Long Armchairs Poems
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Far away when the sun goes down
The evening steals in quietly
Settles down waiting for the night
The birds fly to their nests
The animals seek shelter
Owls and bats come out for food
The cricket starts calling
The lamps is lit in all the homes
And seated in one of the old armchairs
Is my grandmother
Keeping her feet on the cushions below
After a long hard day
Settling in with the evening
Needlework in hand
She frowns a bit then smiles again
Thinking of the time gone by
Happy memories come flooding in
Of her youth and motherhood
Suddenly comes the much awaited
Sound of the car
Announcing the arrival of her grandchildren
They all come rushing in
Hugging her one by one
They sit around the armchair
Keeping their heads on her lap
Quietly listening to her soothing voice
Telling the stories of the time long gone
The evening goes out
And in comes the night
Time for them to go
She stands up leaning on a stick
And waves to them from the door
The night is quiet and dark
She comes in again and settles down
Happy and satisfied
To wait for the evening
To pass by her cottage again.
About 600 BC sailors went down the East African shore
A Pharoah had sent them, afraid of an oncoming war
They rounded the coast at the African horn
Astonished at what they saw that morn.
The sun arced in the north, it just couldn’t be
The earth was flat in those days, everyone did agree.
When they reached home, the crowds didn't believe
But it’s exactly the reason we know they didn't deceive
They had passed the equator, of a world that was a sphere
It shows that away from the front, we should trust what we hear.
A unit of Jewish women saw Hamas soldiers rehearse
To take hostages, blow up fences, they reported chapter and verse
But their superiors didn’t believe them, told them to be silent
The result of this skepticism was incredibly violent
On the seventh day, seventeen of them were killed
Hamas filmed on their go-pros, so much blood spilled
To Hamas liberation, but I shake my heads at that day
Israeli dogma near the top meant quite a price to pay.
Pilots warned of safety concerns at a D.C airport for many years
Near misses with helicopters was the source of their fears
One captain said he could not imagine what kind of designer
Could let helicopters cross the paths of a crowded airliner.
Then a helicopter collided with American airlines 5342
67 died, figure skaters, coaches and an engineer too
Friends who had gone duck hunting in Kansas, didn’t think they would die
Because of an avoidable burst of flame in the sky.
Our hierarchy should be inverted, the hands-on types know more:
the people at the scene, the sailors by the shore
From cockpits and borders to decks on the sea
The front line sees first what the future will be
The theorists in their armchairs, the truth they must seek
We need to bypass them, link the base to the peak.
Outlandishness!
forsake me promptly
ink and exegesis
no reminiscence of yesteryear
unexpectedness
not all epistles
armchairs
philharmonic
autumn leaf looming
omnisiouly close
throughout drudgery
utterly dehydrated
me, my pencils
lack of inspiration
exsiccated
tears stream on face
For all anguish!
upheaval giving back voice
rivers dig deeper and deeper
mysterious redundancy
1ST Place Contest Winner
Written: February 20, 2022
A Brian Strand Vers Libre Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2016
For all who suffer Arthritic pain
they know when it’s going to rain
aches in joints, won’t go away
just got to get through another day
We all have it to some degree
I know you feel it more than me
I try to support you when I can
and do some jobs, but I’m just a man
Can’t do the wash the way you like
I think it’s only in your psych
blacks and whites don’t wash together
hang things out, but watch the weather
That can fade, hang inside out
that will need three pegs no doubt
hang by the top, to keep it straight
coat hanger there, to take the weight
cooking needs a whole new plan
I used to cook as a single man
but eggs and bacon wont suit her needs
something fancy, full of seeds
Steak Dianne, that sounds real nice
Worcester sauce and oven fries
thickened cream and parsley fine
a dash of Brandy, or maybe wine
I really wish that I could do it
people say there’s nothing to it
if that’s what she wants, then all I say
you can make it, when your better eh.
Housekeeping is where I really shine
vacuum, dusting, it all looks fine
don’t move the armchairs, don’t look behind
‘cause if you do, then dust you’ll find
Then into the bathroom, that’s a lovely place
scrub the grout and tiles, till you can see your face
all the glass and mirrors, must be bright and clean
and finish with the toilet bowl, polished to a sparkling sheen.
I proudly say “I’m Finished” (it’s taken me 2 days)
and now comes the inspection, to learn the error of my ways
that’s nice she says, its saved me time, and I’m feeling better too
and the rain may clear tomorrow, so thanks a lot to you.
(she’s nice)
We are going to dig to bury our dead:
Mother, father, sisters and brothers,
Uncles, aunts, friends and strangers.
We are going to inter our dead:
Archbishop, pastors, Houngans and vicars.
The altar boys in a row are profusely bleeding.
The cracked crucifixes are lying on the benches.
They weep, suffer and are all almost naked.
Oh! They breathe like humans in agony;
Things, they say, really have a life.
The corpses are bunglingly rotting.
The children are no longer afraid of the old people
Who died rocking on the antique armchairs, and on the chariots
Where countless clowns are squashed by the last explosion.
What a dismal hustle and bustle! What a wild hullabaloo!
The living room is a decorated cemetery.
The table is a moist and wet tabernacle
Of painful tears, precious blood and vital saliva.
The kitchen is bland, pale and innocuous.
What a disaster from the abyss to the shores!
This event has no form, no name.
This earthquake is second to none.
The students have lost everything: marbles and tokens,
Old desks and countless collections of poetry books.
This event has no form, no end.
The flowers are forlorn and the victims
Are scattered deep in the labyrinths,
Humming and singing the verses of the Antiquity.
Listen to their prayers and their complaints!
Listen to the delusions and the onomatopoeias!
We are going to bury our dead:
The old, the young and the babies.
We will bury our dead
Like degraded and desperate soldiers
Like immobile and immaculate braves.
P.S. Poem Revised For The 12th Anniversary of the 2010 Earthquake
In Haiti.
Copyright © January 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Dreams, Past Or Future?
Miracle Man
March 10, 2022
On a four inch floppy is life’s read only file,
where past things are recorded hard and fast.
Some things found there grow frowns or smile,
but whatever the remembrance, they’ll forever last.
These events reoccur at random in our dreams,
Occasionally we might recall some childhood fear.
Sometimes pushing the boundary of extremes,
but when most eyes open these dreams disappear.
“We have all got our “good old days”
tucked away inside our hearts,
and we return to them in dreams
like cats to favorite armchairs”
Brian Carter
There was Turkey and sausage meat, gammon ham too,
Four pigs in blankets for me, you and you
I did Yorkshire puddings and parsnips well glazed
Sprouts, roast potatoes: I’m thus far unfazed…
But then there was broccoli, cauli and peas
I said to the carrots, “There’s no room for these.”
I plonked them on top… with no room for finesse
The cranberry stuffing did not look impressed
It got relegated onto a side plate
With Yorkshire puds that I’d had to relocate
The gravy went onto the main plate with care
It took quite some skill to keep it on there
Of course I got jibes about plates that don’t fit
“Are we to eat it… or climb over it?”
But all of the leftovers didn’t amount
To something that next year would cause a re-count
Strangely, the Christmas pud wasn’t required
An afternoon walk, it seemed, wasn’t desired
Everyone slumped into armchairs and couches
The custard remained in its unopened pouches
But sometimes a simple man must be ‘that guy’
When dishes and saucepans are piled up high
So, with people dozing I just had to think
“Somebody here has to empty the sink.”
So, rinsing and stacking and running the ‘Hot’
I gave the washing up liquid a shot
I’m washing up after the meal of my life
When suddenly there with a towel… is my wife
She said, “That was perfect, it tasted so good,
You cooked Christmas dinner just as I once could.”
And soon I too dozed in the chair that’s my place
It’s likely that I had a smile on my face