Long Discombobulated Poems
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Misery accompanied, haltered, tethered... tattered web
This health conscious lx year
roam'n, hoodwinking hoodlum doth wear
two pair bullet proof underwear,
(which confession rarely trumpeted),
plus yours truly admits unclear
why tibia long in the tooth fellow,
prevaricates with tongue in cheek oh contraire
good n plenti humor absent clear
sense and sensibility so beware
me figuratively pulling poetic foot
mainly "white lie" fibula I air
discombobulated gobbledygook,
which corroboration ye might declare
choosing to cease reading
feeling in high dungeon as all hell... where,
twitching (bull leave me you) nostrils flare
analogous to spewing dragon
rare endangered species from Zaire
of corpse stewing in dungeon
hooping on wing and prayer
to attend Renaissance Faire,
thus word wizard conjured
aforementioned as metaphorical veneer
cuz, he really sought to pioneer
his breakout poetaster career,
thus far batch
prefabricated rejection letters
posits alternative to forswear
writing another feeble rhyme
relieving anonymous critics
providence beckons I course hear
doom and resignation refrain
repeatedly hammering and echoing
within chambers of each ear
mancave best provenance
divine providence especially if nuclear
war rents tentative moments to spare,
which doomsday looms clear,
perhaps half fortnight away
fatalistic mindset, I despair
money woes exacerbate pesky news
sense under_scoring dallying,
dithering, lollygagging... while linear
rise regarding global temperature
gives cold comfort the buccaneer
occupying oval office laissez faire
attitude, hence pennilessness moot
total mortal kombat global warming
further accentuates real Halloween scare,
no trick only ill treatment
unleashed courtesy mutineer
hand over fist handily did profiteer
minting daily another bajillionaire
government coffers bursting
mother earth biosphere square
within uber targeted crosshair
talking heads poles
apart as global warming
melts Antarctic frigidaire
Santa Claus reindeer and elves
schvitz as north pole melts
in short shrift oblate sphere
formerly teeming with life
field day for hardy
indomitable creatures thriving
within most scary nightmare.
Assumption begot,
that cumulative generations
bred tiredness weariness zap
ping ability to remain awake,
nope even enough energy
to feign opening maw mouth
evincing a yap,
and if equipped
with smartphone app viz whatsapp
would shear lee ask ewe
if Androids dream of electric sheep,
but limited options,
asper talking via two lipped gap
reduce modes to communicate
keeping shut tight denture
"FAKE" toothed trap
affixed to gums by (James) bonding agent
necessitating manual finagling -
careful NOT to snap
dentures, thus
leaving garbled speaking
where gum shunned rattletrap
disallowing articulation,
enunciation and pronunciation,
making worthy words
sound like discombobulated pap
hoping to convey tiredness affliction,
sans this poe whim, whereby i map
imagining yielding curling (catlike)
upon ample sized maternal lap
whether gentile,
or Jewish princess i.e. Jap
pan knees, which above
quasi Semitic iteration hap
puns tubby what occurred to me
for no particular rhyme or reason
hoping ya ponied mental effort
to breeze thru my sad dulled verse
with neigh saying horsesense to giddyap
whereupon woebegone
sleepiness could perk me up -
if ye could purchase far me a large frap
pa chin oh otherwise
fate twill point this chap
to Google search how to buck up vitality
vis a visa deer lee sought app.
Groomed to never see it coming,
we wake the past in restless sleep;
Our two cents grounded in quicksand;
Poor spelling, no checking, it’s a virus;
It tends to appeal to the worst in us,
emotions cause us to fall for wordplay;
September 1939 type headlines in 2023.
Click bait war based on hearsay.
Echo chambers manipulate current events,
escalated at once by infiltrating bots;
There’s nothing we can trust to be fact
chasing solar flares that will never relax;
Unable to sift though deep fake for truth,
our reality has become discombobulated;
Decisions based on he said she said,
repeating fluff from a game of ‘Telephone’.
September 1939 type headlines in 2023.
Click bait war based on hearsay.
Left blowing up all the superfluous
into a toxic self-destructive storm;
We need a clean renewed source,
something pure that we can believe in;
Burn it down if we can’t make it better.
I promise you we can beat this system.
September 1939 type headlines in 2023.
Click bait war based on hearsay.
I am still shocked by your sudden death
I'm still sobbing by your abrupt departure
I still pine for you, dear. I'm still out of breath
Every time I think of your unique behavior.
You were different, sexy, exquisite and sassy
You were very special to me day and evening
You were difficile, tough, caring and demanding
Holy God! What a combination for such a lady.
My heart is still beating profusely for your smile
I am still yearning for the images and the style
You left in my pneuma, my memory and my mind.
I am discombobulated how nature can be so unkind
I still yen and yawn for you. I am now very unhappy
I'm extremely sad, because you left so unexpectedly.
Copyright © May 2020, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
What a catastrophic place
There's no up or down in this space
To see it is a multitude of discombobulated grace
There are papers piled high upon my desk
The only thing others see is a god-awful mess
No organized way to tell anyone else I guess
But I know where everything is
Last month's bills and this week's word quiz
By golly I think I'm a real organizational whiz
There are ten stacks of folders with stuff coming out
There are books to read, a salt shaker, my cat's old collar no doubt
Yesterday's pizza still standing proud on top of magazines from a local boy scout
This is my true countenance I know
A freelance genius always willing to show
The importance of going the extra mile just to keep things all in a row
November 22, 2019
Strand Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
when I met him I was dizzy with love
swept off my feet in a cloud of pure lust
I had butterflies in my tummy
totally discombobulated
I think he used some hocus-pocus on me
oh I abandoned all self control for this man
those deep brown eyes had me drowning
his sublime deep voice was captivating
it was hopeless to fight
I really should'a read the fine print
he whispered sultry sweet things in my ear
he caressed my hair
and I told him I loved him hopelessly
and I am pretty sure he felt the same
because he soon asked me to marry him
I do- we both said
we promised to love each other forever
till death do us part
well I really should'a read the fine print
because forever was only a few years
it seems God had another set of directions
and our love was to be erstwhile and fleeting
it was written in the book of life
and it was sudden and sorrowful
then he was gone
only a name engraved in stone cold to be
now I am left in a labyrinth twisting and turning
my forever is a forever grief
I really should'a read the fine print
but would it have made a difference
could I have turned away from my love
even if I knew the ending
in that fine print that needed a magnifying glass
to read- no
would have loved him anyways
I carry red roses to his tomb
under an infinite motionless blue sky above
I walk a path that winds like a river
in dreams I hold him to my heart
and weep for what was in the fine print
_____________________________
April 12, 2016
Free Verse
For the contest, I Really Should'a Read The Fine Print,
sponsor, John Lawless
First Place
My head is a television
With the dream channel turned on
It always turns on
Once I forget about this world
The screen becomes clear and more focused
Once I’m far, far away from here
The colors beyond the normal spectrum
Are animated and strangely surrealistic
Almost paranormal
Anyone and everyone are welcome
To tune into my station
It’s easy
With eyes closed, just forget
About this world for awhile
Believe in the unbelievable
Imagine the unimaginable
Tune in . . . turn on
And replace your head with a television
Just remember,
don’t lose the remote
this alteh kocker nostalgically reflects
being ma late mama's boytchik
(now, she long since deceased,
whose cremated remains of day
scattered to all points on compass)
fondly referencing
both sisters as dabchick
incongruously sprinkled her Brooklyn brogue,
especially when angry, she quickly segued
from mild expletive fiddlestick
the latter playfully aired,
when kibitzing wit bubeleh
reminiscing being dirt poor,
nonetheless zee mother
every now an again homesick
regaling the whole mishpokhe
(meaning us brood of kids)
interrupting herself
with frequent non sequiturs
discombobulated anecdotes switching subjects
as if external forcefield
jimmying a joystick
interleaving disparate threads with subsequent
tangential linkedin snippets
with feigned lovesick
chatting 'bout cockamamie
"Grandpa Moishe"
and his chaim yankel posse
(to escape hen pecking nudnik
"grandma Rebecca"),
a trenchant termagent bubba,
not averse to incorporate dreck
in the same sentence with zayda
ostracized him
scoring figurative placekick,
whence upon his schlepping back home
met with "silent treatment" dampening rollick
king atmosphere choking tearfully
"mother" recounted
farblunget anger thick
lee palpable extremely discomfiting,
particularly when ("mom's")
girlhood friends bore witness aye gavalt,
where penury churned moribund thoughts
viz empty cupboards
devoid of bare necessities
a figurative apropos yardstick.
DISCOMBOBULATION
The clock on the bedside table
Says two forty-five in the morning..
Hours of precious sleep time yet
Until the day is dawning.
I shine the torch around the room;
The battery’s running low
And nothing feels familiar
In the flickering, eerie glow.
Somebody’s moved the wardrobe,
And whose is that nursing chair?
I’m sure, before I fell asleep,
That wasn’t standing there.
Perhaps I’m not awake at all
And this is just a dream.
Later on I’ll discover
That things are not what they seem.
But now I need the bathroom;
It’s a sign of getting old.
And so I push the covers back,
Shivering with the cold.
I hastily don my slippers
And, increasingly frustrated,
Try to locate the en-suite.
I’m discombobulated
Feeling my way by torchlight,
I need to get there fast.
Then suddenly, to my relief,
I find the door at last.
Gratefully I step inside
And firmly close the door.
And here I am, stark naked
In the hotel corridor
I can hardly wait reading welter of books...
courtesy Karen Windle a gift horse
ponied up late afternoon May18th, 2020
over roan nay bore lee volition.
Unbeknownst how she raised (cane),
and loudly wrapped outside the door
every ounce of her eighty plus pounds
slip of elderly lady petite bow legged
spry late 60's though older looking gal
argh – I expect unpleasant fallout after
piercing eyes unexpectedly discover
references made regarding aged waif,
who inexplicably signalled presence
in toto i.e. presents to comprehend, a
bounty, nah, not worth causing mutiny
nevertheless heave on lee delight hup
pea zing helter skelter discombobulated
alienation courtesy coronavirus lockdown
concomitantly venues to borrow books
puts serious and perilous bind aggravated
assault upon cerebral cortex regarding a
forced hiatus deprivation to binge read
reduced to peruse the daily toilet paper
no stimulation for imagination to indulge
magical mystery tour thwarted helter skelter
ye silently ask rather infer "what me bored?"
Despite severely circumscribed choices
whiling away hours, who knows lockdown
courtesy coronavirus (COVID-19)
warrants near indefinite closure accessing
literary material buzzfeeding noggin,
an egg gone eye zing torture rankles
healthy predilection to binge osmotically
passion for written word all the while
authors unbeknownst evoke quintessential
pleasant provocation dredging up
10,000 leagues below the jewel bedecked
cease son bewitched (Alder time) tremendous
metaphorical pristine hinterlands
Matthew Scott's vernacular semantic
hodgepodge orientation withered away
figurative gripes wrath and rail against
series of unfortunate events ala defiant
Lemony Snicket, when despair plummeted
to all time low, who should unwittingly
telepathically hear plaintive SOS sent
none other than intrepid Karen Windle,
who's mysteriously rapping announced
dog send appearance bore deliverance
(cue Banjos), where ecstasy didst delve
where still waters run deep, nevertheless
welcome respite when printed material
weekly magazines offered scant respite.