Long Famine Poems
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sad since the computer
replaced the hand shake
now laws are laws
justice distributed without pause
oppression contributed to every cause
what we thought to be insurance
was all a fraud
a seat praised for honor
able to be bought
is this the freedom
for which patriots fought?
there is a famine in all the land
and yet we make things worse
without turning to God
we only increase the curse
we live by numbers
spit out of a machine
instead of using proverbs
instead of having dreams
Now listen to me!
the numbers say you're finished
and that you don't have a chance
you might still get evicted
but give the Lord a chance
try at least to acknowledge Him
in thought words and deeds
while yet before rapture or disaster
there is still time to plead
but before you do anything else
you must recognize the need
some what like Egypt when
Moses walked the earth
Moses pronounced the punishment
God pronounced the curse
plague after plague is doing
it's mysterious works
but who now is pharaoh
who has the power to set free
a look in the mirror
says that pharaoh now is me
who is the slave
that needs to be set free
take a look in the mirror
and discover that slave is me
a midst lost fortunes and jobs
these plagues are far reaching
from the bottom to the top
what are the odds?
surely by now the thought
has crossed your mind
could, That God; be angry
that we don't think of Him as Divine
that we don't owe Him
one moment of our time
that we don't see that things
we don't do is a crime
Like the burglar thats attracted by money,
like the thug that’s paid to kill,
so they got enticed by our gold, our diamond and our oil.
so they came to steal, to kill and to destroy us.
Gold coast,Ivory coast , South Africa,Cameroon amongst other countries were attacked…
they stole our gold,
they stole our diamond
and they stole our oil.
when we resisted, they kill us with their inhuman policies
like aparthied in S.Africa,
and by destroying us, they took us as slaves.
we now live in ghettos and slumps
we die of poverty and famine
they are the ones responsible for our plight
their coming to Africa has brought nothing good
for they came to STEAL, to KILL and to DESTROY
Once, they claimed to hold the torch,
To light the world with truth and reason.
But the West’s media empire—
Was born not in truth,
But in treason.
From BBC’s royal scripts,
To CNN’s manicured myths,
From Fox’s fury-laced fables,
To NBC’s polished distortions—
They were trained, not to inform,
But to perform
For the empire's applause.
Every lens tilted,
Every headline coded,
Every silence calculated—
To shape the world
In a mirror that flatters the North
And shames the South.
Africa—your beauty drowned in dust,
Your children shown in flies and famine.
No word of your wisdom, your gold,
Your thinkers, your songs,
Your revolutions and sacred soil.
Only "chaos," "war," and "tribe"
Like shadows on a cave wall.
Asia—painted with dragon breath and fear,
Latin America—forever "corrupt,"
Middle East—where "terror" walks with every name,
And yet no mirror turned
To NATO's blood-soaked hands,
To sanctions that starve,
To drone strikes in dawn’s silence.
The Global South has turned the dial.
We do not listen,
Not because we cannot hear—
But because we now know.
We are not fooled
By the Oxford accent of a liar.
We are not convinced
By statistics that reek of empire.
We see your scripts,
Your cutting rooms,
Your photos cropped like colonial maps.
Truth is rising in Timbuktu,
In Caracas, in Kerala,
In Harare, and Hanoi.
And you, Western media,
Are being archived—
Filed away in the dustbin of history
Where all fallen empires rot.
The world is watching,
But not through your eyes anymore.
Numb to sun's torture, scathed terrain
Syphons cynic's air, ribs poised
Statuesque breath stoic barren refrain
Skeletal inertia, rhythm devoid
Famine implores an acapella anthem
Ombre eddy erects florid flare
Defeat lifts dervish dust gust tantrum
Flora dispose organs in despair
Epic inhaling opens ochre heart agra
Graveyard stone crack, wizened
Stagnation signposts an outback saga
Wilderness lawless Lord's a miser
Nascent cloud keloid, corregated iron
Smudge underlining lead pencil
Silver wing budgie blue dome imbibing
Sketch of refreshment torrential
Fills floor chasms with wetting orgasms
Overflow bubbles gradual absorb
Drenches trenches in splattered spasms
Feast ragged roots grab, gorged
Euphoria fondles fragility fresh fortified
Grateful graziers finally exhale
Saturate surges billabong snake revived
Wily eolian egg protect prevail
11th January
Written to recall our end of year
sprint to interesting mineral rich
Mt. Isa
Speak out and shout out against all types of wars.
Reject the referendum, that's a farce, a joke,
A small band-aid on a wound; that's all smoke.
Shout and speak out against the criminal dictators,
Who are bombarding their own blood,
And killing countless babies, children,
Elders, women, and very sick men.
The people need food, neither death nor mud.
Denounce the lies, the crimes and the hypocrisies.
Let the traitors know that the whole universe
Is watching and taking notes of their atrocities.
The world saw the mass graves and witnessed diverse
Other criminal and egregious acts being perpetrated
On the defenseless civilians. The flood
Of blood is everywhere; the miseries,
The hunger, the sufferings and the hatred
Environments touch the ultimate priorities.
The whole world must speak out and shout
In unison: enough is enough, enough is enough.
Stop all violence; stop the pain and the slaughter.
Let's all protest, speak out and be tough.
Let's support, encourage and honor
Friendly nations, who stand for genuine Peace
And stability throughout the five continents,
And specifically in the ever more chaotic Middle East.
Let's stand against countries where corruption, hunger,
Famine, drought and injustice serve as ingredients
Of malediction and endemic terror.
Have no fear; speak out against the evil elements.
Shout! Shout and speak out against religious wars,
Civil wars, ethnic wars, criminal wars
Illegal wars and all categories of wars.
War is hell, war is diabolic, and war is evil.
Never stop speaking out. Let's be civil
For humanity's sake, stop the violence.
Stop, stop bombarding the innocent civilians.
Respect their human rights and their dignity.
Let's speak out and protect Freedom and Liberty.
Copyright© February 2012, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
May this year overflow with joy,
May all dreams and wishes be fulfilled,
May the sun rise high
And shine on every corner,
May its rays reach every valley,
May its light spread across every stream,
And may you too rejoice in this new year.
May this year overflow with joy,
A joy like summer rains filled with peace,
That nurture the growth of every seed where they are planted,
That water the trees and crops until they bloom and bear fruit,
That rescue the earth struck by drought,
That fatten the livestock in the fields and save them from famine,
May it rain upon you too.
May this year overflow with joy,
Not like the past one that burned with fire,
A fire that destroyed fields and crops,
That brought famine, sorrow, and wailing,
May this year bring rain to extinguish all those flames,
May it rain and settle the dust so you do not stumble,
May your eyes be opened so you do not lose your way,
May you continue to live with hope,
And never forget the reward at the end,
May it rain upon you too.
“Over 320,000 children under five now stand on the brink of collapse—
grasping for food that no longer arrives.
Schools lie silent—97% damaged, their futures paved in rubble.
In May alone, over 5,100 children were treated for acute malnutrition.
Over 18,000 children have died; another 45,000 wounded—some missing limbs, some missing home.
Every day, more children lie lost in famine, displaced, or gasping for breath”.
Last week I met a home security technician,
He said his name was Hamad, I heard it wrong as Hamas,
Although he works hard and lives in USA,
He was proud to say he was a Palestinian, from Jerusalem in Israel.
Palestine was the ancient land of God,
Adam and Eve lived and tasted the apple which grew there,
It was a land of peace and wisdom,
Till politics destroyed and divided the nation of Palestine.
Hamad contributes whatever money he can save,
To feed the hungry children of Gaza,
He can not eat Kababs and Shawarmas,
When he sees hungry children and parents looking desperately for food.
In the ruins of dawn, where laughter once played,
Children rise—not to school, but to haunting haze.
Tiny hands reach for nothing but dust,
Their dreams broken, swallowed by hunger and rust.
Once, they sang under the olive tree—
bodies light with song, hearts unburdened.
Now the branches stand silent, leaning over empty schools and broken tents.
They wait for olive-picking futures, now harvested by time’s neglect.
Even as famine steals their breath,
their spirits bloom under rubble-laden skies.
Their absence echoes louder than their presence—
every empty swing, every closed school door, every lull in song.
We must not turn away. At least donate some money for the starving kids.
Donate at wck.org or your favorite charity.
Let this poem be more than words—a call to witness, to humanize, and to act.
Come unto her not with pious words from a pulpit’s herd of unsure-footed sheep. Rather, come unto her with deeds that her lamb needs, your bloody knee spurs speak to hers.
Come unto her not with raw, self-inflicted wounds that you claim, in bitter blame, are the fault of another. Rather, come unto her healed from your past tangled trauma.
Come unto her when your bleeding has stopped…not dripping a drop. She will only suture her own; done nurturing the needy.
Come unto her not with an ego of eggshells, nor a simmering swankpot’s cherry-flavored charm. Rather, come unto her with the simple pride of a stable hand whose steed is always a ribbon winner.
Come unto her not as a sinner in fancy finery, bearing bestowals from far shores roamed. Rather, come unto her with threads of a thrasher boy who has traveled from home to crop, and chanced to stop to pick her a pretty pansy.
Come unto her not like a dreary dullard, nor burdened by the pseudoscience of stately scholars. Rather, come unto her with savoir faire; humble hat-tipping to those of both high flair and famine.
Come unto her not with sunny, invasive color of a dandelion’s deception; a weed that poses as a posy. Rather, come unto her with word spoken truths as ferocious as a lion’s tooth.
Come unto her not like a weak-kneed weed that sways and spreads seeds like dried nettle. Rather, come unto her with admired mettle; the fortitude of an oak whose rings can no longer be counted.
Come unto her stronger than the man that you think you could be. She will soon see that you are much more than your best possibility.
I know you say that there’s bodies
across the Russian land,
outside of abandoned work camps,
where countless souls were damned,
and yes, there’s twenty million gone
by those who claimed our name,
and radiation splashed about,
I know that seems insane,
but what you do not understand
is those guys screwed it up,
that Lenina and that Stalin guy,
they pushed too hard, too much.
Thought they could make socialism
with cruelty and might,
but we’re not like those tyrants, no,
this time we’ll do it right!
I know you saw that great famine
when China tried to leap,
and it’s hard not to be appalled,
when the price seems so steep,
and seeing government teach kids
to turn against their own…
yes, sixty million is a lot,
we’ve seen the stats, we know,
but that Mao guy was way off base,
strayed too far from the path,
I mean, that guy liked little girls,
you can’t trust men like that.
We want to build a better world,
not brutal appetites,
we’d never let in men like that,
this time we’ll do it right!
I know that those darn killing fields
can leave bad impressions,
that turning back to ‘Year Zero,’
seems a mad obsession,
that a third of Cambodians
going off to their death
is honestly the sort of thing
that makes you catch your breath.
But that Pol Pot was out-of-whack,
that’s not what we’re about,
to rebuild all society?
Who would dream of that now?
To think we’d have such arrogance
when bringing you to light,
we’d never kill those who stand out,
This time we’ll do it right!
Yes, Cuba and North Korea
are poor, broken, and lost,
and sure, their people, to get out
will open oceans cross.
We’re aware the Venezuela
collapsed in just ten years,
that they once had great oil wealth,
but now are drowned in tears.
You have to see, in all of this,
they don’t get Marx’s point,
and if they knew it like we do,
they’d not be out-of-joint.
When we’re in charge you’ll never see
the genocides or blight,
we’re gonna build a paradise,
this time we’ll do it right!
…Hey, why are they all pointing guns at me? Who let the
peasants have gu—
A fly and ant, upon a sunny bank,
Discuss'd the question of their rank.
'O Jupiter!' the former said,
'Can love of self so turn the head,
That one so mean and crawling,
And of so low a calling,
To boast equality shall dare
With me, the daughter of the air?
In palaces I am a guest,
And even at thy glorious feast.
Whene'er the people that adore thee
May immolate for thee a bullock,
I'm sure to taste the meat before thee.
Meanwhile this starveling, in her hillock,
Is living on some bit of straw
Which she has labour'd home to draw.
But tell me now, my little thing,
Do you camp ever on a king,
An emperor, or lady?
I do, and have full many a play-day
On fairest bosom of the fair,
And sport myself upon her hair.
Come now, my hearty, rack your brain
To make a case about your grain.'
'Well, have you done?' replied the ant.
'You enter palaces, I grant,
And for it get right soundly cursed.
Of sacrifices, rich and fat,
Your taste, quite likely, is the first;--
Are they the better off for that?
You enter with the holy train;
So enters many a wretch profane.
On heads of kings and asses you may squat;
Deny your vaunting I will not;
But well such impudence, I know,
Provokes a sometimes fatal blow.
The name in which your vanity delights
Is own'd as well by parasites,
And spies that die by ropes--as you soon will
By famine or by ague-chill,
When Phoebus goes to cheer
The other hemisphere,--
The very time to me most dear.
Not forced abroad to go
Through wind, and rain, and snow,
My summer's work I then enjoy,
And happily my mind employ,
From care by care exempted.
By which this truth I leave to you,
That by two sorts of glory we are tempted,
The false one and the true.
Work waits, time flies; adieu:--
This gabble does not fill
My granary or till.'
Jean de La Fontaine. Translated From French By Elizur Wright 1882.
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