as hybrid poplar
slowly begins to turn gold....
low gray cloud
rain down sprinkles dampening me
all surroundings relish the moisture
Hybrid fruits holding such rare flavor,
slightly odd and irregular.
he was a hybrid; no one had a name
that was fine, he knew his calling
he was a flesh-eater, a blood-drinker
he liked his food still moving and warm
his parents had disappeared years ago
he spent his life in the forest
a thick furry outer skin kept him warm
his enormous feet helped him to travel fast
hunters had tried to capture and kill him
one of them had met a terrible fate
no one understood what had happened
werewolf? vampire? something in between
he loved chasing down his prey
food was singing a little song this morning
he followed her down the bramble bush line
waiting for his chance
Missed my birth in the sea country
Not as wintery as mine
French Riviera or Amalfi
Something like this I won’t mind
Always lacked the proper context
That could help me to feel good
This life used to be more complex
Than it genuinely should
Could have been a bit less worried
Bit more wealthy, more carefree
Could have known things not as horrid
As I do know things could be
Could have crossed Atlantic Ocean
For no reason but to roam
Moving over without motion
With my face splashed by the foam
None of that did ever happen
In accordance with some plan
Too much struggle with the wrapping
Just to see who is that man
It’s a hybrid thing I’m getting
Cause I’m split inside in two
One of me is here, regretting
Whilst the other’s there, with you.
HYBRID CONFECTIONS-:-
prized
deciphered
extremes
intersect
opposites
in PLAUSIBLE PERMUTATIONS
mannered
salient
postures
fantastically
juxtaposed
with WILD HIEROGLYPHICS
reserved
privilege
illuminating
viewers
imagings
Urgent intentions will not be virtuous enough;
To mention, of the better, which path is it paved from?
Hell purges etchings of where your silhouette set drops.
Like Cloisonné flattened edgeways, beauty finds a brush.
You can do what's right as long as it can still be done,
But from where the comfort derives weighs more than the sun.
Strip your palms and find the bones, actions can't change the blood.
Rid the dawn of the fight you hope, where passions won;
Self-designation tropes mimic, even lack thereof.
We do all that we can do, but whose posture becomes
the fare, collateral damage we forget to fund?
Inwards piecing shape to form what cannot be undone,
whether from what you see or say, grievance follows us
Contort wilds towards tending the tame, normal but not;
We are not of what we are, but of what we become.
So however we see ourselves; Image falsely knots.
We can't know of tomorrow but that's where we are from.
As so many shoppers
consistently doing all manner of wrong
fail to return their trolleys
from whence they came to where they belong
it really irks when I leave work
drive my hybrid to the supermarket
circle the car park for what seems hours
and can't find a place to park it
the question may seem odd to some
and yet I have to ask it
why don't those self-same lazy people
do to it what they'd do with a shopping basket
The year is 2037.
I am lying inside a tall glass tube,
bathed in a soft green glow
in a secret quantum lab in China.
Tiny nanobots flood my capillaries,
rewriting my biology,
fusing flesh with code.
My brain—
once just a sponge of thoughts—
now a supercomputer.
Professors in white coats leap with joy.
“You’re the first of your kind,”
they cry,
“the first superhuman on Earth!”
When I wake,
everything has changed.
I see in multiple dimensions.
I think a trillion thoughts at once.
I can be in New York, Tokyo, and Mars—
simultaneously.
To others, it looks like magic.
To me, it’s normal.
But something inside feels... strange.
I move faster than time,
but I miss the slow touch of a human heartbeat.
I solve equations no one else can,
but forget the taste of laughter.
They built me for progress,
but I lost my peace.
Now I travel the stars,
but I no longer know
where home is.
No noise,silence,
the beating of my heart,
alone,with my thoughts;
Without,I see the breeze,
soundless,active,alive,
slowly I awake,arise
to another day
My faith is part of me,
as is my poetry;
It could not be any other way,
two sides of one coin,I now say;
It's who I really was,you see
hidden,then released,in me
Faith,art & my poetry
Biologists and zoologists from Tokyo to Berlin worked on a new hybrid.
Unaware she was unique to the world, reindeerfly zoomed in the night sky.
Her hooves were sharply pointed, her wings were delicate said Fred.
Botanists and chemists were in awe, in disbelief as we saw her fly by.
The hybrid flower was something to smell and see
I had no idea such a delicate floral could ever be
I was excited at the fragrance, it bowled over me.
And to think it was pollinated by my Uncle Lee!
Lilies were aghast at the new hybrid.
She was freckled with orange spots.
How dare she! They whispered.
Some tittered.
Until the garden club ladies appeared
Oohing and praising “spotted medallion orange”.
Now all the lilies wanted to befriend her.
Piles of garbage; sounds of carnage they motion
Blurry images of malnourished children
Struggling for breath and bread
They evince; the struggles as we grow
-of how we ourselves are adversaries to our improvement, a hated compliment;
Of our lust for not the future but the moment
In bold they write
headlines with demeaning adjectives
that best describe our tribe - negros
A continent taken as just a nation
With a bunch of foolish souls
With primeval irrationality, flagrant corrupt officials:
Followers of a God that is partial.
What they will never show
Is the hope and courage dancing
In those malaria eyes
The trueness in our loose ties
They won't write,
Stories of how our crudeness
Made them their goodness
Of us being their reservoir
A training ground for their geniuses —
Perfect confirmation of their guises.
Will they ever have those eyes?
Those that see us as civilized humans
Minding our own business.
she is a hybrid
a yellow orange dragonfly
dazzling in the sun
America is beautiful, great and wonderful
Eadem opera, she is ugly, pitiful and dreadful
In regards to the mistreatments of the Native Americans
The African Americans and other minorities
Yet, America is one of the best countries
In the world to be part of or to become citizens
Slavery remains an everlasting thorn in her history
Discrimination is an insecere cancer which won't go away
Any time soon. In the USA, one can always find a way
To survive, to make it amidst the chaos and the irony
Yes, America remains a land of a plethora of opportunities
We all hope and dream of a better America
We all pray and wish for a better America
Where breathe love, peace and auras of positive energies
We love America when she's right, just and fair
America, America can be like a Giant Bear
Who will equally protect her children
America can be like an uncelestial heaven
Let's celebrate Juneteenth: the emancipation proclamation
And the Fourth of July with love, peace, respect and admiration.
Copyright © July 2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.