Long Candidly Poems
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If you walk around our house…and I say this candidly…you probably wouldn’t give a second thought to some of the things you see.
You’d probably miss that piece of wood in the corner…if you walk by a little to quick…
and even if you noticed it you might think…”it’s just a stick.”
In the corner of our kitchen…that piece of furniture…over there…chances are you’d pass by thinking…”it is just a chair.”
Your eyes might find the pen and ink drawing…if they find it at all…
and even if they do you might think…it’s just another picture on the wall.”
If you happen into our laundry room…you might give that weathered old collar a look…
chances are you’d say, “It’s just an old collar”…hanging on that hook.
And you’d be correct in your assumptions for how often we see things as we find them…but the meaning is not in what we see… but in what we see behind them.
That old collar was our dog Whitman’s who would match me stride for stride…
as we walked together every morning…until the day he died.
My father drew that self-portrait when he was a young man…I think around 22
It’s a nice remembrance of the man…now that his life is through.
Deborah’s father made that little chair and it rests in our corner because…
It serves as a constant reminder of the kind of man he was.
And that was Deborah’s mom’s walking stick in the corner for all to see…carved by Deborah’s dad from the branch of an old orange tree.
But it is more than a decoration…it’s not just there for idle talk.
It reminds Deborah of her mom every morning…when we take our walk.
It’s funny isn’t it…the things we might not even notice when we walk through someone’s door…
We might see just a stick, a chair, a drawing, a strap…
when they are really so much more.
Look deep in the mirror
Do you see color?
What do you see?
Can you see the sins of the humanity,
And the hypocrisy creeping at the doorsteps?
Blinded by the murky and muddy
Glaucoma of jealousy,
You can neither see the footsteps
Of your consciousness,
Nor the smears of your unconsciousness.
Look deep, way beyond the third heaven.
Tell the world candidly about your exploration
And your obvious observation.
Look deep, dig beyond the grimaces of the pen.
Come clean and you shall see that no one is perfect.
There is an ever-present secret skeleton in the closet.
You simply have to cross the deck,
Take a few steps beyond and let
The reality blows whistle and ring bells.
Never forget to look beyond the dirt under your nails.
Copyright© December 12,2011, Hébert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
the elderly man's made a pass at her
i witnessed the saddest thing I've ever seen
in a long time
i hope it's not a premonition
my life playing out before my eyes
there's a couple sitting across each other
eating breakfast at a jack-n-box
another normal day
i thought
wait
before going further
no it's not crack-in-the-box,
like how she used to call it
that clowness
okay let me continue
so there's this couple
and the reason
i'm dwelling on this
is that
the elderly Japanese man had to be near eighty
and the women, Hawaiian-mix, around five years younger
and no connie's not from Hawaii
but then again that might be a red herring
so no one can accuse connie of being a sneak
anyway the elderly man eating his breakfast
pauses, looks over and sees his sunshine across the restaurant
he goes over, nice
now i'm watching intently
at my romeo , my hero
he can barely walk, gimping along
however i do admit he had nice thick white hair
he ask if he can join her
so harmless, i thought
she said candidly, no i'll be alright
those were her exact words
no remorse for his feelings, nothing
i kept watching ... this was good
the human emotion
the tears in his eyes
the blood draining from his face
he cleared his throat
went to refill his drink
and out of her presence he cried deeper
now keep in my i watching
the human emotion
the tears running down alongside his cheeks
so raw
a picture, a kaleidoscope of dejection
i saw flashbacks of my own, too
two near eighty years sharing the same emotion
as a youngster would
i felt his pain, so sad
he had just finished eating
and went back to get another breakfast platter
to curb, i guess, his depression, shake off the sadness
the women she kept looking towards me
i couldn't begin to think what was going through
her mind
then i began to think
the stretches of gods reach
why did he allow me to witness his message today
connie pachecho
1/24/17
Fairly good writing there, Mr. Rose:
In your words on the main post;
Your prose, being the host.
As I read them down, without a doubt;
I came to the comment area,
To give this shout.
Now, it's come down to this;
The comment I'm leaving you,
Does it exist!?
That both you and I will today:
Go down in our history;
Putting on a display.
You're the muse, you;
Write your prose down.
The main posting page:
A poem;
Your poetic's, I the Crown!
I, being candidly clever,
Thought up this comment play?
It is the muse in me to say,
In its humorous poetic display.
Dedicated: Darrell Rose
(A Muse, Father, Cross-Country Cyclist,
for the underprivileged)
(The moral rights of the author asserted)
As you know, dear one
I border emotions that perhaps are an enigma to you
You look up to me at times with the highest respect
When you and I both know we are leveled
I dedicate to you a speech above the most precious jewels
My words surely don’t climb among or above the highness of great
But I can tell you straight—I am proud of my feelings
I am proud to have you here on earth with me
You know, when I wrote those words, joyous bells began to ring
I heard them in harmony, for they agreed
Indeed, I had the council of music in meeting
And we all averred that you are a part of me—a rare ligament that I truly cherish
For years you have devoted yourself
Fearing that someday I may leave your side
Oh my sweet, beloved friend—how I have!
I do not wish to degrade you—forgive me!
Allow me to further explain
I have left many times from the comfort of your embraces
Blinded by the enigmatic pangs I so desperately conceal
But these moments of solitude allow me to candidly feel
And as I have said—I am proud of my feelings
For they have led me straight to the epiphanies I shall now reveal:
I saw you amongst the wild horses—amid the paragon of temperament
Their nostrils flared at a presence; like confused soldiers, their eyes darted about
I was crazed into fear that I would be founded out
In meadows near from grasp of humanity
You fled but kept me in eyesight
Wondering and wandering—nearly touching the brink of my world
The bells drew you near—for they were apples to your eye
My laughter reached the highest height
You knew that I was not jeering you
I was delighted by your phantasmagoric magnificence!
The majority grazed on
But your dreams were meant for me to hold
At least only for a little while
For in the bells of laughter and music we were one
Cantering all the more closer to the sun
We felt not the burn, but the warmth of friendship
As life flew on in its graces and disgraces
We drew ever nearer
And soon—as was inevitable—
We felt the sear
As you were familiar with them, you took it like a god
And longed—from me—to take it
Instead I concealed the flame
Because the tame are accustomed
To chastisement, fear and incentive
Laughing she told me of her
Lack of interest in him
She spoke candidly of him
As a means of being creating
Need to be wanted.
He suffers from his inability to
Be Aro sed and she exploited
Of every moment of it.
Her freind was a seamstress,
Who's husband was a goldsmith.
He had freinds who were pirates
Who bought treasures in to
The creek. They often stayed on
Board because there accent gave
Them away. Edward Teach became
Interested in her, this time she wished
Him to make her pregnant. She and 29
Others wished to have his children in
Secret fooling there aging husband's
Keeping the secret of treasure and
Infidelity. The secret of :"Blackbeard".
Peasents and slaves will belong to
His eternity, and the wealthiest woman
In town she too has agreed, to make the
Name Blackbeard the secret of our era!
"Might love find beneath this pirate
To fool my mister and all that hold
Such truths dear!" This said by lanterns
Light beneath this wretched scum.
Innocently shocked, they surveyed their new abode
midst warm welcome of strangers introducing themselves
sweetly assuring, “We are your family --- starting today.”
Such captivating look would soon grip my heart
when they candidly confronted me with this question I found it hard to explain
to kids, aged six and four… “Why are you now our Mommy?
With truth I prayed to impart, my soul reached out to them
cognizant of their status as siblings among our orphanage residents...
I let them feel my care, and that of my fellow staff along our reverberating: “We love you; yet God loves you so much to bring you here.”
Their understanding vis-à-vis home verities has been enlightened
through bits of life realities along Scriptural precepts:
their exposure to joyous relationships as well as delight for togetherness
bonded with the Lord’s compassion beyond blood and gene’s kinship…
Such enabled them not to be ignorant about family* essence.
*Psalm 68:6 God setteth the solitary in families…
October 2, 2020
3rd place, "The Unexplained" Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire; judged on 10/2/2020.
Imperfect indifferent ineffective Ivan Inglebritzen
Was wistfully, wildly, wantonly weird at work.
Not indispensable, but rather despicable, desperate and diabolical.
Cautious co-workers candidly discussed dozens of Ivan’s idiotic decisions.
Determined to alert Alvin, our alluring but not attentive boss.
Bernie, Beaver and Betty bellowed about his shoddy shortcomings.
Providing proof of Ivan’s problematic predictably imperfect performances.
astute assessments failed on prideful, persnickety, president Alvin.
asinine attempts at preventing Ivan from essential employment a bust.
These three did not know that Ivan was Alvin's caustic cousin.
Alvin kept him, not wanting him to crash on his cushy comfortable couch.
Blind to the words she heard
The written song he spoke
And though he spoke it candidly
The notes about her broke
The words were formed as music
They crooned, and sought the air
Alighting briefly by her ear
– They caught her unaware
The song he sang was breathless
Tumultuous, yet calm
Beneath the earnest candor
The truth a swirling storm
The message it delivered
Would satisfy a life
Did not her answer thunder
And – like lightning – strike!
So like the wave that crashes
Against the rocky shore
Whose churning sound is buried
Beneath the next one’s roar
His message fell unbidden
Without acknowledgement
And back into the ocean went
The bottle he had sent
Attorney General William
Barr black marker in hand
kept promise to censor vital
details of Mueller Report
swift as Usain Bolt candidly,
grandly, lustrously, roundly
youthfully blocked out more
rapid than an elegant eland
vibrantly, regally, magically,
and gracefully skirts borderland
which favored topography
constitutes grassland or woodland,
far more pleasing to observe,
than reading adulterated brand
of aforementioned compilation,
distillation, edification, fortification
zeroing questionable activity
upon head of trumpeting brigand,
whose arrivistic, bombastic, caustic,
demonic, electric broadband
outsize ego still convinces
me, thee commander in chief
delegated one or more chargehand
perhaps while delighting as
gourmand savoring chateaubriand,
where his best buddies imagined
themselves in seventh heaven cloudland
every so often taking siesta sans repast
or golfing with grisly handicapped clubhand
non verbally communicating,
in viz sub bully taking a peas zing
cues from presidential high command,
which coterie (i.e. den of thieves)
manipulated social media with nefarious,
insidious, deleterious, et cetera
analogous to "FAKE" contraband,
maybe even milking innocent cowhand
unwittingly planting GMO electronic
bugs amidst future bovine fodder cropland
to allow, enable, and jackknife demand
that moost every eligible voter tricked
induced by virtual reality dreamland
with sinister motive for thee "Apprentice"
rule his kingdom, and expand,
realm asper Medieval days
declaring himself chieftain of fatherland
and/ or North American motherland
where naysayers guillotined
by uncontested firebrand,
who without provocation
very likely bomb into Stone Age
formerly edenic, lush, verdant
geography into flatland
rendered hostile, poisonous and uninhabitable
nonetheless radiating for miles with gangland
forced labor tilling barren, desolate, fissured
landscape erecting unsightly grand
standing room only (cause he know Shylock)
terrain (reign) vast highland
manor as poobah, and husband
to his only heiress, the former
a kooky monster from foggy bottom marshland.