morose
sleepless in bed
a grieving poet
his raw emotions
flooding
blank pages
in the dead of twilight
c a l c u l a t i n g
the weight of his grief
paralyzed
by sudden loneliness
his moribund four-legged companion
of a decade and change
couldn't be saved
succumbing to cancer
euthanized
a huge loss
he loved that dog
more than he ever did
most humans
his thoughts
intermittently wandering
toward a particular memory -
a fun game of fetch
at the park with "Lucky" -
his tired eyes
finally flutter shut
heartfelt send-off
unfinished
pen still trapped
between his ink-stained fingers
elegy to be continued...
in the infancy of daybreak
he will ensure
his fellow mourners
know just how much
his beloved "Lucky"
meant to him
Whoop whoop whoop whoop, two Barking owls in early morn
so close in bush land which they intermittently adorn
It seems they may be mating, one call a lower pitch
I love the calls of nature my soul it does enrich
God told me this time would come,
Intermittently, not ever once.
The individual hero's journey,
To explore elsewhere, before the return comes.
Pain shared in naivity and physicality,
Wounds opened bigger together,
Hearts shattered alone again,
With a bandaid of touch and ether.
World's shattered through learning,
Only a brief moment in time,
Eyes locked and souls yearning,
A lost one, searching for mine.
Realities are overlapping,
Staring at one wall, though in another place,
Time was never linear or continual,
There was never a chase.
The layers emerge to be healed,
One never ready for what they're ready for,
Embrace and let go, not continue,
Whether settled or unsure.
There are sentences that are inaudible
And words that are passively silent
Oh! Words, verbs, innuendoes and pirouettes
We instantly ask incredulous questions.
Their gestures sometimes are understandable
Clever foxes hide behind vices
We comprehend very well why racists
Are intermittently invisible.
Oh! Silence that is when words do not exist
We see rats robbing the store at daylight and the cats
Patiently and intelligently examine the list
Of the remaining victims peacefully and wisely.
Words are often deadly dangerous
Daring the weapons of inequality around the hellish fire
Which is about to consume the desperate city
Where the words are silent and strangled.
Hebert Logerie , September 29, 2013
For Many years unable to identify
this haunting whoo whoo sound
Could it be an insect or a bird up in the trees
An amphibian by the creek perhaps ?
or something, else not identified, rising from the ground
The hoot was mostly early morning but sometimes through the night
unable to get vision of this creature
perhaps through camouflage it kept itself from sight
The mystery, finally it was solved
in the middle of the day
When the haunting hoot erupted,
not too far away
In desperation as a result of an attack by a marauding crow
the sound was emanating from a desperate immature creature
A frog? no not really but part of the name,
of a bird, that's how it does feature
In appearance it much resembles some owls
Its called a Tawny "FROGmouth"
a name with several vowels
A few metres from our house there are up to four
perched upon the same branch roosting
and sleeping through the day
They are nocturnal feeders, intermittently the branch is vacant
as they opt to stay away
The multitudinous clenches of despair joust intermittently.
Make it hurt.
No witnesses. No empathy. Nor apathy. My stagnation.
The question of purposefulness has the inconsequential ringing of tinnitus banging in my noggin.
Who to bear witness?
Beyond “you,” I suppose...
Thou nameless, faceless, formless and ing omnipresent
God? Given my luck...
Crawling and flowing in my body - more so than my own blood - though never foreign. A homogenous mixture “we” are.
Invasive “you” are not.
Permeating and crushing my existence.
Not of me but never foreign, never.
“You” to bear witness.
My brain rackles with any and all manifestations of grief. How predictable.
Where are “you?”
Inside and outside and inside out and outside out - never foreign.
Take my life then.
Be not afraid. Take my life.
Make this invitation to a new aspiration of my decimation my proclamation.
The after-thought of symbolization, of matter, of merit-
Take my life
I am tired - tired - tired of this rigamaroo
Take my life. Take my breath.
“YOU!”
GIVE. IT. MEANING.
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,
the bear’s senses are aroused and keen.
Its legs move cautiously
as its paws touch snow the softly;
the chionophile mills, then stills.
And then it begins breathing intermittently,
while its heart beats slowly
with its black nose sniffing
and brown eyes squinting;
its 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,
melting the bay ice
and making hunting excellent.
A solitary predator 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.
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