The past plays back
Like a reel softly buzzing in a dusty projector
Frames jitter
Grain dances
Scratches run vertical like timelines
Nobody bothered to clean
On quiet unassuming days
Friends flicker in and out of the light
Laughing in that warm sepia tone
Not knowing they were becoming memories
Gate weave wobble
The joy stays centered
Family moments spool through
With light burn marks at the edges
Holidays melting into birthdays
Birthdays melting into twilight talks
All of it patched together
With tape only nostalgia understands
Workdays show up as overexposed flashes
Bright
Loud
Then gone
A few frames missing
A few frames scratched
The story still runs smooth enough
To feel like you were there
Somewhere in the reel
The dust settles on the parts you forgot
You didn’t mean to forget
These parts just fade like film left in sunlight
Still visible
Still yours
Just softer now
The projector keeps spinning
Casting old light on new walls
Every flicker reminds you
Even flawed reels can carry the whole story
Night sparks open as the city stirs
Carts roll in with clattering metal and whirs
Charcoal pops where the isaw turns
Smoke drawing ribbons as the skewer burns
Kwek-kwek stacked like tiny setting suns
Crisp shells waiting for the rush of hungry ones
Fish balls jitter in their bubbling bath
Vendors calling routes like a seasoned craft
Balut passed warmly like a whispered trust
Salt and broth rising through the evening dust
Every corner alive bold and bright
Manila seasons life bite after bite
A wide, flat horizon expands without end,
A glass-like level mirrors the sky to blend;
Soft shimmers of light jitter on the water,
Tender waves roll in the sea blue in color.
Rhythmic lapping of water against the shore,
Distant songs of seabirds that I can't ignore;
A soothing hush like nature's whispering sigh
Delivers mild voice that I cannot deny.
A cool, salty breeze brushes my hair and skin,
Steps slightly sunk into sand send me to grin;
The light spray of serene sea mist on my face
Refreshes me on a sweet day's warm embrace.
Clean, briny scent of sea air tranquility
Fills up my mind to avoid being empty.
Seymour was sad that everyone generalized his kind
They do not think I hear, but it hurts, I truly do mind
They say we are slow, because we are snails you see
He did not have to tell me, said his Grandma Vee
She knew that the world made fun of the way they moved
In her day she had been a jitter bug dancer, who really could groove
But now she was just an old snail woman, alone in her chair.
But she knew Seymour did care, yes, her Seymour did care.
I think I will get a cycle and ride away good and fast.
Grandma smiled at his enthusiasm remembering her past.
She opened the garage, where inside sat her own Harley D.
Delighting Seymour when she said “you can have it for free”.
A silver platter,
It is my sudden clutter,
To spread my bread with butter,
I even use the cutter,
By posting a letter,
I find something better,
I would set my dessert later,
I don't let it into a gutter,
I am not a chatter,
I am like a trader,
I am not a sitter,
I'm in a jitter,
For a more beautiful flower,
Not something as sour,
Turn into an hour,
I am on the floor,
I'm trying to open the door,
I'm running away from a lair,
That does not want to be fair,
I could not even could not stand the stairs,
I will arrange the chairs,
I fashioned myself with Marie Claire,
I put on a gear,
Do not put me in tears,
Celebrate me with all the cheers,
For that, I salute those in Sears,
As I am the voice,
Uphold by the glitz,
Of hit and glam,
I put the media on the slam,
To remember my jam.
Jitter Click
Butterfly Click
What I learned from a Professional Gamer
present tense
finger jittering
what?? in kindergarten
I was painting
butterfly
technique
no wonder I get beat
every time
grandkids, today, skip the basics
and turn professional
in no time at all
I’m pointing, stabbing
attempting to beat
the impossible
not only
must you know what to do
but
you must be nimble
and quick
one day these kids
will meet their match
I let them have fun
before they grow up
slow down
not too fast
hee hee hee
you know whose laughing
not me
…yet
In every life, a storm arises
along with sad and glad surprises.
Whether or not of our making,
storms can stress our souls to breaking.
Storms can arise from our inside,
caused by the hurts we hoard and hide,
or they may break forth on the outside,
inflicting pain as if to chide.
In a small boat, one stormy night
fast slept our Lord, the source of light.
Skilled sailors rowed with all their might
As hope failed in their futile fight.
And as the boat with water filled
the sailors knew they would be killed.
They roused their Lord with voices shrill
and He bade hearts and storm, “Be still.”
The storms of life can make you jitter
toss you around in frenzied flitter.
You choose to be brave or bitter
or let the storms make you glitter.
When storms arise, where can you turn,
as fear’s fierce winds your feelings churn.
Jesus the Lord who stilled the storm
can bring peace, your life reform.
Within this ink is a taste so bitter
Warn you though I am no quitter
I don't follow fake pomp and glitter
Find within me a devotion emitter
The crosses your bearing, I was for her there log splitter
Replacing their pain, I added sweetness to the bitter
I've written the code of how to be a committer
If you intend to challenge my devotion, those eyes must see you commit to her!
I'll carve you out if you show up to be a transmitter!
That feeling within you; Dads are "far more than just a jitter"
For if hell has a place on Earth; it will not be with me as it's remitter
Awaken to citrine sky as
Birds are heaven bound
Canvas rich true complementary colors spun.
Delight sensation of sweet scent does tease,
Enchanting pink sunshade trees intertwine
Fervor poetic strokes in cherry blossoms.
Glide through, as time sweeps away a
Humble early morning light.
Impressionistic intrinsic appearance,
Jitter to tomorrow’s mystic splendor.
12/16/2023
Where is Twitter?
Who is or what is X?
I do not mean Super X?
I want to tweet a rumor
I was away for a few days
I am back. Now, I feel dazed
I am confused and mad
Where is Twitter?
I am amused and sad
I lost my sense of humor
And I hate to jitter
Where is Twitter?
I am calling Captain X
Who’s living in SpaceX
For Mr. Mrs. or Ms. X.
Copyright © July 2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
All The World Was A'spinning, And The Good Rains Never Fell
Back when I was just a dead leaf cast upon the cold ground
I was all a jitter living a life without a sound
But the deep echoes, the screaming echoes of dancing ghosts
Are from that darken place where the devil plays the guest host
All the world was a'spinning, and the good rains never fell
Demons came out dancing, leaving behind all that damn hell
I was watching the hellish show from my old hiding place
With a ton of worries, a sad grimace upon my face
I looked up the sky was falling and white snowflakes came too
I was on my knees a'praying, Heaven wouldn't take you.
As bad nightmares go that was a real god smacking whopper
A voice called out, she is gone you couldn't stop her
Now buck you self up and face this dying world you have made
You have been deceived and man have you been so played.
Robert J. Lindley, Sonnet
Nov. 1985
Note:
Wake up, it was just a bad dream...
sky gold
sunset glory
veil horizon ~ meet you
at quiet dusk ~ birds return nest
last rays
sky gold
gossamer light
watch daybreak together
cascade of love in twinkling eyes
hearts jitter
May 12, 2023
The laundry on the line is dancing in time
to a wind whipped tune in early June
it tosses and turns, it whooshes and whirls
around and around in a yard before noon.
As clothes gayly flow, with pink socks in tow
the magic of the cool breeze surrounds
while bold colored shirts flirt with frilly skirts
the gossip from lace nighties abounds.
Sweet dresses sway and swiftly sashay
‘round blue jeans and tee shirts alike
they flip and they flap, they jitter and snap
as the wind crescendos and spikes.
Sheets fill up and fluff in billowing puffs
‘til the breeze takes a break and rests
“hands” then appear to put an end to the cheer
and the clothes slump and know they must rest.
In all of my days, of this simple display
I had never imagined or thought
that a view from afar, a clothes line in a yard
could bring pleasure that cannot be bought.
5/5/2022
Her, an abstract art
Whom he finds difficult to understand
Truly inaugurated by Almighty's heart
Her, an expensive brand
Her aura enlightens
The dim & dead
Morning brightens
As she communicates eye to eye & head to head
He gets jitter while confronting her slaughtering smile
Barely manages to talk
Since her only job is to send him exile
Yet above all is her seductive cat walk
His highness
Take heed of his shyness
Every morning she wakes up petrified,
for she lives in a world where only men are glorified.
the sounds in her surrounding make her jitter
for she knows that he could make her life bitter.
She's anxious, afraid, and weak as a feather,
as a mist of melancholy surrounds her.
The bloke is mute all morning but roars all night,
it's with the help of some spirit he ignites.
But one fine morning, she stands up straight,
takes an ax and opens his gates.
He wakes up to see this woman with daunting eyes enter,
he's anxious, afraid, and weak as a feather.
The forthcoming nights were serene thereafter,
thanks to her fiery feminine spirit, it was the end of this chapter.
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