Your love is my drug
You're the pills
That gives me peace
When my heart is in pieces
You're the fantasy
That gives me ecstasy
You're my anchor
When I'm down
You pick me up
When everyone neglects.
Your love is my drug
You're my map to the top
You always correct
My wrongs
Putting me in awe
You're my ally
You stimulate my nerves
Whenever I'm down cast.
Your love is my drug
I'm intoxicated by your love
I can't live a moment without you
When you're not here
I'm always inactive
You're my muse
You connect my fuse to positivity
You give me the ability to be productive.
In each of these restful poses
To sleeping's own posture
What he boasts in never leaves her;
An eye for fine sculpture.
Idol. Harmlessly inactive!
Disabused of, disturbed!
Through whose then cracks, sounds again for
One with living perturbed.
Wishing for the future is like asking the past to edit itself.
A Pillar of Salt will be the result.
The person will be by themselves
Looking into the present and seeing those that have left you should be the ball of twine in within your mind.
Living in the moment and seeing the results come about is more enjoyable than being inactive.
The sloth will sit on their duff and never become active.
Soda is the result of their days slothfulness.
Constantly they forecast their past in a manner of unproven boastfulness.
The struggle of a person whether alone or with their rib is more honorable than a person that is slothful.
dud
sloth like
lazy bones
couch potato
static and stagnant
lackadaisical
inactive
work-shy
slug
Harsh laxative sourced from a can
Found it’s way to Superman
Dose was so massive
It left him inactive
Now he's just ... Pooperman
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The last bees cling to summer’s gold,
their wings, faint and fragile as whispers.
The inactive hives grow cold
the last bees cling to summer’s gold.
No pollen left, no feast to hold,
just fading light and fields forlorn.
The last bees cling to summer’s gold,
their wings, faint and fragile as whispers.
I Watch Him
by Positive Mark
The quiet of his flat. The drone of a space heater, providing white noise, concealing the shrills of an ego, shattered by
truth.
He wanders the earth like a ghost with unfinished business.
He writes like the devil you don’t see hiding in your closet at night.
He’s inactive unless he writes.
Even though he’s not blind, his feet still can’t keep time. He merely sees well enough to let a piece of poem rhyme.
I watch him.
I watch him as he passes by mocking mirrors that will lie to him
never more.
When you reach the youth of old age,
Don't let actions go inactive.
Though life's compact, take space for you.
Repent not; repair, if you can
Face all !But don't deface your smile
Stop blaming but start accepting
Age is a number; keep engaged
Mix up and wipe out loneliness.
Place: 3rd
Is AI a staunch friend with double face
that whispers “I love you, but will replace
Do its words capture a thought we just had
write it much better; if so, why be mad
Its chest of words is much greater by far
synonym surplus, its door stands ajar
by the way, their paintings lovely, also
Can there be wrong in the things they bestow
In our minds linger a strong scence of fear
as the future is becoming more clear
If our brains become inactive, then stall
AI will, in a word, shrug as we fall
Shadows fall on the words we try to mix
AI will ask, “why do humans exist”
Perhaps our love affair should be erased
Before we become only Unused Space
Yes, indeed we have a new Pope.
I wonder, however, if we have a new hope.
As a matter of facts, we have two popes:
One is active and the other is passive,
Which means that one is inactive,
The latter was a hell of a man who shocked: folks,
Foes, rivals, parishioners and cardinals,
By resigning his post,
By becoming a different host.
He is still a holy man, in accordance to the latest polls,
A courageous priest, who reminds us,
That man is immortal and fallible.
Pope Benedict is enjoying his golden hiatus,
His retirement in a humanely divine castle.
I don't know much about the new one.
I can only hope that he is someone,
Who's at least similar or equal,
To the former, who was wise and simple.
May God bless his soul,
‘Cause he was able to realize
That he was becoming unable
To lead effectively, and to prioritize.
As a matter of facts, habemus duo popes,
Yes, indeed, habemus duo pontifices.
Hebert Logerie Sunday, March 17, 2013
motived by his desire to appeal to women
there attention her affection and her approval
it had been said je was nicer to women than men
it made it easier to those who oppose him to speak
against his personal desires and wants
at the heart of being a legitimate interesting person
who's interest allows those who share certain interest
to share moments and intimacies
those with a more intelligential knowing would probably
differ there opinion and look toward the needs of the man
and how the women he attracts meet his needs and wants
and find why other would wish take both who
and want he desires
any activity about interest both active and inactive
" The Clague of Desires" from GioCoso Barcarolle to
the neutralization of a note to advise accent to sforganzo were
ostinato is consistent from both ends
(from each beginning (than centered) to an end to began again)
(Poseidon (Neptune) began training to appeal to
The Goddess who were attracted to Pele)
They sipped wine on Curtis Creek
until Pele wished a certain Goddess as his own)
It is sunny
It is raining, it is thundering
It is autumn
From waking up to sleeping.
The leaves are dry and passive
And the flowers are dead and inactive
Later, it is snowing
The neighbors of the inn
See the deer pass by
All the holy day long
And during the whole evening
We feel the change of the nerves
To welcome the new season
Where we are far from the harvest.
We can hear from very far away
The wind humming in the hay
The vibrations are not monotonous
Since the hummingbirds of the hills
Make their spectacular presence felt
And the poets in the imaginary gardens
Describe everything that happens
In the country where the mass
Remains insensitive, benighted and glaikit
And where the elected corruptors boast.
It is sunny
It is raining, it is thundering
It is autumn
From waking up to sleeping.
P.S. Translation Of ‘Les Cantiques Antiques De L’Automne’.
Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Seeds sprout to become trees
Trees with ample green leaves
Leaves fully growing yellow
Yellow to dry under a hot sun
Sun causing the leaves to die off
Off the tree they hastily tumble
Tumbling silently wraths mother tree
Tree dismayed for losing her leaves
Leaves now lying at her foot inactive
Inactive and leaving nude the branches
Branches of mother tree cause her shame
Shame for the birds’ frantically watch
Watching powerlessly their home gone
Gone at sunset but waiting for another day
Day for seeking a new comfy home
Home of joy to host everyone joyfully
Poem by N. Mugisho
The Cynicism Trap
apathetic engaged
withdrawn open, free
distrusting entrusting
pessimistic feeling hopeful in outlook
always expects failure ahead strives onward for success
skeptic about the future to come altruistic in hope for the future
selfishness, deceitful, dishonest truthful, honest, cooperative
emotionally detached, withdrawn engaged, committed, sharing
gives up easily, becomes inactive resilient, determined to stay on
alone, stifling creativity and connections encourages partnerships, joint efforts
Hoy es tu dia, Pero no estas.
Hoy me pierdo en el recuerdo.
Hoy me encuentro en tus memorias.
El dolor me mata.
El dolor me ciega.
El dolor me impide pensar.
Hoy fui derrotada!
Hoy lloré!
Hoy sentí la amargura otra vez!
Quien soy yo para olvidarte?
Quien soy yo para no sentir?
Quien soy yo sin ti?
Hoy soy una sobreviviente!
Hoy vencí el miedo!
Hoy crecí!
Mañana seré mejor!
Mañana te haré orgullosa!
Mañana te daré lo mejor de mi!
Pero hoy, déjame sufrir!
Pero hoy, déjame deleitarme en el dolor!
Pero hoy, déjame disfrutar de tu partida!
-Inactive Volcano
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