“Are you okay?”
No. My best friend of 13 weeks has refused to talk to me, refused to look at me, refused to watch me dance, refused to have any human contact with me and she’s interacting with everyone around her even a person she hates and she’s so much better at dancing now than she was when we were like twist ties and her mom read our texts about suicide and self harm and writing poetry and now her phone is gone for what has now been two weeks and she’s told other people about it except me and I’m scared for my life about what I’ve done and how I’m going to solve it and I hope she’s doing okay even though I’m not because I cant even watch her dance without shedding a single tear and I guess she’s better off without me because she’s improved a lot more than she ever would’ve when we were best friends and I’m now realizing no one knowing her feelings and her thoughts and plans of suicide was good for her because now she can’t talk to the one who knew everything and I’m now seeing that I’m the soil to every problem imaginable.
“Yeah, just stressed about my math grade.”
“It’s okay, it’s just a grade. Grades don’t define you.”
but she does.
There was a time when I truly thought you stole,
everything from me
The intense pain reached deeper than anything imaginable
There were so many losses
There were so many lies
There was so much that I couldn't do anything about,
as you went on and on with hurricanes of manipulation and control
It took a long time to learn that this would never change
It took a long time to learn to find my own peace
It took years to overcome the baragment of guilt you put upon me
But I am here now and I will never go back
I see everything that I have, everything I am grateful for
I didn't need you to do a thing; I did it all myself
9/12/26
Heidi Sands
(C)opyright
It is as if the world is upside down.
The ground is too light,
in comparison
to the too dark sky.
The fiercest,
boldest,
shades in nature,
clash together.
They form the
brightest
streak of golden brilliance
ever imaginable.
In that sea of darkness
I can see vibrant,
energized,
light.
At my perch by the windowsill
I can watch the world around me
thrash in rage.
But… it passes by.
Leaving the world
new,
refreshed,
soothed.
I take one step
into the
world outside,
and then another.
The ground feels soft
beneath my feet.
The grass slicker than
the finest silk.
The air that seeps
into my lungs with each
heave and ho
of my chest.
Is cleaner than
any air I’ve breathed
In a long time.
So, I sit.
I tuck my feet beneath me,
Criss-crossed and Indian style,
taking more of
those cleansing breaths.
And I think
and remember...
If this is
what it is like
after every surge of rage,
every clash of nature’s emotions.
It should storm
more often.
Awakening to a cool morning and
coffee fueled hope,
everyday is an unknown path.
I mann the helm of life,
just as the sailor to his boat.
We both set our eye on a course,
a broad reach of twists and turns
farther then imaginable.
We have no destination
just carefree sailing on a new day.
Everyday is a different outcome,
some days we stand in awe,
some days we struggle for that reach.
We float through life on choppy waters,
isolation more comfortable alone then with others.
It's a time to find oneself,
instead of feeling like we are nonexistant.
i search for everything that is possible - tangible.
While the ocean roars with excitement,
i feel a silent victory within.
What is it that goes into a poet's mind?
Well, I'll tell you, its deep man, I mean it's really deep
It's so deep that when we write we write deep
The thoughts we think we think deep
And yet,
within in a split second-
a *Spark- something switches
Something ignites; thoughts burn our brains
The cinders inside us burn our cylinders
Thinking thoughts over and over, and over and over
Thinking facts, thinking fiction, thinking the unimaginable and
the imaginable, the what ifs, and the what if nots
We think what we think is thinkably unthinkable
We make sense out of the unsensible
We go out there, and man, we go way out there
We go to the limits, to space, to the place
To the place where all poets go
To the place where anything can happen or unhappen
To our own little worlds
To our world's,
where we can even make horses of a different color' real
Mind you, what goes into a poet's mind
Mind goes into it, man
Mind
Ghosts Are Real But You Are Not
You Are Just A
Bio-Mechanism;
A Complex Sensor
Array, With
Repetitive Event
Synthesis Storage
Media And Goofy
Logic Circuits.
And Your Intelligence?
YOUR Intelligence
Is Wayyyy More
Artificial Than
Anything Imaginable!!!!
You Ain't Even A
Competent
Puppet!
What Else Could
You Be?
Please.
The Little Piece
Of Ghost
In You Only
Matters.
Oh.
AND The Rest Of It.
-Gray Squirrel
06-22-2025
Nothing
Is not no-thing
No-thing implies
A thing..but
Nothing implies
Something..
Circling...
Nothing
May seem to
Suggest
Equality as
Freedom...
Nothing
Is not imaginable
Untouchable..
But may seem
Obvious as
Words dance...
A dictionary
Is nothing
Appearing as
A book with a
Listing of words
Appearances of
Nothing...
Not knowing
And nothing
Different words
Begging to express
What cannot be
Expressed...
Uncertainty
A fading certainty..
A story of
Nothing
Nipping at edges...
The word
Nothing
Recalls something
But the something
May suddenly
Explode...
Love for all seasons
For multitudinous reasons
Love all season long
Like a nouveau song
Fall, winter
Spring and summer
The beautiful sparrows are singing
And the children are happily playing.
Love for all seasons
For all imaginable reasons
The beautiful flowers come and go
Like the gorgeous afternoon rainbow
In the absence of the subtle rain
Love leaves an indelible stain
In the hearts of all lovers
And in the souls of all writers.
Love for all seasons
For multiple colors
And for countless reasons
As we admire all and every flowers.
Copyright © Octobre 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous books of poetry.
("Reflections", 2023, original encaustic)
Acquiring the Taste
What is it that makes life meaningful?
What is it that makes us whole?
Somewhere deep within
Is the quiet place
Of peace and serenity
A secret healing garden
That has open doors for us all.
And it doesn’t matter which one we take,
What matters is simply finding it, entering
Acquiring the taste
To return again and again
Making it a habit of mind
A beautiful obsession
Of the light that knows no dark.
It’s not hard to do, entering this space,
It doesn’t even involve work or effort,
The work and effort
Is simply remembering, recollecting
This which is our birthright, and
So allow the faith to bloom
On its own, in its own way and time.
The work is thus just getting out of the way
Not bringing our usual haul of baggage
To the sacred
Remembering instead to notice and enjoy
What is simply here and now
Needing no addition or subtraction
No condition or preparation.
What is and always has been
More intimate than breath,
More subtle than substance
More pervasive than space
Clearer than sunlight
Lighter than air, and
More terrifying than anything imaginable.
(2/21/24)
We live in good times
(by most historical standards)
Yet more accurately these are the best of times,
and the worst of times, as not only is there everything
imaginable happening, but
every up must have a down.
But in good times, with a good times mentality
we think there shouldn’t be any down side,
and if it comes then it must be something
we’re doing wrong, or aren’t doing right enough,
and when it comes, it becomes intolerable as we sink
into despair or scramble for our bag of tricks.
Bags of tricks are good, to ease the strain
and make it through another day,
but they aren’t meant to erase the down time
as much as give us the strength, the breather
the resilience to face it all
with patience and equanimity.
Down sides after all are just
the other side of up,
the other half of a whole,
and to expect to have one without the other
is childishly foolish
in the extreme.
Good times create soft people
who then create hard times
which in turn creates hard people
who then create good times…
round and round, on and on
up and down without end.
(2/2/24)
Brilliant complexions of colors in every shade imaginable
Tell me about the day you met him.
Was the day beautiful,
was the sun in its right place,
so that it could easily illuminate
the two of you perfectly?
Did his good looks stun you?
Did you think then and there,
that you wanted him
in every imaginable way?
Did the moment open up
like a welcoming door,
did you, without a thought,
walk through it into his arms?
How was it?
I don't blame that perfect day, the sun,
the light, the kismet of that moment,
not you, I or him,
but tell me,
when, hand in hand
you strolled away with that man,
did your perfect day
shift abruptly into darkness and pain,
or was that just me -
as a gray tomorrow gazed into my eyes?
("Yellow Moon", 2014, original block print)
This Too Shall Pass
The precarious balance
The poignant bittersweet
The agony of defeat
The thrill of victory
All we have gained
All we have lost
All that we love
All that we fear
Everything we know
Everything imaginable
Everything we build
Everything that has been
In the blink of an eye
Too shall pass
(10/12/23)
A fallow season, a time of trivial hungers.
He unlocked himself like a gulls beak
his cry screeched out from decades of dust.
He spoke:
My ghost is in your body Beloved,
no one sees our earth;
the sunset and the ocean
fall into each other this way.
Death me in your moment my love.
An imago surfaces
one joined to all things imaginable.
He understands
that the living and the dead are him.
Death me, he said,
plant yourself into my emptiness,
drug my senses with yours,
dance me with your insatiable desires,
drag me up, drag me to
this death by light.
I have made the weirdest quilt, the woman apologized to me.
It is bits of scraps of every color, you might not even like it.
I had seen a lot of quilts that I do not like. They are too symmetrical.
Too straight. Too circular Too placidly placed. Too perfect.
I did not get my hopes up, because she kept apologizing.
As if it was not good, worse, as if no one would want it.
I reluctantly followed her home from church to see the travesty.
It was the prettiest quilt I have ever seen – full of all kinds of delights.
Every color, pattern, hue, and texture imaginable was in this quilt.
It may have to be dry-cleaned, she apologized. I added velvet.
She surely did and satin and all kinds of other marvelous textures.
I love it more than I have ever loved another quilt I told her.
I was not exaggerating. I have it to this day, it is my favorite quilt.
I hope she is not still apologizing to the angels in heaven.
Wishing her self confidence and the knowledge that she is super special.
And she gave me exactly the right gift.
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