a thought strikes a match
nothing much, a little flame
moths alter their course
someone whispers, what if this—
the curtain catches the light
a balloon inflates
sky requires another sun
string loosens, goes slack
already counting the stars
on the backs of envelopes
morning finds the chairs
still facing yesterday's stage
confetti in shoes
someone refolds promises
along familiar creases
after all, a spade
fits superbly well in hand
soil under the nails
the gate can't bend or unhinge
rain dons handle with slippers
no trumpets today
the kettle attends to rain
a chipped cup, still warm
someone has darned the elbow
of the coat we nearly threw
A Pope
Brings forth hope
But a kaiser
Spews hate and horror
A Pope
Spreads peace
In the north, south, west and east
But a prideful mope like a squalid dope
Spits horrors and terrors
And starts fights and wars
A peaceful person de-escalates
But a belligerent bully booms, inflates
And explodes like a lost missile
Which acts like a cussed imbecile
A real leader
Never follows an oppressor
Yet a follower is a master loser
Who lies about everything
Even when the sun is shining
A Pope
Offers love and hope
But a loser displays no compassion
No sympathy and no comprehension.
Copyright © April 2016 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
I think that if I could have wearable tech
it might be a vest that inflates in a wreck.
Perhaps a decoder of lyrics by Beck,
or one that converts between gallons and pecks?
Or lets me run wild in the ship’s holodeck.
But I am afraid if I am circumspect,
it is I that this tech likely tries to inspect,
to direct my actions, make me genuflect.
Big brother, who watches, with powers unchecked!
So with due politeness and all due respect,
This wearable tech is a watch I reject.
EGO and OGE, paradoxical words,
Contrast in essence, like songbirds and herds.
While EGO inflates chest with pride,
OGE humbles, letting grace reside.
EGO demands attention, steals the spotlight,
OGE listens patiently, in the quiet of the night.
Embrace the OGE, for when EGO ascends high,
The downfall is loud, like a storm in the sky.
Savor the glory with ease,
For the earth provides true peace.
One of the easiest mistakes to make is having too much pride.
It is the sneakiest of snakes as it makes its home inside.
It only needs the teeniest tinyest of space til it inflates then trouble has arrived.
Then it's disobedience and ego that dictates to elevate as common sense is left behind.
Soon is too late as it just scrapes and breaks as heart and head collide.
You make the mistake that creates the hate because now they think you lied.
They can't relate or escape from what takes place as it begins to divide.
Those you love can only wait and speculate until you decide.
Feeling misplaced maybe erased as you chase this thing called pride.
Living in Purgatory
What do you do when you've had enough
You Can't end it all
But you no longer want to continue
Because you cant move forward
The pasts grip
is holding you back
But it wants to drag you back
to the pain and misery
But you stand strong
Eager to get going
Eager to move on
But You're stuck
Being held in purgatory
See you're Alive
but you're not Living
Stuck in stagnation
Becoming Stagnant stood still
Feet are firmly rooted to the ground
But while life still runs through you
Blood pumping through your veins
Air inflates and deflates your lungs,
Heart heartedly thumping
Strong thump, thump, thump,
Eyes blinking blink blink
In sync with one another
A statue stuck in the present
Trying to run from the past
To map out a future
But here I remain stuck
Between times tenses
Whose pull will win
The past the present
or the future
Or will I remain here
In the present
Stagnant Stuck
Living my life in purgatory.
grim starkness of snow
sturdy in its sleeted falling
willing a bleached landscape
a lushness
that chokes the rough field terrain
strides of power
as the fevered wind
spirals In an unexpected direction
inflates drifts like the arched back of a cat
whitening truant brown borders of decay
to bury even shadows
bare trees by fence lines slump like hollow men
in a protected sanctuary of cold
re-shaping confessions that slip
in winter chill extinction
Poem composed January 3, 2023
Include the date 30/01/2022, contest name, 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 26 Poetry Contest.
Living in Purgatory
What do you do when you've had enough
You Can't end it all
But you no longer want to continue
Because you cant move forward
The pasts grip
is holding you back
But it wants to drag you back
to the pain and misery
But you stand strong
Eager to get going
Eager to move on
But You're stuck
Being held in purgatory
See you're Alive
but you're not Living
Stuck in stagnation
Becoming Stagnant stood still
Feet are firmly rooted to the ground
But while life still runs through you
Blood pumping through your veins
Air inflates and deflates your lungs,
Heart heartedly thumping
Strong thump, thump, thump,
Eyes blinking blink blink
In sync with one another
A statue stuck in the present
Trying to run from the past
To map out a future
But here I remain stuck
Between times tenses
Whose pull will win
The past the present
or the future
Or will I remain here
In the present
Stagnant Stuck
Living my life in purgatory.
No sponsor
come on, open that door to face
what did you leave in the antechamber of your happiness
(I'm talking about the sad, chained lions roaring their nightmares
of the bloodthirsty watering that produced the fruits of illusion
of the black nights that drowned out the desperate cries
of those who didn't care to be exuberantly happy
while his brothers were swallowed by the murderous maw
of those who gorge themselves on the flesh of the innocent)
all these spilled cups for your disguised smile
that inflates and explodes in the egocentrism of an infinite space
(I'm talking about these empty tributes we pay
to the sadists who torture us with their inhumane successes
while we crawl on the slime ground of the defeated).
the river that never lets you drown
oh cry baby save me your tears
oh cry baby tell me your fears
i will chew them up and spit them out
so please tell me what it’s all about
i’m leaving my heart out on the table raw
i’ll decompose as she thaw
you can pin it up on your board for darts
and hurl your knifes at my moving parts
oh cry baby cry me a river and drown
i’ll put on my finest gown
my face inflates words fight their their way out of my mouth
and all my humanity goes down south
cry baby is gonna cry all she wants
and she is gonna have to deal with our taunts
cry baby’s words don’t mean a thing
cry baby’s sobs start to sound like a sing
cry baby look at the scene
the woods the flowers, you’re our cry baby queen
over there is a river full of tears but you will not drown
crystallized electrolytes make your crown
poor baby don’t cry
i never meant to make you want to die
we put glitter bandages over your heart
so we can start this process from the start
The ego of the atheist,
himself the standard bearer
Where power of a mortal mind,
inflates beyond repair
His facts he weds intensely,
dimension fencing in
What’s not explained, he must profane,
all emptiness within
Whose formulas and strictures,
his Rosary to proclaim
What can’t be solved, new facts resolve,
dismissive in his shame
The ending predetermined,
his choices lock the door
Alone, his dialectic dies
—naked to implore
(The First Book Of Prayers: January, 2022)
The chauvinist, is not "Man"
is a hilarious gas
that inflates a meat puppet...!
Without reason or judgment...
They tell them the reality of yesterday is their tomorrow
Save the cries for different versions of sorrow
The world is hash but there is a God who is omnipotent
The world has abundance if they choose to be content
If their dwelling is a square foot, they should think about a refugee
If their bowls are empty they should fast, prayer is free
They traded their votes for hope and empty promises
Their offertory is a subscription enticed with a forebode blessing
They should not question their poverty, for religion extols it
They should not question the system, if they are patriotic
The system was designed for the poor to determine who rules
The system was designed for a few rich to rule over the poor
Their poverty gives the powerful power over them
Their ignorance raises few questions
Their starvation hungers for crumbs
The desperation of the governed inflates the egos of the government
Dwarfing the people into fear, inferiority complex and indoctrination
These are the bars of the gate of the prison of poverty
There is no milk to be had
from this humid churn.
The air is obese.
A limping obstinacy
inflates canyons of heat.
The sun throws a leash of blood
around our necks.
Throats channel the smoke
of saxophones.
Over the dry prairies
a fiery mule pulls the sun.
We will burn lanterns,
listlessly watch catfish
char on bleached docks.
We speak to each other
as if we were just a sigh
at the end of one more
solar flare.
The cello and I
we sustain
in each other
while we play
the melody
The violin caresses
my shoulder while
we execute the work
musical,
the double bass
squeezes
my chest
when together
we are in ensemble ...
With the tambourine, my fingers
and my hands do
frenetic
juggles...
the drums helps me
to beat up my
evils ... and to frighten
my fears...
The harmonica consciously
kiss me, kiss
while we are
on stage...
But it's the fender guitar
that plays me inside
in solo riffs that
inflates my soul
and makes me squirm
on wishes ...
evaporating my suffering,
all while
we fly high
feeling alive in music !
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.