Charlie Kirk
Breaks my heart
his death today
the bullet was not signed
as is the Zionist way
A Palestinian child denied her right
to sign the death sentence
with Gods best wishes
another terrorist fades into oblivion
Now women shut up
and make babies, your only job
that was his message
Feminist's laughing, this fool a knob
All the women already in heaven
dancing with angels of empathy
and compassion
look down and laugh this pious clown
you live by the second amendment
you die by the second amendment
Jesus will never have to see you again
finally in hells fire, you are with your own
How do I proclaim the Jewel of Jesus;
I’m just a fool. The words delight
and disappear. How does one praise
the holy one? He’s too much for words.
I’m not worthy to lift him up in song;
I sing along with those duly gifted.
The wonder of lyrics with such treasures:
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Let highborn seraphs tune the lyre,
and as they tune it, fall;
I’ll fly away, oh glory, I’ll fly away…
How do I proclaim the Jewel of Jesus;
I’m just a fool, a fool who leans
on scripture and gleams truths.
My biblical articulation is mute;
how do you describe eternity, infinity,
true love? In simplicity, perhaps.
He was put to death by sinners,
buried and three days later
breathed forevermore; we’ve
been invited - we choose
our afterlife. Do you really
want to obtain the most precious
jewel ever offered? You can only
embrace, you can’t give Him away.
Ruby-red, sapphire-bruised, pale-opal…
Fiery-garnet eyes, many crowns on his head…
I’m just a fool to try, but I must try
to put Jesus in a human box -
can we even describe how breathless
we will be when we see divinity?
There’s a new führer in Washington town
He is intensely confident and bold
A buffoon, weird misogynist, a fool, a clown
The only good thing about him? He is rather old
He was a fop, a fool, a popinjay
Man-about-town, too cute and gay
A fashion plate, a cavalier blade
His arrogance riveled an oak’s tree shade
I’ve been called Mister Scrooge!
I’ve been called the fourth stooge!
But I will not give up the fight
Until somebody calls me Mister Right...
I’ve been battered, I’ve been bruised!
It’s been said I’m born to lose!
But I will not call it a night
Until somebody calls me Mister Right...
I’ve been told I’m a jerk
I’ve been told it wouldn’t work.
But I will try with all my might
Until somebody calls me Mister Right...
I’ve been set up, been put down
Called a loser, a fool, a clown.
But I will not be put to flight
Until somebody calls me Mister Right...
I’ve been called a total mess
Been accused of thoughtlessness.
Oh, but I’ll go on despite
Until somebody calls me Mister Right!
Remember
To register
Now or before October
So you can legally vote
In November
If you are a U.S. Citizen
Over eighteen
Be a smart voter
Write a colorful sticky note
Please scribble the date
To VOTE
For a high-quality candidate
For a good and reasonable person
For a law-abiding citizen
For a great and respectable leader
Not for a fool, a faker or a liar
Our lives depend on it
It’s our duty. Voting will benefit
Our beloved country
And our dear family
It’s our constitutional rights
To join the fights
Please remember
To vote in November.
Copyright © September 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous books of poetry.
In her smile, my heart takes flight, making me a beautiful little fool.
Since she stepped into my life, everything's rewritten, everything's cool.
Her presence, a gift that transforms mundane into a sweet surprise,
Turning ordinary days into moments that money can't buy.
With every curve of her lips, my world's painted in hues so bright,
I find myself dancing through days and dreaming through the night.
Her laughter, a melody that plays in the background of my days,
A simple joy that never fades, a tune my heart always sways.
I've become a fool, a beautiful one at that,
Her smile's magic, an enchantment, a sweet welcome mat.
No need for symphonies or intricate tapestries,
Just the simplicity of her smile, my heart's sweet reverie.
In her gaze, I've found a love so true,
I'm a beautiful little fool, all because of you.
They fortified themselves into an Alamo of their own making
Walled themselves to keep the weird one out –namely me.
I thought it was brilliant, and it was totally unexpected.
I knew them, and had no idea they were this creative
I had grown up with them, in spite of them, fading them.
My little sister wanted a window, but she was outvoted
They had dusted off their sandals, they wanted nothing to do with me
I had been born an interloper, and had remained an outsider all my life
Which was okay with me, for I never felt less welcome anywhere
Okay, maybe one place, but that was just for a couple of seconds.
Finally my little sister escaped the family status quo
She had never believed in my evilness, for she knew me
She remembered some good things; maybe all good things
I had adored her, and frankly, you cannot fool a child.
She looked me up, and we began a friendship.
It was an opportunity for me to worm my way back.
But I was an eagle now, no longer a worm,
So I allowed the walls to remain tightly bound shut
Glad she had created a door though.
The yellowbrick of a broken mind
dancing with lurking shadows
of an unfriendly kind
as
I am lonely with tears falling
not a tree in sight
stones and pebbles grating across my nerves like terror
in a land without painful tragedy
addiction tampering with the brightest of light
storming was an inner child confused in the maze of Oz
will I be the fool a lifeless scarecrow
shaken with fright
or will I be kind to myself and finally grow past these sleepless nights?
You are ignorant but I still want you to help me.
But I cannot reach out, because I was taught at mama’s knee
You do not share your pain, for you will have nothing to gain.
Take me away from the voices in my head, or I will be dead.
Snicker. Snicker. Laugh, laugh. Life has beat me down.
I am a fool, a pawn, a minion, a sad and secret clown.
Who am I to try and save myself? I curl up on this pity shelf.
Showing you nothing of me, because of what I learned at her knee.
Keep your troubles and woes to yourself. Put them back on the shelf.
And if you kill yourself, you will go to hell, and that would be swell.
The voices in my head urge me forward, wanting me to be dead.
I am not wanting to play, I need you to take me away.
Trying to save myself, does not work on this shelf.
I feel hopeless in the dark, but there is no monarch.
You have no idea, man, but I still want you to save me if you can.
Take me away from my mama’s knee, and set me free!
ado the realms that I have plunged with phrase
they have no shape - no bound'ries or expanse
some wend in heaven's dreams or hell's malaise
thoughts sown a demon's kiss or angel's dance ...
such myst'ries there are born from matter, gray
those maelstroms wend the mind's complexities
what seems dark and chaotic through its sway
works fierce to find the beauty each eye sees ...
while wordsmiths tend to stretch upon the rack
of flow'ry phrase, for sake of bloom and breaths
there's far more dire concern with candor's lack
than all the horror wrought ten thousand deaths ...
please don't misunderstand these words of mine
true eloquence is birthed through grain OR chaff
with thoughts that bare the soul in grand design
and swell dear hearts that break on their behalf ...
pray, deign to think me common, though I was
dear love's sweet fool, a million times too much
and though I'd trade my loves for verse's cause
the dearest poem can't trump ... a woman's touch.
They fortified themselves into an Alamo of their own making
Walled themselves to keep the weird one out –namely me.
I thought it was brilliant, and it was totally unexpected.
I knew them, and had no idea they were this creative
I had grown up with them, in spite of them, fading them.
My little sister wanted a window, but she was outvoted
They had dusted off their sandals, they wanted nothing to do with me
I had been born an interloper, and had remained an outsider all my life
Which was okay with me, for I never felt less welcome anywhere
Okay, maybe one place, but that was just for a couple of seconds.
Finally my little sister escaped the family status quo
She had never believed in my evilness, for she knew me
She remembered some good things; maybe all good things
I had adored her, and frankly, you cannot fool a child.
She looked me up, and we began a friendship.
It was an opportunity for me to worm my way back.
But I was an eagle now, no longer a worm,
So I allowed the walls to remain tightly bound shut
Glad she had created a door though.
*Image of Winslow Homer's 'The Gulf Stream' provided by, The Metropolitan Museum of Art
TrueheARTedness
Poetic Form: Rhyme
Neath lolls the abyss, some monster shifts, ontop heaves mammoth swells --
ship wane toy'ishly, rocked side to side, amidst the roaring sea.
Accomplished panoramic art, celebrates the scape by heart,
for Winslow Homer's nature, the American name rings bells.
Faraway, choice views the Monet as none had stood beside it,
yet fate brings on a mystic stare, pupils up close, concoct spells
from a traipsing fool -- a hall waits, Renoir, Matisse, and Cezanne.
Freed eyes vigorous strokes of Van Gogh's refuge, not parallels
since sought asylum was the sanctuary where'd he be free.
Celebrates the scape by heart, accomplished panoramic art,
sparked artist's insights, charm us like coins flickers in wishing wells.
2021 April 24
*8th Place*
A New Abracadabra Poem
~~Emile Pinet: Judged 2021 June 01
silence marks a fool a wise man - a closed mouth marks understanding
Proverbs 17-28....Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is counted wise: and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding. (KJV)
11-17-19
Contest: Proverbial Monoku 2
Sponsor: Carol Connell
Black Blazers we all wear;
I just sit and stare;
Hearing about things I don't care;
Do not close your eyes, just don't dare
Do not speak your truth, Oh! they will just glare;
Step out of the line, your reputation, Oh! it will be marred;
They all say, 'A chance like this is rare';
They tell me, let it break and tear;
It is just your soul, no one cares;
I am in their lair and their echos blare,
My life has become an unanswered questionnaire,
Written by their unware hand in this unnecessary warfare.
I cry beware, but others say it is our chance to polished silverware
And so it goes, I am a fool, a fraud who acts like this is my legionnaire.
Related Poems