Long Loaders Poems
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Socialism
My Opinion
Tom
8-1-2019
Politicians promise anything to get, or stay, elected,
Socialism won’t save the world and should be rejected.
They endeavor to convince others that their role is in sync,
Armed with opinions, and like armpits, most stink.
I wonder how many promises we might see fulfilled,
By those pushing socialism, some quite skilled.
We elect foul mouthed people who should be curbside,
As our country continues on its downhill slide.
The things socialist’s espouse appear downright crazy,
Intended to capture the vote, of the free seeking lazy.
There are no free lunches, affixed to everything is a price,
While the free loaders pay nothing, others will sacrifice.
You can’t eradicate poverty by bringing the rich down,
This kind of socialist thinking is just a legal shakedown.
Just take from the haves because a have not feels slighted,
Give them a seat at the table so they won’t feel uninvited.
When his stiff larynx shifts,
a caviling bone that darts for cover
as if caught in its bell tower
with a high-powered rifle.
I see his desperate need to talk.
"Those dumb forks,
ingrates, free-loaders, punks."
Salty epithets
march up and down his throat,
as if menacing the very fabric
of his Adam's apple.
Behind his eyes
the damned are piling up.
We are out here alone,
just him and me, and this anger
strangling his windpipe.
He once carried a buddy
out of a kill zone,
but not a lot of himself,
just this bitter slanguage.
I want to grab hold of him,
hug him,
let him talk it out,
allow his wounded words,
to spill out of their foxholes,
then share a dirty joke or two.
Along the eroding banks of the Minnesota River
Lies a tranquil scene that will make you shiver
Where nature and man join together as one
Entwined around debris that time has spun.
Acre upon acre farther than the eye can see
Hidden underground rusted metals flee
Bogged down by mud time stands still
Where trees and brush continue to spill.
A historical town with stories to tell
Of steamboats landing under yesterday’s spell
Where mills and founderies drowned in the past
Mastered by floods the river cast.
In the quiet river valley where eagles soar
The support of volunteers continue to pour
With trucks and skid loaders they renovate the land
Removing the debris once left by man.
The hum of equipment echoes throughout
Giving nature a chance to sprout
Where metal and tires layer each other
Showcasing debris nature and time will smother.
Piece by piece the past is removed
But the power of the river still carves its groove
Where the trains lone whistle echoes each day
And natures growth still guides the way.
Today the river continues to fight back
Claiming its territory with a sedimentary attack
Wave after wave it buries the past
Leaving behind a mark that will last.
Along the eroding banks of the Minnesota River
Lie remnants of the past that will make you shiver
Where nature and man grow together as one
And tales of progress are diligently spun.
The Poets are our quintessential rebellious, rebels
The Maroons, the Braves, and the Daredevils
There is a ton of biases even in simple poetry
The Poets are known to be born freedom fighters
The unafraidheroes of hell, the sweet bees
Which can sing and sting, and deliver honey
Even in Poetry, we encounter weird free-loaders
Sick unabashed orators and pusillanimous braggers.
The Poets are born to be different, legally liberal
Awkwardly conservative, strong ass-kickers
Blunt truth seekers, and not obedient ass-kissers
Call the generals, the Police, and bring the arsenal
Of bloated words, and epithets; dumb or foolish attributes
Write verses and elegiac poems to pay countless tributes
To the sorry plagiarists, and to the ill-polished writers
Nobody cares anymore about the well-versed truth tellers.
Copyright © November 2017, Hebert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
All dressed in matching shirts, belt buckles and ties,
The big black boots made from leather,
And their pride and joy, sitting upon their head,
With the biggest brim, leather strap and a feather.
There’s headers and tractors, sprayers and drills,
Harvesters, loaders, and ploughs,
And the thousands of farmers, from this region,
All walk around and casually browse,
This new equipment for barley, sugar, or wheat
For fields of canola or fruit,
And a special buy is the new dog box, that simply sits,
Right on the back of their ute.
This is the site where farmers meet once a year,
Wheeling and dealing a rural parlay,
The hundred hectare paddock, transformed into,
The Henty Farm Machinery Field day.
When the larynx shifts
(a caviling bone) darts for cover,
as if caught in its bell tower
with a high-powered rifle.
I see his desperate need to talk.
those damn people,
ingrates, free-loaders, punks.
Salty epithets march up and down his throat,
as if menacing the very fabric
of his Adam's apple.
Behind his eyes
the damned are piling up.
We are out here alone,
just him and me, and this anger
strangling his windpipe.
He once carried a buddy
out of a kill zone,
but not much of himself,
just this bitter slanguage.
I want to grab hold of him,
hug him close,
let him talk it all out,
allow his words
to spill out of their foxholes.
Then break some ciabatta with him,
some Ligurian olives and chianti,
share a dirty joke
between wine sweetened gums.
As democratic minds continue to work LeftBrain Yang-hard and strong,
yet resiliently paced,
and RightBrain Yin-smart,
flowing smooth,
resonantly graced,
Earth grows deeper and wider polypathic outcomes
restoring peace
by non-violently responding to past climate injustices,
Inviting patient good humor
despite wounded free-loaders stingy past
without sufficient faith in positive therapeutic investment.
Not begrudged investment in silent bad faith,
expecting only more negative Win/Lose compromises,
eventually devolving into economic
and ecological gridlock losses,
total eco- and ego-systemic stuckness,
personally and politically disempowered,
disengaged,
failing to thrive.
Deterring aggression is unlikely
to those investing in and with swords,
automated rifle associations,
marketing sales of fear-mongering weapons
and walls
and martial laws.
Deterring violent aggression is more likely
to those investing in and with redemptive WinWin compassion,
cooperative global health associations,
advocating and mentoring gospel communion experiences,
WinWin wealth of grace,
love,
compassion,
trust
as LeftBrain defined,
RightBrain refined,
by not LoseLose absence of health,
trust,
compassion,
grace under Win/Lose fire
of competitive Business As Capital Infested,
over-invested,
under-arrested
by webs of resilient cooperative ownership
management
governance
responsibility
healthy wealth accountability,
historical recountability
RealTalk,
in 4D LeftBrain YangSpace,
RightBrain wall-less webbing bilateral YinTime.
They dug a deep hole and
Made a tunnel at the end
They made a
large woodchimmey
And covered the hole
With logs and covered
The logs with iron plates
The had six vents that
Came to the surface
They used bobcats
And frontend loaders
To make the field have
Depth
Walking from the back
Of the circle you felt
Like you were walking
In the Roman Collusium
They made the statium using logs
Two by fours steel beams
Pvc pipes
They sewed together
Ten large tents to make the
Top of the ceiling
They wanted a uniform
Top, the engereeners
Would be awarded for
There craftiness
This might be the beganning
Of some of these guys careers
We want to have this type
Of night for all to remember
We used folding chairs
The heat coming from the
Ground wasbscented
By hickory. They had
Grills below
Were some folks
Cooked bbq
Generates made lights
And the soundmen for the evening
When someone sneezes, we say God Bless you!
With others we know, we say, may say have a good
day.
When we see some of the best poems here,
we say nothing?
It's so cold,when 60 visits to a poem have
visits with no comnents.
I don't know the visitors!
I never want to either, no, not me.
Just small minded, cold and hearts
the size of a pea.
Most of us know the time each of us take
to create a genuine poem.
So why not type thank you at least??
Are you that unthankful at a caring poet feast!
A total three second process, holy cow?
Why not give an uncommented poem
at least a wow?
After all a human being wrote it.
Can't you be a true poet and show it!
Use your keyboard today, say thank you.
Can't you give a poem more than a walk-
through?
You might bring a smile to a poet's face.
Not recognizing another?
So tragic and a total disgrace!
*Not on the poem or the poet! The onus
falls directly on them, the poet free-
loaders.. Yes, them.*
Panagiota Romios
4/13/2019