Our long time sun evermore shines within
saying it don't glow focuses on din
dark wet is where blooms beget
spritely smile season sets
discard gloomy grimaces in black bin !
Grunts, groans, grimaces
suited to biceps and triceps
Became the discourse of Wimbledon
without becoming it one bit
I've been attentive.' Aware of passive hostile directive
eu implied power.' The titans of 'this hour?' Hmm.' As
One who does know God.' I offer Some thought?
In respect.' In amity; in response.' To the actions odd.'
Of the wimpish, and woke ones.' Euro-phile joke broke ones
If I were the leader, of America into free air.' Free speech
And freed power.' Col, Doug Mc'Greggor would i empower
Let him deal with zelensky..Bring it down to where things
Should be.' Will that be grimaces? Or smiles? On eu leaders
Dials? And they must be made to cheer.' As they are kicked
Up..Well you know where.' Lets see poetic justice right there.'
Midwinter - means
transparent ice walls
pressed against shrinking skin.
Dead-eyed horses are revived
only by the steam of their nostrils.
No one predicts a beginning or an end,
'mid' is a frozen idea
in an ice-locked fountain pen,
it will not write even in warm hands.
Killer clowns' shelter behind
their fixed, blood flaked grimaces,
the whites of their eyes
reflect pinpoints
of a dawning apprehension.
Roads decelerate,
creaking through knuckled hands.
Chilled mounds toboggan off rooftops,
dump malformed snowmen
through unmeasured backyard graves.
At the hazy horizon of each grinding day.
midwinter blurs perspective.
This is the middling 'Mid'
a middle where the mind stops flowing
up or down.
Vigilant, I watched you sleep,
your face untroubled,
unwrinkled by harsh,
corrugating conscious time.
Did dreams of comforts
or of losses once
bring smiles,
grimaces?
Free from worldly worries,
you're innocent once more.
I have no "faith" --
but, through tears, I
see you rest easy.
No more awakings:
long deep death
is endless.
The bell rings out loudly, signals the start,
must earn my keep through the pugilist’s art,
my foe is a tall one, beats me in reach,
to get in close my trainer sought to teach,
where those long arms won’t do him any good,
but right now his jabs hit link planks of wood,
I bob and weave, and I duck some of them,
but he’s a trip-hammer, again and again.
Duck and dive in, swing straight for hit gut,
just missing his skull, and a nasty headbutt,
like old Marciano, I pound at his ribs,
to steal the man’s breath, like Mickey Ward did.
He grimaces, struggles, but doesn’t play tough,
just does the smart thing, and ties my arms up,
the ref break us up, both of us can breathe,
then jabs come again, my eye starts to bleed,
but I break the jab, and drive close on in,
the blood just the cost for getting near him;
a hard way to make a dollar, that’s true,
but what else is a man like me to do?
I’ve known all along that I ain’t that smart,
and always got by on muscle and heart.
I can feel my tendons contort
The sickening crunch of bones breakage
The skin across my face pulling to a snout
My lips ripping apart as razored enamel
adorns a snap
Can’t stand
Beneath me legs bevel lowering me earthward
I can taste it’s iron on the back of my tongue
My stomach grimaces in tongues of twisters
Left need so far back
My ears ripping into points
Every rustle edible on the nights hum
My screams no longer have a trace of humanity
Snarling spits and swirls of froth
Just highlights in the slit eyed shape I must become
Children have,
loose laughter,
light soul... in paradise
permanent live..
They have,
ways
grimaces, wiggles
all complete...
Have friendship,
that save into
chest...
They have no setbacks
but all time
to be content...
Without distrust,
children are always hopeful,
anything else they do not wish,
just wish to be kids... !
He does not notice the grimaces on his classmates' faces.
Or hear their deep sighs, or realize he is fixated on dinosaurs.
His discussions are one-sided, he does not need peers at all.
He does not know that his constant blathering is bothering them.
It is not what they want to hear over the teacher.
He lives in a world within their world, a natural, loving place.
A place where pterodactyls, T-rex, and stegosauruses roam.
He cares not for social cues or for annoyed looks or for classmates.
He speaks in a monotone and expects no response.
Living in his own nature bowl of a classroom within a classroom.
A loud noise brings his face up, but he quickly looks back down.
He is interested in the noise about as long as he is interested in others.
A second; two seconds at tops.
He returns to his preferred world.
Where dinosaurs help him cope with the rest of his life.
Look deep in the mirror
Do you see color?
What do you see?
Can you see the sins of the humanity,
And the hypocrisy creeping at the doorsteps?
Blinded by the murky and muddy
Glaucoma of jealousy,
You can neither see the footsteps
Of your consciousness,
Nor the smears of your unconsciousness.
Look deep, way beyond the third heaven.
Tell the world candidly about your exploration
And your obvious observation.
Look deep, dig beyond the grimaces of the pen.
Come clean and you shall see that no one is perfect.
There is an ever-present secret skeleton in the closet.
You simply have to cross the deck,
Take a few steps beyond and let
The reality blows whistle and ring bells.
Never forget to look beyond the dirt under your nails.
Copyright© December 12,2011, Hébert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
Look deep, deep in the mirror
Do you see color?
What do you see?
Can you see the sins of the humanity,
And the hypocrisy creeping at the doorsteps?
Blinded by the murky and muddy
Glaucoma of jealousy,
You can neither see the footsteps
Of your consciousness,
Nor the smears of your unconsciousness.
Look deep, way beyond the third heaven.
Tell the world candidly about your exploration
And your obvious observation.
Look deep, dig beyond the grimaces of the pen.
Come clean and you shall see that no one is perfect.
There is an ever-present secret skeleton in the closet.
You simply have to cross the deck,
Take a few steps beyond and let
The reality blows whistle and ring bells.
Never forget to look beyond the dirt under your nails.
Copyright© December 12,2011, Hébert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
Frans Xavier Messerschmidt
Basque busts he often did depict
Famed for his'heads&faces'
often with distorted grimaces
When she
bounces as
goat...
when she speaks
with aplomb
language I don't understand,
when she answers
grunting at what
I ask...
she laughs loose
with the grimaces
that I invent...
when with
much effort
she calls me fluffy...
I understand that she
loves me then
I'm glad
I understand perfectly
the mission to sow
the world...for her!
I feel a little
creator of
life in these
moments...!
I see the dying rays of a setting sun
Knowing they are reflections in your eyes
I see you put joy and happiness on the run
With your slowly-released tempered sighs.
I see your struggle to speak words aloud
For spoken words, time has slipped away.
I see your trembling hands reaching out
Grasping your last ounce of courage left.
I see your lips have lost their lovely pout
Soon you will leave all who love you bereft.
I see your struggle to speak words aloud
For spoken words, time has slipped away.
Some things you feel are important to say
I see grimaces of pain furrow your brow
If only there was more time, another way
I see time to say our last goodbye is now.
I see your struggle to speak words aloud
For spoken words, time has slipped away.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
written August 8, 2021
submitted to "Your Favorite August 2021 Poem" Contest
sponsored by Constance La France
My countenance, a melancholy
After strange footsteps possess our balcony,
Close to my two-room apartment,
Now limitlessly a source of contentment..
I do anxious listening,
The hairs on my skin glistening;
My ears coming alive, a-twitching:
Those of an eavesdropper soon a-snitching.
A near filtering of the snatched sound,
As they keep gaining ground;
The fullest conviction that they didn’t belong to a friend.
Or if they did, who was heading for another end.
To my window walk up, risking important life
To part its blind by a couple inches;
My grimaces, summary of the inner strife
Of one inwardly wrestling with prickly pinches.
It’s a forced recreation of “curiosity killed the cat”
And Unlikelihood of soon lying on my mat:
More contortions of my face.
Like a marathoner badly ending a good race:
Several repetitions of “Who goes there?”
And you shall have to tell me, “From where”.
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