The flaming circle of our sky
Came early in its shifted dissonance
To change the arid winter skies
To umber colored luminance
And I began to think of her
My sweet and everlasting love
Defiant as the alpine firs
And equal to the sun above.
A vibrant spark of cardinal red,
In Washington state, where the firs are spread.
I'd fly over mountains and through the deep mist,
To find my grandfather, I couldn't resist!
I'd land on his porch on a wet, rainy day,
With a bright crimson coat to chase shadows away.
He'd be cozy inside, with his coffee in hand,
And he'd stare at this bird from a very far land.
I'd tap on the glass with my shiny black beak,
Then fluff up my feathers and cheerfully speak–
With a high, whistling tune, maybe
"tweet-tweet-t-woo!"
A whimsical visit especially for you!
Manchu poetry
In the silence of the firs, I gather what remains,
The fragments of a memory, the loosening of chains.
I look at the reflection, but the eyes are not my own,
A shadow in the mirror of a self I've outgrown.
The autumn air is cooling, the summer's green has fled,
A transition in the seasons for the words I haven't said.
The "female asterisk" is a weight I cannot bear,
A heavy skirt I carry, but no longer want to wear.
I am an unstoppable storm, a force of grace and fury,
Escaping from the prying eyes and the world's quiet jury.
I am not a project to fix, nor a role to be played,
But a traveler in the mist, where the old versions fade.
In the vast open sky, I find a different light,
Walking through the shadows to the dawn after night.
I am "both me and mystery," a truth I finally see,
Lost to the world I knew, but found in being me.
Festive firs are tumbling
bare of coloured glory.
Needles and fronds carpet
halls grey with silence;
carolling a distant joy.
Gifts rest in hibernation;
wingèd figurines lie swathed
beneath a glittered duvet
of prized iridescent tissues
adorning a winter casket
keeper of twelve days
festooned in priceless reverie.
Life can be challenging for a Douglas fir,
especially one who lives on a tree farm.
I’m surrounded by Grand firs and Balsams,
who, unlike me, can support heavy ornaments.
They sneer at me and chant “light weight!”
I see a little lady talking to the farm owner.
She comes straight~~Oh, she’s talking to me!
She wants a lovely, light-green, fragrant tree
for her huge collection of light-weight ornaments.
This is going to be a great Christmas for us.
When the going gets tough
A fond retreat awaits
Where firs and pines nestle
Yearning for an embrace,
A sigh, and a deep breath
Bathing in dappled light
And warmth of gratitude.
I remember, oh how I remember
The days were now long gone.
Oh. How we loved to meander
Along the paths that winded
The slopes of our hill sides,
Where fragrant firs and larches
Embellished the surrounding hills.
Oh, how I remember the ambience,
The exotic finches flying from tree to tree,
Their luscious serenades echoing around,
While my love and I would stroll over cobbles
Our hands entwined in limitless love.
We’d kiss and hug as we would stop
To hear the lullabies of the finches fine.
I remember, oh how I remember
The day we went to a large store
When she suddenly fainted and fell.
The trip to hospital was long and traffic
Was congested. I held her hand while
The paramedics did their best. What was wrong?
She did not survive. Dreadfully, I could only cry.
jade firs stood on grass-grown scene
her slope swathed in verdant sheen
white frost came, a friend so dear
the woods remain, ever green
Summer arrives in golden light,
Mountains shed their snowy white.
The river moves with joyful gleam,
Shining bright in the sun’s beam.
Through rocky beds, she winds with ease,
Nourishing earth in tender peace.
Quenching the thirst of Pines and Firs,
Thriving the bushes around her shore.
Seasons shift, and colors grow,
Tree tips shimmer, blossoms show.
Daisies dance in meadows wide,
Sweet peas bloom with gentle pride.
Roses bask in warming rays,
Grapevines promise fruitful days.
Stellar Jays call, loud and free,
Swooping bold from tree to tree.
River whirrs in rhythmic sound,
Phoebes dart and skim the ground.
Gathering meals with steady flight,
Feeding their young in shimmering light.
A mink appears as dusk unfolds,
Gliding quickly through night’s hold.
The midnight bear roams wild and deep,
Claiming the land while others sleep.
By the river’s edge, my spirit sings,
Breathing life where nature springs.
Somewhere in these busy woods
a woodpecker tattoos tree bark.
Somewhere songbirds and squirrels
hustle like hoodlums on arboreal streets.
Sometimes, when somewhere,
I am a rope-less tent
pitched under a million acres of sky.
Tall Firs push up to break through
to where the air
billows and sails.
Somewhere my path is still moving on.
Here, beyond any mechanical entropy
is an unruffled forest glade,
a good place to be bewitched
in a dappled circle of nowhere.
At the airpor-T
used credi-T card
buy firs-T class seat.
Went to first clas-S
lounge for drink-S of
their Hou-Se Champagne.
The water lilies bathe in ripples of water,
Just as you bathe in my eyes,
And from the sky the beautiful moon
Illuminates you like in fairy tales.
The trees bow their branches
When the wind blows from the south,
And I see you, beautiful lady,
Like a ghost among the walnut trees.
When the white clouds touch the firs,
And the butterflies dance in a circle,
I see you in the tree bark
Painted by a firefly.
When rain clouds gather
And the flowers hide in the field,
I see you as the most beautiful flower,
When you are swayed by the wind.
When the water flows in cascades,
Just as your hair flows,
I see you laughing in the distance
And I want to hold you in my arms.
When the rainbow shows itself
From above, from the blue sky,
I see you as a white angel girl
With long, pink wings.
I see you in everything, Lady,
And I have longed to touch you,
But you always run away from me,
You are ephemeral like a thought.
Autumn, the present season
Changes of cadences and colors
It's a very charming time
Which only lies in errors.
The leaves are no longer green
Except those of the everlasting firs
A large number of sentinel birds
Leave, because they are less alert.
Fall is a beautiful and dark season
Which is between the cool and the cold
It's time to decorate the homes
For the feasts of the believers, and for the loas.
Autumn is here; the leaves are falling
On the damp lawns and on the graves
Winter will be more severe this year
And the buds will be absent on the glaciers.
Autumn is picturesque and melancholic
The ladies start to hide their bodies
Bit by bit. The smiles become dramatic
As we celebrate the living and the dead.
Copyright © October 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
This is a translation of the poem: 'L'Automne Est Là' by Hebert Logerie
she brought light to the forest
it arrived in pops of turquoise, pinks and oranges
excited oaks, elms, and firs glowed with excitement
she was the ultimate orb, sent from heaven,
to give hope to those who had been sacrificed and buried here
their souls leapt with joy when she arrived
Here Is God's Mountain Range
We Go, And Say;
January, February, March, April, May!
All Along The Journey, It's Jesus Christ To Trust;
June, July, And August!
Four More Steps To The End Of The Year;
Two By Two Will Calm Any Fear!
September, October, Chilly Air Stirs;
November, December,
In Our Coonskin Firs!
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