Long Bouncers Poems
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A week after surgery
my body still thinks it’s on vacay~
lounging in a hammock somewhere
between nap and nope.
The doctors say the anesthesia
left the building ages ago,
swept out by my liver and kidneys
like bouncers who don’t mess around.
But try telling that
to the sloth currently renting my spine.
This drowsiness, this brain fog,
this who replaced my energy with wet cardboard feeling~
apparently it’s not leftover drugs,
just my cells sitting in a staff meeting
trying to recalibrate.
I imagine them gathered around a table:
tiny cellular accountants
shuffling papers, muttering,
“We’ve been through a lot, folks.
Let’s all take five… or fifty.”
Meanwhile, I wander the house
like a slow-motion ghost,
forgetting what I came into the room for,
forgetting what I forgot,
forgetting that I forgot the forgetting.
It’s a surgical hangover they say~
not the anesthesia lingering,
but my whole system catching its breath,
like it just ran a marathon
without telling me.
So here I am:
wrapped in blankets,
moving at the speed of continental drift,
waiting for my cells
to finish their existential regrouping.
Until then,
I honor the sloth within~
my sluggish, sleepy,
post-operative spirit animal~
who refuses to leave
and honestly?
It might just deserve a tiny medal.
War
Is where
Nobody wins
And everybody sins
At the unbeautiful bar
War is hell on earth
At birth
God created humans
To be better than the lions
And the other nefarious predators
That’s a given
War transforms young men
And young women
Into absurd killers and murderers
War is criminal
War is suicidal
The truth hurts. Oh! Boy. Oh! Boy
Vile foragers oppress, attack, maim and destroy
Common sense is absent in wartime
No countries are at their prime
Where they harvest dead victims, casualties
Pains, sufferings, animosities and calamities
War is immoral
War is awful
War is for crazed gangsters
War is for ireful bouncers
Death comes early for numberless youngsters
Families are worrying, crying and mourning
And don’t care about vanity, flags and flowers
Families only care about the living
Love, peace, harmony and humanity
War is wasteful
War is baneful
War is for dreadful pit-bulls
War is for god-awful fools
Premature death is unacceptable and crazy
And cemeteries are plentiful and not empty
How sad and unnecessary to be so strong
And to die so early and so young
How sad and inhumane to be so wrong
And to fail flat to unite in order to sing a fine song
Life is precious on all sides
Intolerance chokes and arrogance divides
Diplomacy is the key to resolving our current differences
Dialogue is the password to open up countless entrances
To find common ground
Better and friendlier sound
War is never the equitable answer to the question
But love is the quintessentially perfect solution
To the human or mundane equation.
Copyright © February 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Away at a strip club
No clothes are on me
I misread the club rules
Now I feel silly
I’d removed my jacket
White shirt and black pants
Then off came my boxers
I wanted to dance
Two big burly bouncers
Dragged me off the floor
Though I’m still butt naked
They show me the door
I flag down a taxi
Although I’ve no cash
I’m dropped at my girlfriend’s
To her door I dash
She pays the cab driver
And gives him a tip
One look at her stern face
I’m on a guilt trip
She throws me a bath robe
And I put it on
Then I realise that
My work clothes are gone
Although it’s past midnight
She drives me straight back
And gets my belongings
Then gives me some flack
I say that I’m sorry
Won’t do it again
And if I go clubbing
From drink I’ll abstain!
08/08/23
Heaven’s to Mergetroid, what dire straights had the moon men gotten themselves into this time? Lunar craters were filling with nuclear waste and there was not a friend to be found at the convention. The UFO (Unified Foreign Oscillators) team was too busy singing itself silly in the far corner around the Hammond organ. It was a regular wine and dine of vacuum salesmen with dozens of oxygen masks, slamming traditional medicine and promoting laughter, pushing the sucking of gas vapors through a straw! Each new sale brought forth new tid-bits of bad breath and gafaws. The Listerine soaked tissues drifting in on silver trays from the kitchen were bound to quell the stench! Rosie the robotic maid yanked the club Presidents spandex boxer shorts up so high he squealed with pleasure! The robot bouncers had to launch wormholes into the raucous crowd to thin them out. Those still standing after that gig would have the dislocated jaws from laughing after having taken their medicine.
In our establishment, we have great drinks and beer.
Many patrons come to our place for a good time here.
On weekends, there is some great live music from a band.
We have the best dancers since American Bandstand.
However, occasionally things get out of hand.
That is when our platoon of bouncers takes a stand.
When folks become inebriated and indiscreet,
we swing open the doors and throw them out in the street.
We may get rough, and open doors with their head.
In that way, they will have to go somewhere else instead.
The bottom line is we run a respectable joint.
Have a good time, but behave yourselves! You get the point?
The Mad Hatter wears a cape
velvety smooth and perfect
He walks with a diamond tipped cane
with white and black pateint leather
shoes.
Gold laden braclets and chains
carrys a silk stotch guard napkin
that repells stains.
hair slicked back
Man dudes flective
Smiling and grinning
at fellows and foes
with two bouncers to
protect him
He made his wealth from
palladium
he once was a preacher
and a scientist
who created a creature
the Scarecrow
he made this creature
sounds like a film
the main feature
he mock the poor who rejected
his science
gave wealth to the flock
so they'd be in compliance
there lands and there deeds
I will wear the crown
like a well respected man said
"aint Nobody can stop Me now!"
In the day time!
in the day time, she said:
yes in the freakin day.
Twenty six limos
one chef, a full staff
bouncers, a bartender and people glamour.
we are gonna honor with trophies
peoples who needez-ah recognition.
when the sun begins to set that when they'll go out to the arena and shine as athlete's.
Under the stars where the celebrities will
do their thing.
It's what separates stars from the audience. Getting it right so
that those who admire can sit and see
and be apart of the spectacle.
it's what makes all the hard work worth it.
In the day time Baby!
Canter's presence is requested
to entertain the entertainers,
their I'll sing to an adoring few!
And shall dine with the men of Rasslin
and in the evening
I'll sit at ringside as guest!
Strumpets and Trumpets
to serenade an adoring following.
Peeplez All over the World
Peeplez of Peeplez
Glamour and Valored
Whoo: the specticaul!
Grab my Robe I'm in ah mood!
Days and Night's
Baby the parties
all Night Long!
Chauffeur take me to the bridge!
their we gonna hook up
with the ensemble gonna party!
like only we can do-it!
All Night Long!
Looking forward to dating
and mating
Grab my robe and sing along
with the Strong dong of
All Night Long!
How did we spend our early Easter morning? We escorted my Grandmère to mass, of course! And much to my surprise, Catholicism is back baby! The place was packed - and not with the usual elderly and ‘death adjacent,’ but with young Gen-somethings.
“What’s going on, Monsignor Philippe?” I asked the Auxiliary Bishop of Paris, after the show.
“Gen Z’s choosing to shake off p0rn and drugs and revitalise with beauty and discipline.
“And,” he added with a smile, “it’s one of the last places a young man can meet a pretty girl.”
“That’ll bring ‘em in,” I agreed.
On the club scene, some dance clubs have adopted color-coded security consent-bracelets - you pick them up at the door. It’s a stoplight-style setup:
A Green bracelet signals you’re open to being asked or flirted with.
A Yellow bracelet says, ‘approach with caution - feeling things out’
And Red indicates that you’re not open to being approached.
“De-stimulation officers” (bouncers) enforce all of this by removing the clueless and pushy.
You have to respect the balance.
Love finds a way
Every day we get to start over
and love is the richest choice we can make
Love is like a lottery win
in our unequal struggle with destiny.
.
.
A song for this:
So Easy (To Fall In Love) by Olivia Dean
Arthur's Theme by Nadeah
Life as a manic-depressive's so, so drab
and wearisome at times; it's bad enough
to drag me down where I don't feel so tough.
When manic, I have the rare gift of gab;
and when I do, I take a taxi cab
to the club, get smashed, and act like a rough.
But when the bouncers begin to rebuff,
I calm down like a mouse trapped in a lab.
Life's so full of despair and pain, it seems?
If I could, I would chuck it right away;
but that'd be taking it to dire extremes
and drama. So I oscillate all day,
and drink to tales of less suicidal themes:
God help me! I'm such a bipolar cliché!
I’m the girl who sits in the bar,
drunk on the music
never touching the alcohol;
The quiet one in the shadows
who knows all the words,
In and out like a banshee
but back for every show;
The one whose drug is the rhymes,
I’m not there to get lit;
Addicted to the rhythm,
reckless on repeat;
You may say it’s the bar
where the trouble happens;
I’ll take a dive bar with a band
over a restaurant and bad decisions;
Like everything else
it’s a matter of perception;
Call me a black rose,
the local girl in the back;
Don’t tell me the problem is the venue
filled with nothin’ but soul;
The problem is people
just begging for bouncers.