Long Crucifixes Poems
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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.
In the Darkened Foyer
There you are again.
Walking this darkened foyer, and that carpeted hallway,
Eyeing the sunken-eyed dancer who forgets she’s not alive;
She’s just passing by all the sickness of dissipated humanity,
Wrapped in a single walk, and a solitary stretcher,
With a squadron of crucifixes affixed to the skin tags,
Applied with holy powders on these ancient, prayer-eaten walls,
These never-ending white walls that stretch before us,
Telling stories of prolonged death spasms, and postponement,
Of human decline in the face of the hopeful ones,
And the healing ones, with shocked knowing grins,
And the comatose ones, who know when to at last wake up;
Wake up! I say to the dead ones, the digested ones, long interred!
Now is the time to move your monuments and your dirt.
Now is the time to complain to the clock, the cold twitching clock,
That now holds no eternal sway in either direction for you or me!
Or all the dead ones, lying over there on solitary stretchers,
Under white sheets, in the darkened foyer.
There are many kind wonderful souls and others helping us from the magical place.
My advice, my child, as I prepare to leave you here, alone, with the human race,
Is to find the ones who will build you up, and help you more easily reach your heartfelt goals.
They will not allow you to live a frantic unlived life in a furious rat race.
Get out your meditation tapes, prayer beads, crucifixes, fish tattoos and singing bowls.
Listen to others; learn a lot, embrace their feelings, build them up, and admire their face.
Love and appreciate nature, take liberating open-your-heart carefree strolls,
Your soul will smile, your muse will laugh, and your caring ways will help others to meet their goals.
Written July 12, 2018
For: Gregory R. Barden's My Muse, Mortal Contest
A noble trade a soldier made
To fight and serve my country
The cradle fix indoctrinates
A nationalistic junkie
As in Oman true colours shown
A philanthropic lie
Semper fi, death before dishonor
Ours is to do or die
I fought to serve my country
Well prepared to pay rhe toll
Blood sweat and tears I freely shed
But my country wants my soul
A bloody tale so deftly written
Etched deeply, growing colder
An ode so deathly chilling
In a song sung for a soldier
Carried high in the wind
For whom.the bell tolls
Dark secrets revealed
Like Dead Sea scrolls
I've toiled in the depths
Of a depraved quagmire
My feet engulfed
In brimstone and Hellfire
Though you can't bear the weight
Of a heart that is heavy
When it's your turn to pay
Can you handle the levy
A fight to the death
A bone for to eat
Do you fare any better
Than the dogs in the street
I don't know whence it started
With just one single tear
But pretty soon the damage done
Was far beyond repair
It hangs there in life's war-drobe
A shining Christening robe
Don the garb of Nationalism
That's worn around the globe
The tear in you had lain hidden
As tears so often do
Until that tear is beyond repair
From mending tread or glue
The Devils a joker
If its laughter you're after
But his punchline gets told
In the here ever after
I failed to find the honor
Nor the righteousness of war
Dulcet et decorum est
Is my deeply hidden scar
Our crucifixes broken
Scattered in Elysians Halls
No words of comfort spoken
As the Tears of Jesus fall
12/12/19
"Struggling"
I've been struggling
Doing things that are puzzling
It's rather troubling
How much liquor I've been guzzling
Shiiiit
I admit
I'm not proud at all
I got a problem with alcohol
It'll be my downfall
If I don't fix it
Instead of always getting twisted
On my end, there's been a lot of resistance
It's been hard, and I know that I'll miss it
But I want to follow through on my wishes
And get after serious riches
All the while, taking care of business
With god as my witness
Up until the very last minutes
And at the finish
I don't need anybody's forgiveness
Just got to make the best of my existence
Another relapse, because I always got to get my fixes
On the walls upside down triple sixes
Pictures of provocative b**** es
Blowing kisses
And a tank with fishes
As well as a few glow in the dark crucifixes
Life's tough, yet sometimes it isn't
Good riddance
Once again I've done did it
I'm starting to get suspicious
Of much more than the superstitious
I've been ambitious
Yet still oh so vicious
Sorry, can't relate, I'm not very religious
And that's just one difference
Use to be a jock and a nerd
Nowadays I burn so much herb
I've been feeling disturbed
Because there's been so much I learned
Yet the problems always return
When you're at your lowest or feeling superb
On my back the weight of an anvil
Been trying to leave it at the landfill
But keep ending up at a standstill
Damn girl,
You really gave me feelings of ecstasy
Turns out it wasn't always meant to be
You'd best believe
Working my ass off, to barely earn ends meet
Only to struggle on through the next week
Makes me feel like a ****ing dead beat
Life continues testing me
Getting the best of me, but I can't let it be
I'm ready to achieve
An outcome that turns out successfully
Living rather recklessly
Been at odds and making some enemies
Doing things that'll shorten longevity
And life expectancy
Having strange tendencies
And certain dependencies
Which could very well be the death of me
Destroy your Christ
your god
your idols fall all apart.
Lay bare your mechanical heart
rebuild it with gears
wire electric fire to curve
your craving for higher desires!
Destroy your Christ
Your false image is conspiring
Tear it all apart
built of hate & faults light
blown away into the night.
Electron guns blaze imagery into the night
as a burning spire crumbles down!
Tear down your delusion.
Crucify your god your false idol
Your televised christ,
Fame, fortune, fantasy!
Cross the wire,
fire the insane
create your new
Christ of love, truth, Faith
holy fire!
Watch the crucifixes' spines
burning
turning
following all part…
Destroy your Christ,
Your god your idol heart
Tear down the razor wire crowns
lost idols topple them…
Crash them down!
Watch the worlds collide
in an intricate helix and spiral
Destroy your Christ
your god
your idols fall all apart
In the corner there...
Under the defused lights,
With spectral highlight’s here,
There, they float near and afar.
An apple sits in its technicolor glory,
It's not fully red or crimson or scarlet
Greens of sage and emerald
Dances in its hues,
Corruption is setting in as time passes
under these searing spots
as rot comes like a little death
spreading to the rest,
The rust of fruits oranges,
nectarines, bundles are of berries,
sliced in aromatic spice,
bloody droplets of cherry’s puddle,
next to a crystal chalice
of fine facets and filigrees
cut to trap light, to express
spectrums of color glitter and refract,
Standing starkly next
to the draped sacred rosary
and the sweet-fruited flesh.
Dust comes to rest
A raven of stately lorn,
blue on to black night into
nocturnal feathers bore
eyes deep as ink wells so black, onyx
dipping into hues blue in the reflect.
A haunting vestige that knows breath, nevermore!
Amidst the abstract, crowded
silent room linger
Still, stranger odd ornate objects gather...
from oblivion's shores.
A compass of intricate design,
sextons of aged patina brass,
Crack mirrors and mercury glass.
Mechanisms fine-tuned for sailors
to chart uncharted seas where “there be dragons”.
Deep, driven is the shaft of daggers hilted blade
Casts its long crucifixes shadow
Here on books of quaint and forgot lore
Tomes of cryptic grimoires,
archaic mysteries, ill-begotten biographies,
Black Bibles of some unknown deity...
Or leather-bound abominations
found in the depths of god-forsaken tombs.
Stacked like sand blown Persian Ziggurats.
To were a white horror stares
bleached bone and hollowed sockets glare
it grins sinisterly but it's harmless if you dare
But why would you care
Around this still life of oddities
Things found a life lived out fast
Hallmarks of someone long
forgotten history left in this corner
under these lights for someone
to render in all details
of its fading glories
Life is still at last.
You proclaim that every woman here is a paragon.
Isn't women's subjugation still a phenomenon?
Only a small minority of women might feel well.
Isn't the life of a rural girl here often a hell?
"They're in aeronautics, you say; they're in astronautics."
"Aren't they epitomes in the empire of robotics?"
Thus, you endlessly recount the progress of politics.
I see the rustic girls carrying hard crucifixes.
I've come into existence, having escaped foeticide.
To all, I looked like a piece of debris from a landslide.
They tried to kill me many times, even after my birth.
Could this feather be a heavy burden upon this earth?
My brother looked good to them in sleeping and waking.
I had to work hard to the extent of my back breaking.
He's sent to school. I was not. I had to take care of him.
I had to stand, smile, and say yes, as per everyone's whim.
I work from the time I rise till the time I go to bed.
Most of my life is spent in the kitchen and cattle shed.
How many eagle-eyes of men gape at me each moment!
Within me, I ferment with a yeast of embarrassment.
I wear a veil in adherence to societal norms.
Thoughts of disgraces and rapes awe me like summer storms.
I feel like prey and am unsafe from human predators.
I'm harassed often like a debtor by the creditors.
I am auctioned and sold in a fair called arranged marriage.
Who's worried, even if my spouse is my grandfather's age?
I am a machine for his carnal pleasure and childbearing.
Who appreciates my nature of caring and sharing?
I obey my father, my husband, and my son.
I know; I'm weighed down by the burdens of men who seek fun.
I do not pity myself, yet I live up to my goal.
Though they're harsh on me with their wrath, with love I fill my soul.
The more i while away your loss
The less I get my point across
Depending on whose point of view
The side of my brain
You choose to listen too
Nothing new here
I have not reinvented the wheel
I would not be granted a fresh appeal
The evidence has not changed
I was not framed
I have simply exhausted my claim
The Pet Shop Boy's are still at No 1
And I am still a Bum
Who stinks of soaked depressed Rum
For failure to overcome
The poignant fact of skipping lessons
I am what is to a fence
That barbed wire's scare
When Mother's care
Left trolls to hang out to dry
On the totempoles
Like crucifixes
So that other's
Fear to tread
Because nothing ever good comes from
Feeling sorry for
Or acting out
What life has taken from
Rather choose to rise above
Or take the high road
Because nothing ever good comes from
Looking back even when the light is ahead
For Love is a better bed
To place a weary head upon
When all is said
And all is done
Goodbye
Godless
Son
The nun sees telephone poles as rows of crucifixes
Counting on a rosary, her habit, on her morning stroll
Construction worker looks down at his feet
Not in prayer, on the same thoroughfare
Sees concrete he poured there weeks ago
And not much more
Municipal worker observes wires and traffic signals
Knows them by color and functionality
Nature lover wants to hug every tree on the street
But it’s illegal in the city
Ornithologist looks for binoculars he forgot while on his walk
Birds don’t wait around for such mistakes
And simply fly away
Boys and girls look for each other; see nothing else
Minds in the clouds
On the street, sometimes young lovers can be found
Town people of all persuasions keep it to themselves
Each person views a different world as they walk down