Long Fiasco Poems
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No secret the Don did abrogate,
his strict ban barring employees to acclimate
themselves, to live within United States
legal tender, and accommodate
themselves comfortably anonymous,
though "NOT FAKE," but accurate
reliable, trustworthy, et cetera
resources who did activate
my awareness, his hired hands receive adequate
pay, (perhaps greater than minimum wage),
despite the fact he does vehemently administrate,
adulterate presidential decrees, and thus
passively advocate, those supposed:
intruders, marauders, and pillagers
(rapists thrown in for good measure),
thus being party to affiliate
with contrary doctrine makes
him more than a flagrant hypocrite
since such migrant fiasco does aggravate
me as well as innocent lives that aggregate
within a country, whose motto rather than alienate
purportedly offered sanctuary:
"Give me your tired, your poor,
your huddled masses
yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse
of your teeming shore."
No excessive effort needed to insulate,
expedite and ameliorate
the woeful plight of ordinary peoples,
whose culture club, those very
governments aim to annihilate
driving a figurative wedge (gee),
I decided to annunciate
(a spurious whim), and suspensefully anticipate
if affection toward asylum seekers will arise
decrying duplicitous action (exhibited by
commander in chief), undoubtedly
other citizens do not appreciate
(minus the bajillion dollars purposelessly
allocated to erect a skyhigh wall,
when more humanely appropriate
measures beg attention at
less expense I aver and approximate
and avoid unfairly incriminating, but to arbitrate
(with some degree of justice) pitted
toward migrants flagrant human rights violation,
those in power arrogate,
and wield for the luxury, exploitation and convenience
of those wealth mongers, who fail to articulate,
how when families got rent asunder fallout does asphyxiate
the human species in toto (including
Dorothy, Cowardly Lion, Tin man and Straw man).
Why worry...?
Within the same breath
yukon catastrophize and
make mountain range
out of molehill mental material
impossible to scale
even with best Sherpa as guide.
Take advice from expert
what if...worse case scenario
time and again no fiasco
never makes cerebral showdown
most horrendous debacle
defies savviest soothsayer
subsequent anticipatory anxiety
exhausted body electric for naught.
Courtesy minecrafted psychosomatic zone
access information superhighway
exit ramp marked "Road closed"
inadequate infrastructure funds
against insurance policy
take life in hands
blithely ignore danger warning
emulate crash test dummy
ram thru barricade
torpedo comfort zone
gallantly ford cliff
behold avast airborne aerial view
traverse iter itineris
partake breathtaking view
quickly descend along skyline drive.
Downplay fear of dying
finally impossible mission
to dodge lifelong unlucky brakes
reassurance courtesy circling hawks
future ingestion feather bedded
good luck bon voyage
bid lugubriousness adieu
farewell to arms, legs, torso...
disc hover onset blissfulness
quickly accelerating toward dead end
automatically yields right of way
into...netherland analogous
to Dutch wonderland
monorail singular underground
freedom locomotive track,
otherwise traffic nonexistent
into eternal nesty plunge
steeping, kneading, enmeshing
fountainhead shrugging off atlast,
where well mapped
neurosis/ psychosis
dost no longer dwell.
This was a commercial maritime catastrophe.
Could it happen in the twenty-first century?
Such a disaster happened off the coast of Italy.
A ship ran into the shoals of the Tyrrhenian Sea.
It happened in 2012 on the thirteenth of January.
The Costa Concordia was a modern cruise liner.
For a luxury ship, there were none that were finer.
The incident took place near the Isola del Giglio.
It was the worst event since the Achille Lauro.
More than four thousand people experienced the fiasco.
As the crippled ship rested on its starboard side,
a few passengers and crew were trapped inside.
Nearly everybody was saved, but at least twelve were lost.
Damages are estimated to be at a high cost.
How could this happen in this modern day?
We will hear a lot more, so don’t go away.
Thanks to wikipedia.org online encyclopedia and BBC News for information I obtained to write this poem.
“I should submit it to the Smithsonian Institute it seems”
“ Be careful this could all be in your dreams” By the poet to the poet.
Euphoric stimulation rushing through my mind,
When I read a poem which was quite a find.
It dazzled my mind, I felt the poem’s vibration,
Did this genius come from some Divine inspiration?
Compelled my heart to flutter, breathing quickens.
Who wrote this, could it have been Dickens ?
Remembering, it was I that these words did utter.
Breathing quickens, compelled my heart to flutter.
Am I experiencing poetic inhalation, is this a holy grail?
Gasping for breath with untold fiasco, an effort to exhale.
THE CHILD SYNDROME
Our failures are victory laurels,
They are the miracles we survived.
Our survival is our success.
The survival of the man from the child.
No one wins but the adversary of men's soul.
The child within will win until the man confront him headlong.
Like a crippled who is consigned to crawl
And little children who live in big bodies
So is the image of the man encaged by the child within;
The presence of a man
But the problem of a child,
Structural gait of the masculine
Elementary steps of a toddler
Replicating Mephibosheth,
The "Mephibosheth problem" of a man.
Nature bemoans tragically:
'I want to let him walk
But for his problem he must be carried'.
Can't have manpower until you've powered over the inward boy.
In race is the body and the mind
But two can't walk together lest they agree.
The body will claim the man
But the mind the child,
The mind will project the boy irrespective of body mass.
Our identity is the heart or mind.
The child in you will rule the man you are,
The fiasco of the yesterday's child
Breaks down the tomorrow man.
The triumph of the weak child in man
Will save the fathers coming after.
Within every man dwells the little child,
It is the little child that precedes our fathers.
Prepare the child for fatherhood
So as not to have a future father still in his childhood.
VickWizzy
Written by: Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Art by: @VickManuelArts (Instagram)
Copyright ©2016
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'Twas the night before Christmas and I
Totally forgot to bake a cake,
If my children came to know, oh my!
What a noisy ruckus they would make!
So I went to the kitchen and found
Sugar, eggs, raisins, butter and plum,
But I scoured and foraged all around,
No flour I saw, neither any rum;
It was after ten, all shops were closed,
How did one bake a cake without flour?
No problem I thought, let's stay composed,
Then an idea struck at that hour;
Why not make a healthy version cake?
With wheat flour and jaggery instead,
No one need know of my late mistake,
All will be fine and dandy, I said;
So I set about baking a cake,
A healthy one for my family,
It was gooey, but with a nice shake,
Placed it in the oven happily;
When it was done, it had a strange smell,
I did not mind it, I was weary,
Off to sleep I went, no one would yell,
Christmas morning woke up all cheery;
Celebrations enjoyed and gifts shared,
It was time for a sumptuous lunch,
And then the dessert I had prepared,
Every one bit into it and CRUNCH!
The cake was as hard as a flint stone,
Its taste bitter as cough medicine,
It was a lost cause, how we did groan!
And straight it went into the trash bin;
Now everytime Christmas comes around,
My children remind me of that cake,
And to my pride, it's a gaping wound,
Now we buy Christmas cake, never bake.
8th December 2022
For Joseph May's "The Night Before 3" contest
THIRD WORST CLATTER OF ANTIMATTER
clatter of antimatter
alien dishes splatter
(the shape of spaceships)
his antennas* whir with rising
he considers going wireless
a dish flying at warp speed
like a zillion cyclonic bats
(female Vogon shriek encapsulated by rage)
the creaming of eggs
the earth took a beating
(local yokels evaporating)**
the pounding of this poem
pretty bad prose
destruction of the first and second worst verse
because everyone knows a Vogon
must clink and clank
on its dink and dank typewriter***
the third worst clatter of antimatter
mama Vogon whisks their deadpan bottoms
if you think your kids make noise
you’ve never heard a Vogon cry
D…o….n, well f…i…n…i…t,
Fingers smack on each key, pounding little hammers.
Zip..(return carriage)
How oh how did those earthlings type with these
Zip…(return carriage)
But this is rather priceless after earth’s fiasco
3/7/2017
Shadow Hamilton’s The Noise contest
*American television show depicted a martian with antennas
that would rise from his head “My Favorite Martian”
**Local yokels – an inhabitant of a particular locale
***Everyone knows that a Vogon doesn’t know the “meaning”
of the Universe (or words for that matter)
Through the creek of the door there sneaked in a silent messenger of Lucifer,
A breathing man sneezed till the last breath, and was shrouded with chillness,
It was a soothing flame of fire choked the chamber in and out,
Rapidity was a trait of the silent messenger which breathed its force mysteriously,
And there was coughing, sneezing and spitting with rising temperature,
The stigma of Covid-19 had its recycle with its mutated psychology.
The victims succumbed to the predator’s double-bladed scalpel.
The illegitimate entry of Covid -19 into an Oriental province is an infamous history,
The silent messenger then turned to an untamable monster that devoured the ‘innocents’,
Clinical staff ran helter-skelter to fight with the devouring monster,
The malicious hunter with his hunting dog wolfed breath in minutes.
The mammoth giant in miniature form of virus wielded his weapon ‘cross the horizon,
And multiple lives were dragged thro’ the tunnel of darkness,
The malicious organisms with short span of life-expectancy breed countless generations,
And enjoy themselves with the crown of sinister leaves.
Who will chase the messenger of Lucifer and shall redeem the world?
Day in and day out chemicals and antibiotics run under microscopes,
Vaccines are tried in every corner,
But experiments and efforts seem to be a fiasco.
So Who shall chase the messenger of evil from the face of human lives?
There is One Who made man and creations,
So, let’s seek His Providence to walk in His Word,
And Life on earth shall be a way unto the Life of Eternity.
Shall we all….?
,
Jittery glittery tree
A mouse ran up the Christmas tree
Scaring the life from the fairy
Cat did too, with dog in pursuit
'Twas a fiasco and quite hairy.
Fairy's heart raced seeing the chase
The dog bit the cat on the bum
The tree lights flashed, the tree it crashed
And cat had the mouse in a scrum.
Poor fairy flew off, nerves were shot
It wasn't how a Christmas should be
She cared not a jot for this lot
Her intention was to seek peace.
The lady of the house rushed in
To find what was making the din
Kids lovin’ home movie herein
Were sent to bed with a warnin'
Mother had to clear up the mess
While dad took the cat to the vet
Mouse ran away from the affray
Mice who have laughed last, laugh best.
6th December 2020
At high noontime, the tires are burning in the streets
The sound of barking dogs is everywhere; the cats of hell smell
Like never showered rats who are locked up in death row cells
Where the air does not go through sealed windows
No, my friends, I'm not dreaming; it’s a nightmare. The sun
Is warming the pavement and the worms are coming out
En masse. The ravines are crowded with small children
That I could never imagined or seen with clear and open eyes
From such a bizarre, awkward, frantic and satanic scene
They’re talking about revolution, that sounds spooky and crazy
Because we must talk about kindness, evolution, education
Before contemplating such a magical or drastic motion
Everything is aflame. The palace is on fire and the buildings
Are red, inflamed. Oh! Yes, it is a total and capital fiasco
All of this is to show the wickedness of the vile jackals
The wild beasts which enjoy killing daughters and sons
At noon, in daylight, the malefactors have no shame to hate
Loot and burn everything they could neither imagined, nor created
And built. These werewolves come from nowhere, from the wars
Of hell, we wonder. We only know that we can't afford to live where
Vile and wild animals can easily seize the streets manu militari
For any new extenuating excuses, pretexts or fabricated reasons
Where are the technocrats and the intellectuals of the past?
A thin and weak voice coming from nowhere replied cowardly:
They are all hidden or incarcerated in coffers infested with lice
This explains why the werewolves are waltzing in the dusty streets
In mid-afternoon where high priests and high pastors walk on bridges
In ruins and normal toddlers no longer go to church. How awful, the pigs
Are well dressed, during the rainstorm, where the contaminated air
Escapes and embalms the disconcertedly distressed firmament
What misery for a group of goons who are equally surly and jubilant!
Copyright © March 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
This is a translation of the poem 'La Valse Des Loups-Garous'
by Hébert Logerie