For Mother-----Frances Demopoulos
The USA is a
nation of immigrants
It has been our strength
since the beginning
of this wonderful country
Even my mother came
from Greece when
she was only 5
and could only speak Greek
She was ridiculed by
the other students in
her class as she learned English
Immigrants have contributed
so much to this land
while building it
Why can't we give them
the respect that they deserve?
My grandfather brought his
family here for a better life
as so many
still do today
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They travel without passports,
these delicate immigrants,
their wings like stained glass windows
in a cathedral of wind.
They rise into the August sky,
a thousand orange and black wings,
paper-thin, trembling
with the weight of a journey
they do not remember
but instinctively cannot refuse.
They drift over highways,
tiny, winged ghosts in the exhaust,
mapping routes older than concrete,
older than borders, older than names.
Some will faIl, for
a highway stitches
through their flight path,
and the milkweed grows scarce.
The rest push on,
carrying the sun on their backs,
a flickering pulse
toward a home they have never seen.
What is migration but memory
written in the body?
What is memory but a debt
passed down in veins?
the companion memoir vignette can be read at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/dinner_with_the_butterfly_whisperer_13613
The world is burning
We all look on
Some fan the flames
and some are playing games
People's lives are worth less than cattle
They shake, they stomp, they rattle the cage
Where within they've placed
His, her, and your name
They take their guns and wave them in your face
Not one, not two, but Eight!
Take their place
Performing a ritual in the public face
In private, who knows-
We ALL know
What happens to those of another race
Can't you see?
The flag of the land of the free is burning
Is the page finally turning?
At one point in time, there's was one country
As there's one earth, one rainbow and one human race
The wind, rain, smoke, and snow don't recognize
Borders or tiny plots of land that greedy leaders
Think they possess. They will always make errors
Nobody owns a country, tower, a location or a place
As one can only palaver. We can scuttlebutt and dramatize
All we want. Earth or this land is owned by nobody
This land belongs to all. We are passing by as tourists
We are all migrants or immigrants, even the racists
Or the wannabes. We are wayfarers, passengers on a boat
We own nothing. We own no land, no wind and no float
We need to make room for each other. Today is your turn
Tomorrow belongs to no one. This is something we must learn.
Copyright © June 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
All inhabitants of the world are immigrants
We came with nothing and we will leave with nothing
We are all passing by for a few happy or sad moments
We don’t get it: we are nothing and we own nothing.
When the bells ring, tell me what are you taking with you
When the roosters sing, which flotilla will protect you
The streets are full of dirty snow and clear ice, and the residents
Are protesting against injustice, hatred and countless rodents.
Trash bags cans are served as barricades, the streets are dirty and filthy
The corners and boulevards are on fire, gas canisters are smoking hot
The crowds are cursing and running back and forth. The melting pot
Is on fire. We dream of more peaceful days and nights in the country.
We probably belong to the first, second or third generation of a country
Yet, we forget that we are all immigrants of this world which nobody
Owns. We still don’t get it: we are nothing and we own nothing
Yet, we can make something out of nothing to be somebody or something.
Copyright © January 2026 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
As the New Year is almost upon us
It’s becoming clear just how rotten
The smiling face of our nation is,
So what better time
To set it straight.
Everywhere you look waste, fraud and abuse
Overflows, as it has for many decades,
But now that the Somali day-care fraud
Is being unearthed,
Not only are the molars seen as totally rotten,
But the gums gingivitis infected as well,
To the extent all the teeth
Now need to be pulled.
And where does that leave US?
Toothless and sore and helplessly vulnerable,
And yet we’d still be alive.
Which is more than it will be
If we don’t root out the rot
Tooth and nail.
(12/28/25)
Come out of the darkness, stand in the light.
Speak from your heart and give us insight.
Don’t treat us like animals lured by honey.
Saying you care and you’ll give us your money.
Offer instead, a small thread of hope,
A plan to slow, illegal immigration, guns, dope.
Shore up our borders, build a great wall,
Help the murder and theft totals to fall.
Give us a chance, a dream we can earn.
The legal citizenship for which our hearts do yearn.
Make America great, let us be a part.
Workers can stay, would be a good start.
Think of others, give up your greed.
We’re just asking for the things that we need.
“Mom, they called my name I won.”
“Mijo, estoy tan orgullosa de ti, qué bendición.”
Her voice lifts when I tell her.
Like music in a language they don’t teach in school.
At the store, at school, at the doctor’s front desk
I become her mouth. I become her ears.
They ask her questions she can't answer.
I step in, twelve years old, speaking like a grown-up.
They see her silence,
but her voice resonates
a melody in a language unspoken.
Sometimes I wish they could hear
the wisdom she holds
in every word.
Well, this is my life.
And I’m happy.
But it’s a struggle too
being the voice for someone
who gave up hers for you.
But now
she orders at restaurants,
chats with my teachers,
says “thank you” without looking down.
She found her voice.
And I helped her build it.
Now we speak
side by side.
And the Lord will say to them on Judgment Day,
“I was hungry, and you defunded my food aid programs.
I was thirsty, and you rolled back drinking water protections.
I was a stranger, and you snatched me and deported me.
I was naked, and you gave tax breaks to billionaires.
I was sick, and you cut Medicaid and Medicare.
I was in prison, and you gave me no due process.”
And the self-righteous will ask him,
“Lord, when did we do those things to you?”
The Lord will answer them,
“Whatever you did
to one of the least of these,
brothers and sisters of mine,
you did to me.”
(Paraphrased excerpt from Matthew 25:31-46.)
(First published in Substack, 21 May 2025. See also my poems “Bringing Heaven to Earth” and “Quantum Acts of Kindness.”)
I have to be patient, and not too concerned
About the things I can’t manage
If some of the stones I left lying unturned
For this I cannot be disparaged
The island is so overcrowded and small
New comers arrive by the boats
They want to steal space, so the natives can fall
Into the sea full of ghosts
But what was Mayflower by modern esteem?
No politics here, just a fact:
A boat full of immigrants, led by a team
Of Jesus freaks with legal act
To establish an ownership far, far away
They claimed it “the promised land”
How can you deny others doing the same?
For jobs you won't do they're godsend.
At the end of the day
Reality bats last
So when you worry
That we’re down in the 9th
Just remember
Take heart
And find solace
That reality always
Has the final say
(8/2/24)
I have to be patient, and not too concerned
About the things I can’t manage
If some of the stones I left lying unturned
For this I cannot be disparaged
The island is so overcrowded and small
New comers arrive by the boats
They want to steal space, so the natives can fall
Into the sea full of ghosts
But what was Mayflower by modern esteem?
No politics here, just a fact:
A boat full of immigrants, led by a team
Of Jesus freaks with legal act
To establish an ownership far, far away
They claimed it “the promised land”
How can you deny others doing the same?
For jobs you won't do they're godsend.
Chicago, New York, San Francisco -- such
A deluge of immigrants -- they have clutched
At first they were trying
But now they are crying
Leaving out, "Sanctuary very much!"
When you came from across the sea
What were your dreams of a new life to be
Leaving home was such a big step
Hopeful of better things without regret
Was your home torn apart by war
With dictators and war crimes in store
And bombs that rained down on you
Destroying lives and loves too
You left family behind not to be seen again
Thousands of miles away without a friend
Were their tears shed in loneliness
And making do for the best
Did you put down new roots in a new land
To raise your family and make new plans
You came to terms between this land and you
Now part of the country your whole life through.
© Paul Warren Poetry
An estimated 75,000 immigrants live in Los Angeles,
All transplants from Mexico,
No, they’re not who you think.
They stand in rows along the famous LA streets,
A promotional idea of real estate developers.
No more native than the Dodgers baseball team.
The idea came from the French Riviera
Where these palm trees were also transplanted
And intended to portray glitz and glamour.
Symbols of the “City of Angels”,
You will see them in many films shot there
By directors, actors, and studio executives.
Many of them were immigrants too.
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