Long Clandestinely Poems
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This poem is a special homage to all Poets
Who never thought, behaved or misbehaved like puppets
Who never had a chance to write a poem
Who were killed by oppressors who couldn’t dream
Who could not express themselves freely
Who clandestinely fought for equality and liberty
Who never had a chance to sit in a classroom
Who worked hard with a mop or a broom
Who did everything to help the elders and the children
Who never had a chance to write or publish a book
Who had to sweep, clean, wash, wipe and cook
And could not read anything or sign their names
I’m dedicating this poem to you to remove all the blames
That society has unfairly bestowed on you, my friends
Many people are Poets, because they offer helping hands
To the world. Poets were born to save and to make society
Better. Poets were born to fight against inequality, bigotry
Racism, oppression, injustice, greed, cruelty and unfairness
Thank God. God created all the Poets to be humble and blessed
Allow me to thank, with all my heart, the unsung, unpublished, stolen
Trapped, falsely accused and executed Poets who were forgotten.
Copyright © July 2020, Hebert Logerie, all rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several volumes of poetry.
This is a beautiful place that is dry and sunny.
It’s an historical region dating back to antiquity.
We are on the Mediterranean island of Sicily.
It is the very southernmost tip of Italy.
Two men who wanted to see my father dead,
met their own demise with shots in the head.
Each body lay in a restaurant devoid of a soul.
I was the one who played the murderer’s role.
As a war ended here, another began back home.
Clandestinely, I was brought here to roam.
My father’s enemies would like to see me dead.
Because of this, there is a large bounty on my head.
I am hiding near a small village called Corleone.
This is the birthplace of my ancestral family.
My bodyguards and I walk through the country.
As far as their loyalty, there is room for doubt.
For a high enough price, they can sell me out.
The sight of a beauty started a fire burning.
For this maiden, there is now a strong yearning.
This chance encounter has begun a new game.
I want her now that I know Apollonia is her name.
Based on the novel "The Godfather" by the late Mario Puzo
Worlds Within Worlds
Quick- open up your human hand-
a microbe-laden nasty world
is thriving there clandestinely!
Though most will die with sudsy wash-
not long before more take their place.
Within their unseen realm of space-
in their tight time tween life and death,
they eat, divide- to millions grow
and wait to migrate to new worlds-
through all the human hands you touch.
Sandra M. Haight
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How many germs are on your hands?
It's fair to say a lot of them, particularly if you haven't washed your hands recently. Every time you touch an object or shake someone's hand, you are probably picking up bacteria and potentially viruses too. We're estimated to have around 1,500 bacteria living on each square centimeter of the skin on our hands. Google
(1)
Here she comes with music on her feet !
She moves like restless wind, yet so sweet!
She will talk to your heart, straight and true,
Sometimes lightly, sometimes deep ocean blue!
Can you guess who is it?
Oh! Sorry I told you! She’s got music on her feet!
(2)
Even the glass door waits, (you know) it has heart!
To take in her reflection for a while and gladly part.
Makes way to let in the rush of fresh air,
She’s the magic to drive away despair.
The same feeling reside, dancing deep,
It is only for the glass door and I to keep.
(3)
She’s an even meadow, lush green,
The setting sun leaves gold on her skin.
And then she puts some on her hair,
Eye of this beholder clandestinely stare.
Like a pleasant surprise at the turn of the street,
Ah! There she comes with music on her feet.
(4)
The sad and lonely staircase complains,
Are we not worthy, because she refrains!
We are for the disgraced and defeated, only concrete,
Tell her! We dearly hold a sacred rhythm,
for The One with the music on her feet.
(5)
Praise the day she first decided to put on the anklet on her feet,
So that on a distant day I could find a refuge, my emotional retreat.
Implore to thee, stay as you are, near or far, pretty and neat,
I lay down this homage before the one with the music on her feet.
(March 20, 2008)
Two twins standing side by side; my brother and I,
We never have the chance to see each other eye to eye,
So we rely on those two; the mirror and the water,
They throw back what is thrown at them without falter,
We’re the illumination of the body; we’re the light,
Without us; the world pretty much is in the night,
We are the windows to a person’s soul,
Have you seen us; we’re beautiful when we roll.
With zeal set afire, we tell your innermost desire,
Hidden emotions, hidden ambition, hidden fears, hidden character,
They are clandestinely concealed in the heart,
But they are blatantly revealed in the eyes,
Hear no evil, speak no evil, and see no evil,
Guard your eyes, your eyes are the portals,
Good and evil, that’s their highway,
What you see influences your opinions,
And your opinions influences your actions,
Choose to see good, think good and do good,
Because after all, we are the eyes; and we are supposed to look good.
We peep through grated beams in the dark confines,
Kept in chains by the tyranny of audacious jailers,
unending cynosure of profligates and imposters:
ruining the destinies of million wearied sufferers.
criminals fit for the gallows,
morons from the days of the colony.
dictators in military attires.
and simpletons kept in power for temporary ease.
our heirloom forced from us by old monsters.
cabals of criminals, greedy goons, men untutored in reputation.
Felons and rapscallion from the military barracks,
too old for modern ideas.
we are burdened along by colonial tyranny,
in a country where destinies are suspended in the gale,
and youths are forced into their own crimes of stealing.
we could not speak our sentiment freely.
we are fettered and riveted by their guns.
The sword above us, tyranny of archaic mind.
dreamy theorist acting as lords over multitudes of docile lots.
men made to cringe and fawn bowing and stooping to the
threatening of their guns.
They armed assassins and sufferers alike,
paid a trifling sum from the proceeds of corruption,
to keep the masses away from them as old baron loot the treasury,
this open prison of fancied freedom,
where marauders employed by the states with a gun to kill,
trans versing the south with AK47/.
terrorist renamed bandits by religious sympathizers.
from the porous borders of North,
comradely of Fanatics and bigots of the sword sect.
Clandestinely overrunning the land.
Freedom is a crime to fools.
those who dares becomes enemy of states.
assaulted by “operation python” dance.
or raided by Lawless DSS.
This is but a Jihad disguised as government.
The road is a trap of death,
we sleep as watchers waiting for the sword.
we starve amidst multitudinous resources,
they Lend to keep us in Bondage.
The crude in the south.
and all the resources are carted away to the North
to pay terrorist.
A state crimes condoned.
we groan,
we dare not speak as their armed assassin are
ready to silence the Voice of Truth.
one more Truth for the Jailer from the North.
In the depth of the shadow that stretches when words are made sense of and then cast aside,
Silence dresses over our dreams, ethereal strands subtly strung and pierced through,
Desire boils and yearns to be noticed, forgetting through its inferno, the purity of thought,
On the throne of self-abandonment, philosophy is sidelined, silently, clandestinely sold.
Love, we demand it as though a royal due, with an often blind and reckless zeal,
At times, we pierce hearts that shared with us undoubted affection,
On humanity's altar, their blood is wastefully spilled, ritually, without intoxication.
Romanticism, we wish for it as a companion to an unbounded love,
Even when aware that vipers peddle deceptive elixirs, glittery and deviant,
Run from the whisper that seems too sweet to be true,
When words sneak in clad in golden garments, yet prove to be hollow.
Thirsty for the pure essence, not the empty sweetness,
Reveal love in bodies that plant deeds, not ephemeral rhymes,
In places that respond not with passwords, but with fearless truth.
Find success in hearts that weave good unmoved,
Not in deceitful whispers, but in hands that tirelessly sow respect and beloved.
So, wander in chasms where words bring about no dress,
In dimensions where feelings are woven into bodies, in gazes that know to speak wordlessly,
Not in rose petals that detach at the slightest gust,
But in souls that show love not in words but in desires that blaze at dawn.
parched buds
in
shriveled sapling
dismally desolate
bloom dreams
of
desiccated dunes
where
aureate sun
masks mirage
chased elusively
by
scorched life
to
opalescent oasis
but
ending up
in
staking recess
of
capricious illusion
where
dreams demolish
in
deranged debris
of
castle of cards
collapsing confounded
in
desert sands
of
destiny adrift
rootless vagabond
wanders in wasteland
of
wrecked aspiration
mentally morphs
subtly shapeshifts
to
clandestinely contour
a lone player
of
puppet recital
showcasing artistically
panorama of life
articulately abstract
performed to perfection
to
delusive dictum
of
stringed freedom
enjoyed intangibly
in
artificial act
persuasively axiomatic
of
lingering life
perfected within
psychic sanctum
of
patience instilled
by
possessed passion
to
perform entranced
in sonata
of
serenading soul
How My Cat Got To Vote
@FICTION WITH A MESSAGE@
I dressed up my cat, making her look, lovely and fat.
A long, blond, sexy wig and a big furry, leopard hat.
On a huge pillow in an expensive, wheel chair,she sat.
We went to where questions were not asked so we both
Clandestinely,went, with no integrity to vote!
That bright day, where there would be no Faux Pas.
I didn't care if we were breaking American voting law!
Come now, I loathe police, law and order! Peeuuw!
Grow up, let's fool them,all the country, let it fall and
Open all those once, life saving borders!
Let us never work, get SSI checks, we Medicare Marauders!
I just rolled Kitty in, no were questions asked!
I had my dead Mom's ID, if a question came to task.
Easy as can be ~to cheat on voting in the land of the free.
Blaming all in the USA who had any money,more than me!
Whoopee, I jumped with boundless, inner cheer,
How very proud~worldwide anarchists are here.
I gave Kitty fresh salmon, that very special night.
I was so proud of breaking voting rules, that very night.
V is for victory! Or, so I heard it said.
"Honesty and integrity are nothing” I proclaimed!
But something so terribly American in me, had me blush,beet red!
I lost my soul and integrity, for less liberty??
And I sold out to Communist mush,how they love me!
CELEBRATE A LOVING THANKSGIVING
HUGS
PANGIE
11/26/2024
My Mistress, the Moon
From mine chamber, breathless and perspiring upon the bed,
I spy you there, out my window, looming overhead.
Your gaze, a silent arbiter in the night,
I cloak my naked shame, to veil my plight.
Reigning atop her celestial silver throne,
While I, lie with a lover not of my own,
Broken vows flee like ravens in the night,
And you, casting shadows of guilt in your light.
Glistening spectral tendrils adorn the wet cobblestone,
Where I and my lovely paramour have dared to roam.
With discreet footsteps, we clandestinely meet,
And you, with your enchanting freckled glow, how sweet.
Soft beams gently caress her alabaster cheek,
Lost in each other’s eyes, passionate and weak.
Reflected in her amorous gaze, I see your ethereal glow,
A witness to our sinful secrets, only you know.
Beneath the silvered shroud of your alluring gleam,
Our love, a surreptitious waltz in a moonlit dream.
In intimate whispers and fervent glance,
You orchestrate this forbidden romance.
The conductor of a symphony of sin,
Our affair, a soiled tapestry, unraveling from within.
In the dark chambers of my heart, you are the phantom spike,
The harbinger of this dreadful plight.
From my bed, to the window’s edge, I drew near,
An inquiring voice, “What troubles thee, my Dear”?
“’Tis naught, my Darling, j’st——the moon’s, cold stare”,
All the while, a laden heart, wrought with despair.
For my spirit is torn between duty and desire,
Engulfed by passion’s flames, intense blue fire.
From my window to the heavens, I plea my discontent,
To the pale blue eye above, I solemnly lament:
“O Moon, in thy spectral light aglow,
Release my soul’s despairing woe.
In thy celestial realm, I lay bare my sins,
Where shame deepens, and remorse’s tide begins.
Cast thy luminous gaze upon my plight,
Guide me towards redemption’s forgiving light.
For in thy ethereal embrace, I plead release,
From guilt’s relentless grip, grant me peace.
Lead me, O Moon, through this sinful night,
In thy mercy, permit my spirit respite.”
Beneath your fading glow, the whispers of love wane,
As I bid adieu to this fleeting masquerade,
Sun cresting the horizon, she reaches for the door,
The time has come, farewell my muse,
my lovely paramour.
-Edward