We want all Democrats to behave
As though they truly and genuinely believe
In a True Democracy
Stop at once the nasty hypocrisy.
Oh! Let the republicans behave
Like they belong in frumpy old cans
Of lies, insurrections, nightmares, hooligans
And right-wing fans who crave and rave.
We want good and credible elections
Not biased and absurd selections
We want Real Democracy.
We want Justice, Freedom and Liberty
For all conscientious and legal voters
In power, we want truth tellers, not liars.
Copyright © October 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
My autopsy room is a confessional,
where killers in absentia divulge
their sins through bodies
rigid and frigid, mutilated and mute.
Graffiti of abrasions, contusions and lacerations
reenact without deceit or reservations
a catalogue of perversions and violations.
Rage, hatred, greed, jealousy, sickness
explode and leave behind vandalized anatomies,
a *********** of naked emotions
in the topography of vacated husks.
Silently, they talk.
With my eyes, I listen.
They confide in me about themselves too,
these chatty cadavers,
about their public faces and private hell.
Tattoos speak of loves and obsessions,
silicone breasts betray insecurities,
medications reveal internal insurgencies,
needle marks give away muffled screams,
cirrhosis lets on alcoholic dreams.
A hundred foibles preserved by the
candor of rigor mortis,
each corpse an abridged,
unfinished biography.
By the end of their final confessions, the departed
have parted with their burdens of secrets.
In death much more than in life,
there is honesty.
Still, I take comfort in the lies of the living.
A school in a village without any pastel –
Divine Child which never cares for riel
Strives for excellence. Does propel
The children upwards and rebel
Against injustice gigantic or sea shell;
Strives to let its stars and carvings excel
With the artistic hands of its roselle.
All play ups and disobeys did she quell
For all discourteous and insolent is knell.
Insurgencies and Illiteracy repel
As soon as they hear Divine’s yell.
She made IAS, engineer and Laurel
Who are shining brightly in parallel.
The capacity to write is more in noel
As during Christmas less is evil’s spell
And more golly and blimey impel.
She is still like a nice damoiselle
Not touched by corruption or rebel.
This is pond. In it many a Raphael
Have drowned to break a cell
From which brains emerged like sail
Which drove young minds to foretell
Their future. With Anandi ma’am’s spell
She still does prosper, flourish and excel.
Where is The Solution
To this Problem
The problem of pollution
The mounting waste
Where is the solution
To this problem
We must have a revolution
Social changes in a haste
Oh where is the solution
To this problem
All victims of condemnation
No way to a better life
Oh where is the solution
To this problem
All these daily conflicts
Demonstrations, insurgencies, political strife
Oh where is the solution
To these problems
I want to know the resolution
I have to make
Oh where is the solution
To this problem
The needless destruction
And the mournful wake
If I had all the answers
There is no need to ask
But if you help me
We might just complete the task.
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