Long Enclave Poems
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Time and tide they do not wait,
We all have heard it said,
And there are those who seem to view,
The ebb and flow with dread.
They do their best to stave it off,
And live in deep denial,
Trying not to show their age,
Viewing it as a trial;
A tribulation of some sort,
A thing to be avoided;
Forgetting in their quest for youth,
That age can be exploited;
For with age comes experience,
The younger folks don't have,
Things that you have done before,
Is to them enclave;
A thing to them as yet untried,
Is foreign territory.
They'll listen to your wisdom,
And practiced oratory;
For things that to the younger set,
Appear a mystery,
For older folks is just old hat,
And it's just history;
So if we learn to use our age,
Accept it as a friend,
We'll age as does fine wine and so,
Not face a bitter end.
We have to learn to face some facts,
That some things must betide,
For you can run from age My Dear,
But you can never hide.
Be not afraid
To fight the right fights
The hate, the hatred
To regain your rights
To end bigotry, racism
Fascism and nepotism.
Be brave
Like a heroic slave
Who is not afraid
To be whipped, raped
By an inhuman master
By a greedy slave owner.
Be not afraid
To fight for the weak
The underprivileged
Every single week
Every time
They’re victim of a crime.
Be not afraid to fight
The right fights
Every time you’re right
When your rights
Are denied and violated
When you’re humiliated.
You’re not a poor slave
You’re from no enclave
You’re from here
You belong to every tier
Of this picturesque landscape
That no eyes can escape.
Be not afraid
To dream, to dare
To fight hard and fair
Against the hatred
The bigots
And the nuts.
Copyright © November 20,2015 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Alone within emotional wilderness
(mine) biding leisure time
January 19th, 2020
without reason nor rhyme,
yet woke with sublime
pained acute awareness,
how once prime
merrily rightful autochthonous occupants
their land stole equivalent value
not much more'n dime.
Simple man dwells admiring
mother nature's architrave
home of the free land of the brave
usurped with exacting vengeance
aboriginal happy hunting grounds,
yours truly cloistered within man cave
small medium at large eremite doth crave
indigenous tribes Europeans
did wantonly annihilate
and/or make deprave
viciously slaughtering Native Americans
nsync brutality wrecking
their idyllic enclave
foreigners forcibly corralling
subsequently did enslave
ruthlessly employing sacrilegious travesty
scattered smite stricken survivors
formidable invaders (countless
demoniacal explorers) rendered desolate
pristine unbroken woodland
deceit, guile, iniquitous
jawboning flavor flav,
whether or not ancestors (mine)
even tangentially linkedin
egregious mockery, travesty
yours truly never forgave
horrendous genocide early settlers
wrought onto indigenous peoples
hoodwinked, notoriously
thrashed "noble savage"
feigning burying hatchet until
last proud redman buried in his grave.
Similar saga countless instances played across
four corners of globe,
white man self anointed himself boss
subsequently slaying innocent lives
all in name of Christ crucified on cross
denying original rightful inhabitants
their preexisting misnamed
new found lands
invaders justified execrable massacres
on par with clearing away dross
trumpeting art of the deal (albeit) gross
and unfair, whereat decimated loss
lovely bones long since
covered over with moss.
So much passes unnoticed,
fails to attract an eye or an ear,
excite the senses enough
to interrupt the mind's endless
chatter conducted within
the windowless walls of itself.
Too often, a walk is no more
than an exercise in navigation,
vague passage through
a dreamlike world of shapes
floating the outer regions
of what really matters,
your own thoughts.
Time thickens a spun
cocoon. The day in all
its glory remains out there,
sunlight golden on the trees,
the smell of freshly cut grass,
birdsong filtering
through autumn leaves -
more distant now
from the tightening enclave
you slowly weave.
Trial and Terror
Tim had tried most everything else
waiting hoping procrastinating
meditation introspection ‘extro-neglection’
defence contraptions of all sorts and the
whole self-help spirit enclave palaver and yet
he still felt like a cadaver a rotting ‘thing’ of the past
The Universe seemed far away above
a flat earth and an ancient canopy
beyond clouds of neglected wisdom
He tried a catapult built a durable frame
attached a spring cantilever for his heavy
payload and ‘bingo’ off he went flying
‘This is it how foolish I have been not to
see the stars for the comets and thunder’
The sky was the limitless limit fast on the rise
Soon he approached heaven and reveled
in a wondrous tarpaulin embracing for shelter
well that’s what he thought as misery continued
It turned out to be a trampoline suspended
upside down or downside up a matter of mat
bouncing him back to where he had come from
‘They’ had not spoken of a yo-yo in the manual
another promise unfulfilled but at least he was
moving bouncing back and forth ‘til he crashed
Maybe he concluded ‘I’m in the right place
in my time and confusion after all for now’
It was time to reshuffle the motionless cards
Tarot told him that the Hermit needs to be there
for a purpose and the Hanged Man is only a metaphor
for outliving what was and a sign for quieting change
He dug a (w)hole in the frozen ground cemented
his feeble foundation and from that a buried base
put earth onto earth and constructed a causeway
Methinks muss elf akin to a cold prickly...
being analogous to a
limp biscuit viz
wussy wonky willy,
yet back in the day
rolling in hay worm
may at large cavorted
frolicked, and idealized
as a warm fuzzy.
Though aforementioned title
slightly risqué and silly,
yours truly dwells in Schwenksville,
approximately an hour drive
northwest from Philly,
a geographic enclave flush with
seeds of life and White Lily
hometown of mine reminiscent
of Lake Woebegone
similarly verdant and hilly.
Today I bubble with gumption and glee
riding a crest of carefree euphoria prithee
within Netherlands home to Zuiderzee.
Now yours truly lets thoughts unspool
as they popup like mushrooms
after a soaking rain
and flash across consciousness
hoping to hammer somewhat
comprehensible poetic product
wrought courtesy tool
of me noggin
stream of consciousness school
meanders and follows no particular rule.
Despite being rescued
from blimey and bloody
ten thousand cannibals yippee,
where before escaping xi
shark infested cyber sea,
I nearly fell prey to piranhas we
dulling their way think valley
girls enlisting themselves
to be worshipped
as omnipotent trustee
trumpeting themselves
as shaykhah of chic re:
to do bidding of commoners
heavily guarding, ousting,
and thwarting stiff contenders
for commodification, commiseration,
commercialization, communication
and glory of riches q.e.d.,
quod erat demonstrandum
selling one soul to the devil
what a pity
exploitation, juxtaposition, opposition
temptation teasing proletariat offeree,
who seductively utter née
all the while vicarious thrilling
analogous to shady subterfuges
within dark wide web
bloodhounds (created courtesy
artificial intelligence) ripping asunder
supposedly airtight code,
while proficient hackers punching
virtual holes at Norton and McAfee
and other logistics wizards to protect data
laugh demonically, hysterically,
maniacally, sadistically, and zestfully
at those payees party as licensee
guardians of regal materialistic realm
do as I saith - speaketh bourgeoisie.
My Thoughts On
Smash & Grab
Miracle Man
8-15-2023
Some big cities now enforce a change in their law,
which allows an enclave to freely smash and grab.
What offenders deserve is some “Shock and Awe”,
but lawmakers have chosen meaningless confab.
They allow hoodlums to freely take from another,
they smash and grab things that have cash appeal.
Their chosen way of life is to take from some other,
and what they can’t bum they’re willing to steal.
Must decent people live and work in constant fear?
Because some other can’t or won’t earn their pay.
Daily cries go out but the disinterested don’t hear,
They should do their jobs or get out of the way.
master bait catching fear
some skipper known in whirled wide webbed
under water world,
cuz rumor did hear
auld his death defying exploits infiltrated
into the most remotely secluded lair
asper rugged crunchy captain
who didst dare
the devil with dirty deeds
done dirt cheap, which flair
subjected suffered gross distortion
due to optical glare
pandemonium ensued, sans each small hair
along backbone viz zit ting spinal tap vie
tall hetty to rise
a flickr ring shutterfly
more years than anyone could reckon, even Pi
Tha Gore Ass, hence
mystery fed legends,
any rhyme or reason asper
ruddy faced weather beaten
expert, who sailed every square inch
of the globe well nigh
cutting down to size mythologized
outrageous Leviathan sized monster
mashing machine with jaws of steel
that did wonders for the tourist industry the my
tee buck reared, snorted, twittered no lie
as truth told by Ishmael,
whom aye did befriend
(said galley hand decked the halls,
of christened ship Pequod),
who strongly attest didst descend,
despite incontestable stance,
sans supposition,
aye aver Captain Ahab
DID NOT perish at sea,
thus, his privateer life
did not meet a cruel end,
but believe his doppelganger incognito
body double electric reincarnation fiend
actually said peg legged swash
buckling adventurer of the high seas,
that saline mosh pit - by gosh
(hee...hee...hee
how blimey lame such archaic balderdash
(anyway...i gotta hunch), ghost
of spirited sailor lives incognito,
here at 2 highland manor
a this bucolic schwenksville,
pennsylvania enclave.
Amanda Thing
1829 - 1918
BF and me
We rode into this muddy enclave,
This Quaker paradise high on an ever-descending hill
In March of ‘87
With Sunshine, our roan mare,
And a wagon full of old belongings and new hopes.
I recall the mustard fields blooming that spring
Like a million fires in the firmament,
And these fiery fields were intensely difficult to plow.
And the land had to be carved up like slaughtered meat
To pave the way for the railroad
And the first automobiles from Detroit.
First time I saw one,
I almost fainted.
BF and me
We spent many an afternoon in our feathered buggy instead
With Sunshine, our roan mare,
Riding the newly paved roads,
From Rideout’s Driveway to County Road.
And we saw,
From the top of Friends Street
The distant Catalina Island,
Shrouded in the hazy Pacific,
Like a sleeping giant under a brown blanket,
And we gasped at the mystical beauty of it
From our hilltop perch.
When BF died of a stroke in ’07,
I buried him in Clark Cemetery
And I thought I would never survive the grief.
But God sustained me as always
And I lived eleven more years by myself,
Among the roses and tulips
Of my Whittier Avenue cottage.
At 89 I died an old and tired lady,
More than ready to meet my sweet Savior.
My funeral was grand indeed!
They put baby roses on my casket,
And said the Lord’s Prayer.
Then they put me next to BF.
Born in a radioactive life with few friends
Rejected from a place he never felt was home
He finds himself stranded and alone
His eyes blinded by the sun
Armed with only a baseball bat and a empty gun
The world tears at him with hungry jaws
A scorched world with cold hearts and no law
Attacked by raider, robots, and death claws
The dusty capital wasteland he roams
Scavenging the ruins of a desolate world
Super mutants appear around every turn
The lone wanderer finds a flamethrower and makes them burn
Their collection of mutilated organs make him want to hurl
Searching for his father and food for the day
The lone wanderer hopes and prays
Revelation 21:6 I am alpha and omega the beginning and the end
Bloody footprints mark where the lone wanders has been
Scars mark his wounded heart and are etched in his skin
Favoring a shock sword and a 44 magnum
Custom armor most wastelanders couldn't fathom
The lone wanderer carries the maximum
Sailed to point lookout and thrown in the pit
The cruel wasteland tests his grit
Abducted by creatures from outer space
A life of haste, rugged is the beard on his face
GNR radio keeps him company
The lone wanderer runs about while feeling funky
Finally he found his father
Together, Persuing a righteous goal ever further
Only to die a martyr, his death hits the lone wanderer ever harder
The lone wanderer's wrath! Awakening rage
A vengeful path, darkening days
Kicked out of Jefferson's memorial
The enclave takes over, creating total turmoil in the purifier
With no time to prepare a funeral for his father
The lone wanderer grabs 'Vengeance' the ultimate vaporizer
On his way to vault 86 to find the legendary kit of Eden
The lone wanderer lays waste to many a demons
Troubled by the loss of his best friend,
His rampage across the wasteland begins