A song is a poem
With rhythms and rhymes
It would be a blasphemy
Not to say it and explain it.
A song is a prose
Put on pause
Intermittently
With various beats and tempos.
A song makes you dance
A poem makes you dream
And a prose helps us examine.
A poem is a classical prose
With harmonic words
And well-calculated rhymes and verses
A poem is really fantastic.
A song makes you live
A poem makes you revive
And a prose helps us survive.
Copyright © December 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
an
avant-garde
experience
intermittently
evident
this
momentary
muse
in
the milieu
a
short
tryst
of
wild abandon
with
an innate
vivid
sense
of
timeless
vignettess
OPEN FORM in lowercase without grammatical symbols ,uses spaces&breaks relying upon 'the one breath limitation' & as a 'happening' requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input &respond in a two way interplay & interpretatIon unique to the moment& changing according to mood & thus is inherently variable.
A chana orientalis kept in my chamber's light
trapped in a pot
throughout the night
intermittently leaped and splashed
seeking escape from its limited chance
in the pot half filled with water
covered with a bowel's soft round.
In the morning next day
the fish freed from the watery bed
released in the wide courtyard tank
where it swimed with newfound pride
Wih greater freedom it darted and swirled
a metaphor of liberation's art
where boundaries break
and spirits restart.
It's movement spoke a passionate plea
a celebration of being freed
no longer confined by the narrow walls
now swimming with unbridled delight.
“birds care not for whom they sing” Quote by: Silent One
The Gemini garden is in full bloom
Looking glorious in the month of June
The sound of silence, apart from birdsong
Is magic to whom the garden belongs.
Birds sing intermittently all day long
It’s their language spoken in tweet-along
Their tunes are music to us humans too
Do they know that? one would hope that they do.
Rose and honeysuckle, jewels of June
In a vase boom ambience of a room
Lily of the valley and lavender
In Gemini gardens add their lustre.
Roses, being the symbol of romance
Grace the air with their alluring fragrance
Honeysuckle too are a gift God-sent
As are all flowers, wafting heaven scent.
At the close of day when moon and stars glow
Nature puts on a magnificent show
Stupendous delights in silence of night
In Gemini gardens, peace does ignite.
Polar Bear
White on white, barely seen,
Its senses aroused and keen.
The legs move cautiously,
And paws touch snow softly;
The chionophile mills, then stills.
And breathes intermittently,
While its heart beats slowly,
With black nose sniffing,
And brown eyes squinting;
Ears prick forward, listening.
Something tells the bear,
Something is out there!
A scent in the breeze
Or a sound echoing,
That piques its curiosity.
Early spring and darkness evaporates,
The bay ice makes hunting excellent.
A solitary predator by reason
Except in season,
The boar proceeds in that direction.
Tasmanian Devil like, is how my brain does behave
But calm and peace are all that I crave
Not seeking material riches, just want internal stillness
Can be tiring intermittently fighting an invisible illness
Hard sometimes when sitting down to reflect
How did this happen, what did I do, what did I neglect
Often wonder if the excessive drinking caused me harm
Whatever the reason, the brain is unable to maintain much sense of calm
Never want to be a burden, causing loved ones sadness or tension
So if I get to a place of having no real comprehension
When the eyes are staring but there’s nothing to see
Be strong with hard decisions, is how I’d like you to be
When the lights go out, forget the darkness if possible please
Just smile on good memories like a warm summer breeze
Perplexed and dismayed
In the seeming misery.
This bewildered soul so abashed
Within the bodied figure so jittery.
Daunted her deep-felt presence
He wonders, if lost.
Heart sobs within, in cold sweat sequence
To what does this cost.
Uncertainty seemed a bedrest
One not pleasing to behold.
In what way does this become a test
Yet the mind feels a stronghold.
He mumbled through the dark intermittently
Ferreting a glimmer of hope to come.
Braced skillfully and Concomitantly
The love of her succor draws Him not to keep mum.
Somewhere partially due east
Of Hunching Cliff
On the Jurassic coast
Where the Old Lighthouse
Used to stand it's ground
Battered intermittently minutely
Against the wave's and constant tide
With only the steeple rock formations
As any form of barrier or protection
Without it's blinking search light
Now sleep's ever more come
The darkness under cover of solent night
It no longer greets any ships or shoals
All it does and is left to do now is
Rot and crumble away and be covered in
Crustacean shell's and a wreaking scent
Of salty thick white sea mist
That serves simply as to keep the
occasionally passing odd
1 or 2 trophy hunter or ghoulish
collector
From further quickening it's imminent
demise
The first Sunday I knew emptiness,
The day midnight opened its door,
With me, this hollow has stayed,
A symphony that has intermittently played.
Unshielded I was for this,
Halted it had me in my footsteps,
I walk like a wounded hare,
At me, grief has chosen to stare.
You eased into the night,
I lost hope’s light,
My soul is despondent,
I'm a tree with feeble boughs.
Sunset memories cloud my chamber,
They stealthy creep into my slumber,
You said twilight has a voice,
This I hear in turbulent rhythms.
June 16, 2023.
In the garden, mud squished beneath my feet.
I dreamt of oceans vast and concrete,
Where rainbows danced upon the waves,
And washed stone glistened in the sun's raves.
But beyond the sea, darkness loomed.
And creatures of the deep entombed,
A world of mystery and fear
Where danger lurked and death was near.
Yet still, I yearned to explore.
To sail the seas and seek out more,
To brave the storms and face my fate,
And discover what lies beyond the gate.
For in my heart, a fire burned,
A passion that could not be turned
To grasp the world and all its wonder,
And now bygone be held asunder.
So I set sail and left the shore,
To seek the treasures that lie in store,
To chart fresh lands and conquer fears,
And live a life without any tears.
And though the journey was cruel and long,
And intermittently I felt weak and wrong.
I never gave up on my throng.
Written: June 05, 2023
Eagerly I arose to welcome winsome spring
Anticipating an ebullient, sun-swept morning
Only to witness opaline skies turn gloomy
Shrouded in dampness of rain pitter pattering
Swirling dust emanating petrichor themes
Scattering dreariness on visage of dawning.
You too were awed, extolling scenic setting,
Lauding crimson hues that darkened swiftly,
Adulating rustling winds swaying maple trees
With echoes of thunder heard intermittently
As gray clouds hung closer, roiling hastily,
Pouring down streams, flooding streets rapidly.
Farther in distance, storm was now fleeting
Where sun’s golden rays began emerging
Scintillating mountains in amber ray beams
Lifting my spirits in birds’ rhythmic chirping
As your intimations warbled amorous hints
Arousing rhythms of romantic heart strings.
Charmed by tempo of dawn’s chromatic arc
As rising sun vanquished remnants of dark,
Lovingly we embraced missives of love spark
Echoing lyrics strummed by doting hearts,
Drawing inspiration from gilded azure skies,
Hypnotized in allure of your enamored eyes.
November 11, 2022
Placed 1st: Inspiring Rainy Days Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Sotto Poet
Midnight is dwelling at
the Midnightboundary of two worlds,
With one encroaching on the other,
Fighting to cloak it.
Midnight is standing at the centre of a coliseum,
Amid so many voices,
Crowding the mind,
Flooding the thoughts.
Midnight is going through a cabinet of files,
Permuting and shuffling,
They keep going back to their former state,
Mystery spells the day.
Midnight is going on a voyage,
The waves beat vehemently on the boat,
The weather changes intermittently,
Sunshine’s hands are feeble.
Midnight is seeking answers in the sacred book,
It tells us to persevere but
doesn’t take the weight entirely off,
It beams its light on a road that seems endless.
Midnight is trying to decipher the writings on the wall,
They’re sometimes too blurry,
They're sometimes too inky,
They sometimes interface.
September 11, 2022.
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 14 Poetry Contest,
Mark Toney.
He is not hiding in the woods,
Waiting for us to take a walk-through,
There are no doorways
through the trees that lead to Him,
He’s not enveloped by their boughs.
He is not standing on the mountain,
Desiring us to climb up to Him,
Bearing the strains of the climb,
Finding a place for each foot.
He is not coming with the waves of the sea,
Thundering and roaring,
Crashing on the seashore,
Intermittently and abruptly.
He is not hiding in the sun,
Voyaged millions of miles away,
He is not standing on the moon,
Waiting for an escape flight to Him.
He is not cloaked by the sheet of the night,
Embellished with dazzling lights,
He is not coming in our dreams,
At the dead of the night.
He is within us and around us,
He is everywhere and at all places,
A mystery that can’t be unfolded,
A puzzle that can’t be solved.
August 24, 2022.
Where is God Hiding Poetry Contest,
Unseeking Seeker.
Down by the pier he loved to go,
Twilight saw him sit on the pier,
Rendezvous with self was his delight,
I'd insisted to go with him but he refused,
He said, “Nature has a time for everyone.”
He watched the sun take a sink,
He sat there until the moon took its place
and the stars were dispersed in the sky,
He communed with the tides,
For he nodded intermittently.
His face glowed after each visit,
He penned down some words
in a journal which he kept away from all.
This was found under his pillow,
As he went on an eternal journey.
August 4, 2022.
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 11 Poetry Contest,
Mark Toney.
I am irritated that people do not drive any more
They are so busy texting, they do not get the big picture.
They look up intermittently, but not often enough
Not realizing that every truck and car is a potential weapon
Until one hits them head on
By then it may be too late
Is texting” I will be there in five” really that important?
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