a mackintosh coat
Clattered down the stairs,
And walked briskly towards her.
Sharply she swung round to face him.
He checked, and spoke urgently,
His words hanging like droplets of blood
Suspended in water.
Without removing her eyes from his face,
She brushed past him
And boarded the train.
The departure is all I know.
Its familiarity is embedded in the sadistic comedy of my consciousness.
Its affection is engraved in the intimate deception of my own searing flesh.
Its practice plays on a loop in the fond erraticism of my haste.
The malice kisses my tears as it spits salt into my sores.
The isolation tends to my methodical mourn of a mockery.
The reassurance of my ruin strokes my hair; a reminder of my rational wreckage.
The impulsive denial of my fate lingers in the darkness of my preordained doom.
The doom of my dread.
The doom of my denial.
The doom of my destiny.
The deliberate descent into the dusk holds me hostage.
The eerie malevolent vines of its malign wrap around my vindictive matter.
It squeezes until I drip with the decay of my own skin-swallowing dejection.
The white of its teeth gleam at me, gasping in my reluctant pleas of sojourn.
The rot fuses with the warmth of my blood and the salt of my sweat.
This is the end I yearned for.
This is the termination I yearned for.
This is the finale I yearned for.
Calculated.
Segregated.
Anticipated.
The doom of my departure.
Departure
I am finally happy
That my battle ended today
I was suffering for a long time
With depression
Yes I was already tired of living
I wanted to die so badly
Also I counted the days
Hopping my wish would arrive
Now it finally arrived
I am going to heaven
My new home
God finally cured me
I have no depression anymore
I know that my friends that are
Left on earth will miss me
Also that will be a sad day for than
I don't know if they will ever get used
To live their lives without me
I think that will be very hard
And sad for than
AIso please remember that
I am not suffering anymore
The way I suffered when I lived on earth
Now I am still sleeping
It still very early
I will wake up at noon
I will have my lunch
That God's servants cooked for me
It was very tasty
Then I will walk in God's
Garden
To get some fresh air
Although I go
and by departure
leave so much behind-
You are never alone.
While love,
that binding quality to God-
grows stronger
in your heart.
Ars Poética (Life’s Ingénue)
I always wanted to die like a hero, but I was never helpful enough.
So I switched to being a genius,
but my time ticked away with the infinite scroll.
I developed a talent for acting and so you casted me
as your life’s ingénue.
Now I’ll be remembered for my endless stream of verses about feeling unmoored.
To live like a poet means to hide the insurmountable
behind shades of gray,
so behind every anaphora, assonance, and ballad
there’s a little bit of you, the pièce de résistance.
And did you know poets weren’t merely entertainers
in the olden days?
If I were a man in Anglo-Saxon times,
I wouldn’t be your royal buffoon.
Instead of being a court jester, I would be tied to the oracle.
So while i dream of dying like a martyr,
my biggest concern shouldn’t be to amuse.
Unlikely to think that you’d suffer upon my departure, my lover,
my owner, my muse.
And when I run out of illusory verses and come to my senses,
lover, you’re on your own…
Come on, what you daydreaming bout now?
I'm leaving!
Our time was like an arrow
flung by the mighty bow
into the black and sorrow filled night
where all have passed or will.
Come on, don't daydream now,
I'm leaving!
My good friend was here yesterday
He and I were laughing and joking
Together. He was a very funny comedian
I’m shocked, I don’t know what to say
I’m speechless like a cold and timid hen
Everybody was praying for him to leave after spring
I guess God had another project, another plan
What a pity! My dear friend is now gone
Nobody knows anything about his destination
I wonder if he’s now living in a different nation
Under another blue sky, where birds fly like angels
Or under dark clouds, where frogs sing like crazy devils
My good friend is no longer here. He left with the wind
When the sun stopped shining. He was a good friend
It’s sad when a brave friend leaves unannounced
Without the sound of the bell of the old Cathedral
I am hurt. It is painful. I feel being sadly trounced
My friend left in a hurry, perhaps to live in another capital
Darn! My good friend was here yesterday
He and I were talking and watching
TV together. He quietly quit. He went away
He vamoosed before the arrival of spring.
Copyright © November 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
ALONE IN A CROWD
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
she’s alone in the bustling crowd~
around her, river of faces,
a current of hurried footsteps,
briefcases bumping, hushed goodbyes
archipelago of motion
no one notices her quietness~
train arrives, and she steps forward
departure’s anonymity
The sea was a whisper before it was water,
cleaved through the wind.
I stepped into its silver mouth,
waves curling something pressing in
a wistful longing for a past I never knew.
Seagulls traced ethereal designs across the expanse
their wails scattered like fragments.
Somewhere underneath the foam,
the past was fossilized within sedimentary strata
waiting for my hands to delve deep enough to find it.
The tide came in more forcefully
and I thought of to how love in this way
always arriving, always leaving---
sometimes tender, sometimes intense enough
to split the coast in two.
When it ebbed, it left behind more than remnants of a disaster,
it embodied the ideal I sought;
calmed by the steady undulations of the sea,
gleaming in calmness;
as if the tide dredged up
on the verge of being forgotten.
UP IN SMOKE*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
whispers on the rails,
a lone train fades into dusk—
memories depart,
echoes of laughter linger,
in the smoke, dreams drift away.
*Note: This poem was originally published at Writer Monk in July 2025. It is my original poem
you are a loss i will forever mourn even in my sleep
paralysed by the ghost of you that haunts me in dreams
i gave you my heart till you bleed it out
forced me to say words i never once believed
they say people are always blinded by the truth
"forever lost" is truly the lost case
i was here bleeding at the shore
when you departed to another sea
Flickering lights cast shadows on the crowd,
Each chasing hopes that slip through their hands.
Trains whistle past in endless circles,
Rushing toward visions that never stay.
I stand beneath a single blinking light,
Waiting quietly as the crowd fades away.
No need to follow fading tracks,
No rush to catch a train that disappears.
The platform empties, footsteps soften,
Only my shadow remains, still and calm.
Lights dim slowly until all is dark,
The station folds itself into silence.
Here, stillness holds me nowhere left to go.
One last train arrives, quiet and just for me.
A dream that stayed while I let the rest go.
Now, I don’t know why,
he left without a word,
returned from the grave,
only to walk a road I could not follow.
Someone must have held his name closer,
spoken in a language I could not hear.
I watch them exchange unspoken truths,
a passerby in their quiet communion.
And now, I don’t know why,
she left without a word,
came back from the night,
holding a baby’s hands, still and cold.
So, I must let go,
accept the shape of my solitude.
No cryptic signs or fleeting gestures,
only clarity will chart my course.
I throw open the window,
invite the mercy of the wind.
I am a judge in search of justice,
an equivocator craving honest ground.
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