They reside on the other side.
They bathe in fertility.
They own yard-keepers and servants;
Dogs, cats and charming plants.
They breathe the camphorated air like us,
Swallow the transparent dust,
Cross over and fall in the muddy rivers
Like our siblings living under the tiny tents.
They reside on the other side of town,
Over the mountains.
They bathe in tranquil fertility
Of the country-side.
They ignore that we are the same
And that we experience daily the same dilemmas.
One day, them and us, all of us will answer
Present deep in the river, under the karmic bridge.
P.S. This poem was originally written during my college years. Nelson Mandela was still illegally and wrongfully jailed, spending (wasting) 27 years of his heroic and precious life unjustly incarcerated. Mr. Nelson Mandela and my African brothers and sisters are the sources of my inspiration.
Copyright © circa May 1984 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
best homemade ice cream
the pride and satisfaction
of maple walnut
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
A hot bowl of soup and crusty bread
Perhaps some toast or croutons instead
Homemade soup is the best
They are more satisfying than the rest
Nutritious, healthy and delicious
Sometimes, the contents are suspicious
I make soup for my family
One is called a mystery
I can't call it any other name
As the contents are never the same.
At the end of every week
The leftovers in my fridge, I seek
I may add a little dry rice
Or some pasta, that is nice
I often add a dash of sauce
And some herbs and spices, of course
The aromas of these soups while cooking,
Make my taste buds burst when looking
With the concoction simmering away.
I have nothing else to say
Except, perhaps I trust my family
Will enjoy this mysterious soup for tea.
white wine beer mixer
sunrise awaits, raindrops spritz~
poor mans champagne joy
#4
They reside on the other side of the city
They bathe in the quiet and still fertility
They own yard-keepers and docile servants
Dogs, cats, hyenas and precious plants.
They breathe the camphorated air like us
Swallow the transparent and abominable dust
Cross over and fall in the muddy rivers like saints
Like our siblings living under the tiny tents.
They reside on the other side of the old towns
Over the mountains, not too far from the plains
They bathe in tranquil fertility
Of the country-side, not too far from the city.
They ignore that we are the same, the same formulas
And that we live and endure daily the same dilemmas
And one day, them and us, all of us will answer
Present in the river, under the bridge of forever.
Copyright © September 1982, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Homemade
How happy we were while
eating homemade foods
in some Congolese and
Nigerian restaurants
in different places
of Pretoria.
some longtime friends
enjoyed different fried fish
(from lake Tanganyika) ,
nice salade with cassava pap.
It was an excellent hospitality
which I experienced on those days
with them in different places
around and out of town where
we could find homemade foods ,
cultural garments and other stuffs
preferable by all bantus.
I think those healthy foods
increased some calories
in my body as my heart was super exited
while sharing with some home friends
In a foreign country.
When Grandma baked her fresh warm bread
Enough for the neighborhood to be fed,
The kitchen was rich with the smell of yeast
And our mouths watered for the yummy feast
We tore off a piece from a scrumptious loaf
With butter or jelly slathered, generally both,
Nothing ever was so delicious, I can tell you,
Time after time, Grandma scored her coup!
written March 5, 2022
Iced down in a wooden tub,
Chilled more with rock salt,
Taking turns, Tom Sawyer style,
Hand-cranked until firm.
Remove the paddle,
Barely scrape,
Lick!
Homemade ice cream with fresh fruit
Is reason enough
To suspend any diet,
Avoiding further
Justification.
Just have some
Now!
Don't sit amide the ashes,
Of your by-gone mistakes.
Should-a, would-a, could-a, didn't,
Just increases heartaches.
Hashing and rehashing,
Each and every curse,
Only serves to stir the pot,
And makes a bad thing worse.
Sit back and look at what's occurred,
And learn from what you've done;
So history won't repeat itself,
And life can be more fun.
Change whate'er you need to change.
Form new and better habits.
If there's a lifeline to be found,
Reach out your hand and grab it.
Look for good in everything,
And never pick a fight.
Spread good will and be of help.
Keep this goal in sight.
You'll find your burdens lighter.
Your dues will all be paid,
Once you finally realize,
Most troubles are homemade.
homemade pizza
chef boyardee special
kit in a box
posted on March 13, 2021
Growing up my parents continuously brawled
Verbally and throwing things was the norm
This day was uniquely funny
My Sis thought it was not
As an adult my sister sees the comic side
Though she was left a little traumatized
The events that transpired left me mesmerized
Father was busy kneading bread with pride
Mother cooking stew in the pot
Day was nice and sunny
Until mom and dad started brewing up a storm
Juiced words and names were ultimately called
Dough enough to make twelve loaves was angrily balled
Then thrown with strength, precision and fine form
Mom scurried like a swift bunny
As to the fridge Sis trot
Did not see it coming, no time to jump aside
Dough pinned Sis's head to the fridge, she was pressurized
Jan 14, 2020
For Contest - A Little Memory
* My sister was 5 years old, I was 11. It was like a cartoon.
Inside this scroll is a bowl
Of homemade ramen thoroughly
Cooked with fresh meat and vegetables.
Inside this scroll is a bowl
Of a homemade meal thoughtfully
Cooked with love and passion.
Inside this scroll is a bowl
Of homemade noodles thoroughly
Cooked in oka-san’s home and kitchen.
I smell chili powder, onions simmering
Salivate over chocolate brownies that are too hot to frost
Wild neon paintings liven up this room; my own works of art.
I hear my husband’s TV set, it is loud, and there is gunfire.
I smell something lemon, possibly dishwashing detergent.
Follow my nose to the sink. My husband has washed it!
Not a great job, but a six on a ten scale, so okay.
Sophie Helen begins barking wildly; robbers or mailman is here.
I touch the top of the brownies; still too warm to frost.
Decide to check the corn muffins. They are perfect! Take then out.
The hot pad has one of those plastic pieces in it; I pull that out.
When is the chili ready? It is my husband. He looks hopeful.
I will bring it to you I tell him. I still must add jalapenos to mine.
His TV is getting louder, but Sophie Helen has settled down.
I put the corn muffins into two bowls and begin dipping out chili.
A comfortable life in a warm house with a fantastic homemade meal.
SALARY AND ELECTRICITY BILL
The man comes home pale
almost colorless in a car
friend...
- What happened... ! question
the wife :
- He had a sudden illness ...!
- How come .. !!!?
- He received the electricity bill ...
IN THE CREDIT OFFICE
In the credit card they asked all suddenly:
- How much do you earn ...!?
- Right at the beginning of the year, I earned 20 ...
- 20 thousand, you earn a lot of money ..!?
- No, it was equal to 20 electricity bills ...! just now
earn 10 ....
- But you still earn a lot ...!
- Not so much, I live alone, I live
in a tiny room and spend the day out ...!
Freshly baked warm spinach bread
all nutrient packed
and sliced up thick for grilled cheese;
a tasty delight
for those colder nights
oozy cheese,
yum!
Tasty pumpernickel bread,
tuna salad spread;
mustard, mayo, pickle too;
chases away blues
awakens palate
ready lunch,
good!
Potato bread croutons in
a nice green salad,
blue cheese dressing poured upon;
garden fresh onions,
sliced up bell peppers,
fit for kings,
ooh!
Sour dough’s scent fills my kitchen
joyous aroma;
egg salad spread piled between
two slices, oh my.
for dessert some pie
tasty lunch,
Fine!
4-22-2020
STRAND PICK C,ANY THEME,ANY FORM Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
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