Long Maroons Poems
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Seasons of Sanity
Affect my a$$.
It is ever thus.
Each season percolates
Distinct chemical essences from the
Cauldron of consciousness
Sloshing edge to edge in my brain pan.
Normalcy.
No one knows what that elusive
Formula could be.
Perceptions are refracted
A thousand times over
Within the smoke filled
Fun house of our existence.
Synthesis.
Earth’s seasons typify
But do not define
The kaleidoscope colors;
Moods and perceptions
Transform, intensify-
Lavenders to lightning blue,
Browns to lightening limes,
Maroons to neon ruby reds.
Thrashed strings of a guitar,
Spectrums of ambivalent
Harmonies theme my days.
Seasons of Sanity.
Anyone claiming to know
The weather of sanity’s seasons
Is to be avoided.
I used to love Elvis's songs and watched all of his fine concerts;
then the long-haired Beatles came from England
and he was almost swept away in his own land!
Suddenly, new artists names appeared on the Billboard Charts,
I couldn't stick to a specific artist:
I guess they all sang to the heart!
Because of my age, people think I am a square,
I listen to Maroons 5, Lady Gaga and Katy Perry;
I can name more vocalists whom I enjoy on my Galaxy phone,
but what really matters is Pop Rock influence on me lately.
Does it mean that Pavarotti is out of the picture?
No, a great performance is still a delight to hear...
even Bocelli sings pop with a conservative style:
I embrace them all, did I forget fashionable Cher?
Trumpet the ethos of these wading warriors with the hollowed bones
of their panygeric prophets,resonating triumphant tones,
to forever honor,protect,& perpetuate the valor,virtue,& victory of this Holy Order,
the irridescent echo seeps from their Father's tombs,
for what extent shall I blaze myself and minions in the arrows path,
so to coddle an intangible hope made of a prayer's dope,
or in a mind where a prevailing vision roams,
nay, to avert that macbre nightmare of having my People's progeny becoming the pigmy
of a teething tyrant who condones the perversion of civilization's tomes,
a coalesced consciousness consummated by the last bastion
with a vigorous vigil on this Christmas Eve,
solemn and sacramental the emotion is which this of our hearts
the Almighty exhumes,
A dispatched soldier ploying as scout,remote, waiting ignorantly to be smote,
a far but not forgotten armored satellite being selfless,
his vanity enemy's threat consumes,
an unbridled but composed offensive of a triplicate terror delivered
by an indefatigable knight ,
an ultimatum presented simply but also strictly,
one at least his assault maroons,
J.A.B. - Part Four -
Hail, the doorway keen on the known world ... theme wails attention,
time of roses' blooms cower ... usurped magentas, aloof maroons,
for the flight of the gossamers ... assume benefits of the whole.
Latial premise culture ... tastes upland and coastal regions,
a frequency of single-mindedness ... surrendering taught thoughts,
as the virginal breed ... practices gifts unerringly.
Motherly cling to the high order ... the lap of power,
Emperor Augustus's Agrippina ... hails a league lineage,
the first passed adoption papers ... history at two years of age.
Emperor Claudius handheld Lucious ... heir apparent,
timely obligations convene ... Praetorians and the Senate,
youth rules ... Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus
A singularity ventures ... shadows accomplish deeds,
airs cultural growth, diplomacy, trade ... and games of sporting chance,
distractions for feeble minds ... a mother, a wife, bled graven vows.
Minds of the destitute clamors ... affluence hushed from rears,
slaves dying daily ... entertained popularized its purposes,
at slave's expense, and Rome's aristocracy ... via taxation.
Rome burns for Nero's 'Golden House'... Christians blamed for flames,
rumors swapped clamors ... Emperor Galba aids Senator Vindex,
Christian deaths were wrongful ... Nero lost popular support.
Nero ruled known enemy ... condemned to death in absentia,
negatives fly ... as tyrannical, self-indulgent, and debauched,
he flees Rome ... 9 June AD 68, commits suicide.
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.
When the raspberry horizon
is curled up,
shaping caramel-lilac lips
of the cashmere kismet,
singing in a choir of cherry chivalry
and honey-glazed fireflies ~
those snowy stars
simmering in summer silence,
f l i c k e r
a w a y
leaving burgundy blurs of beliefs,
wrinkled in those blinking blemishes
of clementine memories,
which once trailed hysterical footprints
across my fairy-threaded horizons...
And I lay, breathing l o v e
on a pillow of pristine pearls ~
succulent with the silver songs
of perfumed yesteryears ~
chiming through chocolate valleys
and rippling in the ruffles
of origami reveries,
weaved in scarlet sonnets...
where you and I, chakras of the divine ~
w a l t z
like the sunset
and its shadow
through a halo of rose-rings ~
our spiritual silks
rinsed in rubies,
as every aromatic alphabet
caresses those syllables of storms,
stained with the murkiness of maroons
and the velvet rain of remnants
leaves a champagne spark ~
igniting indigo illusions
that whisper
whirling intuitions
in my saffron-kissed kundalini...
" O' thistle-light
distancing me
from my dandelion i n k ~
I'm no longer a paranoid petal
swirling in a havoc of hate and rust,
rather, I'm blossoming ~
aesthetic in strawberry arcs,
dreaming of a reality
above imposters of nightmares,
where my honeysuckle sepals
hold hope as a golden anchor ~
fluttering in pink opal warmth,
and I feel like the heat of life,
for those decaying flowers,
betrayed by
the
torrents
of
t i m e... "
dear lord of the scintillating swan light,
in the fulcrum of fragrances ~
this sailor soulfully sails,
as a telepathic trespasser
tangentially
steering
to an orchard
without
rose-tinted
reveries...
to be the last scent
of forget-me-nots ~
manifesting a meraki of miracles
in those mulberry mosaics,
where the esoteric zephyrs of elysium
still remember me ~
as a sandalwood-scented soulmate
of the forgiving sun...
I furl myself…
in au revoir ruins …
within selfish flames
of a femme fatale,
where black pearl roses
weep with the ghosts of gold ~
grounded in the
glamorous requiem
with the grace of glittering glitz,
but in these gardens of grief,
I mourn with
the flawless footnotes
of grim obsidian mirage ~
groomed with faces
that forget
the patronus prose ,
petrified by
soul-stirred sunsets
with purple pigments …
I learned how to live unkissed, until ~
this emotion steered me
to the eclipse of heat ,
raining love riots …
even if it were
my imagination
and the moon tonight ,
were an honest manipulator -
O destined god of my dreams
let me melt in your lucid love-fire -
be the siren for sizzling seashores ,
and wake up with the wave ~
that whispers, whirling the halo
of white crescent wings …
as I need you …
within smooth strokes ~
that worship your
whistling heartbeat,
…and we dissolve
with devotion,
in the delusive design
of dusk-blush maroons ,
fading into
the evening evanescence
as those sun drops
glimmer with citrine stars ~
and I wear this
galactic wine pendant ...
in the paradise
of this dulcet demigoddess
weeping
~ smokes of d e s i r e ~
October's moving in
I can feel it on my skin.
The wind blows lightly every leaf
but brings in the cooling sheaths
pushing back
the leftovers summer beats lack;
In the quiet rush
the trees whisper, hush
calling out to all of us,
change is in the breeze;
the warm that remains
is just a hint of September games
leaning into fall residue
autumn calling in the faded hues;
colors ranging from the lime lemon blends
into the shadings of olive-brown russets
so many shadow feature ramblings
rest in the crimson carmine maroons;
the sun rises late, ambers crawling in
setting early to the harvest orange crimson
and the reawakening of the blood moon
with autumn calling a lurid dying of October from June;
October's moving in
making for winter taunts and teasing
in the constant changing of the season.
When the
malevolent moon
drapes
black current vines
around my neck,
etching
the blood of betrayals
in my white-whirling wings ~
I cease to scream
in sanguine sighs
within
sangria songs
of spring
when
I would wear love in lilac
and you saw me
in metallic maroons...
as in this moment,
my skin
is but a sea of scars,
sewn with
indelible stars
of dandelion damsels,
who once lost
their art of weaving hearts
in your hoaxed arcs.
And
my agony remains,
a secret
behind
wordless wisps
of breathless vultures ~
feeding
on the seeds of intuition,
sown in cursed waters ~
illuminating
insatiable infernos
within my
tulip-tinted temperence...
But, I ache to be
an apocalypse...
more than the hellfire ink
that stains your
chauvinistic cobwebs ~
threading
volcanic spells
ushered in
a storm of sepals
beneath tattoo tears
of periwinkle promises,
for you are
a mere imposter,
stranded
in ivory silks
of snowflake silence ~
gnawing upon
the merciless
manifestations,
manipulated by this
mannequin of
metaphors...
That's a sin for God and all creation.
A stone-like heart best describes you.
Blood sei, Nubia tears, and a brief elision
Extremely wide and bone-white in hue.
The grin you used to wear long ago
Has vanished into a sea of bitter tears.
The whale you sought in the bay sank low.
bears wisdom and bravery without fear.
Your whole crew is incredibly brave.
With some wild spears in a back-alley saloon,
The mania grew into a full-fledged tidal wave.
They dragged the ship and are now maroons.
Don't travel faraway on one prosthetic foot.
Turn around the vessel; we still hope yet.
A despair pall lingered over the deck soot.
For prancing sake, we've never met.
If you hinder ignoring us, we will all die shortly.
Doom's mind and soul are free of sea spirit.
I hope that you'll be standing by to greet me.
Power derived from the same source to inherit.
Written: June 3rd 2023