Long Mourning Poems
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These aren't empty sentences filled with nouns
& verbs but is a testimony of spirit
The witness sits inside peering from behind
spirited eyes of vengeance
Mad at a world that's full of cattle being steered
to the slaughter without resistance it sighs
Peerless it sits observing battles being waged against
children of the most high
Even if it could cry it wouldn't waste its tears as it
probably wouldn't stop weeping
With dry spirit eyes it looked up to see if God was
watching but all it could see were clouds forming
When the rain fell it served as a sign that indeed he was
watching & mourning a world still sleeping
With cloudy night vision it waited for the dust to settle
& fog to lift in the morning
As people we pour out feelings until there's nothing
left in our cups
In the pouring rain it's hard to escape the pain as all
are touched the same
We have our ups & downs but we are indwelled by a
fighting spirit that doesn't give up
We are enough & it watches over us guiding us with
divine touch
When the storm settles we'll see that we don't need
much besides compassion & understanding
We may be in dark days but our passion still shines
light on the fact that we are still standing
…obliterated night of the seven seasons
tickets and thickets and trains collide
into the cliché of licking tongues
wed to the bred moan of capitalism
(grinning gothic gremlin) smile of a nurse
before the coma saturates the elliptical
thought of the ghost mutes trepidation
(ride the crest of the adder’s riddle)
infested with scales of karma flaking
magic merging with the indifferent
Earth (and the sky implodes anxiety)
--a voice says crawl back to childhood—
innocence is an oblivious death-sentence
terminated without punctuation (again her)
approval is a mark of degeneration (descend
-ing) linked aphasia is the coded dance of night
…sour taste in the heart as the mouth spouts
…verbs of deeds painted like profanity
…I see her riding the obelisk of risk
…until the tendrils lie
shivered awake by mourning nothingness
thrown back within the iris of truth
drowning in the colors of reason…
Her hands have held
A newborn, bonded
With the child she loves
Her hands have helped
Her elderly parent
To walk across the lawn
Her hands have hastened
To cook a meal, grow a garden
Embrace a friend or lover
Her hands have hidden
Pain and sorrow beneath
Prayers and praise for a heavenly Father
Her hands have healed
The grief of the mourning
With assurance of comfort
Her hands have hung hopes
Across disheartened souls
Knowing they needed a hug
Her hands have hushed
Tears of discouragement
With reassurance and grace
Her hands have hailed
The heart who knows
She loves with her heart
Her heart’s hands hold hope
And her hope holds her faith and love!
Alliteration - Old or New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Joseph May
Written: April 6, 2021
Entered: August 30, 2022
Have you heard the symphony, the voyage of an eternal time?
Its Chariot is the swiftest one, gone soon, gone long
Beating hearts touch the innermost mind
Darkness. wrapped in encircled mourning, befallen with the fallen, starlight.
O My Friend !
That nomadic time, a traveler one
Engulfed me again, with her embracing vest of time
Took me to her gypsy churn,
A quest toward an intrepid one.
Farther and farther away from yours.
It seems only in mind, that I escaped death
Happening in a thousand more times.
Today, the new dawn with the mountain-peak
Where , the chariot left a trace of agitated wind blower speed
With my older name.
There is no turning back
If you ponder from a distance, looking back
you will not find me as one you knew too close.
I bid you farewell, My friend!
She had an almost insane love of life,
Her attitude exuded abject fairness,
She was the abominably busy butcher’s wife,
Cancer treatments turned her suddenly quite hairless.
Her love of God and Savior was her guiding light.
No matter how she suffered, optimism shone through.
The secret storm she held inside, a secret plight.
Each day, a gift, she treasured gloriously anew.
As the world turned, day by day, the same for many,
She found happiness, and determinedly ignored the sad,
Bringing joy to those who would have suffered plenty,
If they had not seen her beacon of hope, realizing she was glad.
At her services, a reoccurring theme was her love of life,
Her love for her family, and her incessant offerings of hope.
The busy butcher, now not as busy, mourning his lovely wife,
In honor of her, smiled through his tears, daring not to mope.
He could feel her love for him, beaming down from heaven.
Glad he was, she was not still suffering from her secret storm,
A storm she hid from the rest of them, especially her son, Kevin,
Who crawled into bed with his daddy that night, so toasty warm.
Written 10-09-2018 Contest: Soap Opera Titles
Sponsor: Sian St. James
My God so counsels me I am a mourning of Zion
My God soul counts me as I'm mourning in Zion
I am the planting Of the Lord
I am the planting of the Lord
He's so planted me in fruitful soil
That He may be glorified
I am that I am ..beautiful
He Dawns me with coats of many colors
I give up the Garment of Praise
For the spirit of heaviness He pours oil of joy
For morning is Beauty for my ashes
The planting of the Lord
That He may be glorified
The planting of the Lord
That He may be glorified
The planting of the Lord that He may be glorified
Now I be called tree of righteousness
My God so counsels me I am a mourning of Zion
My God soul counts me as I'm mourning in Zion
I am the planting Of the Lord
I am the planting of the Lord
He's so planted me in fruitful soil
That He may be glorified
I am that I am ..beautiful
He Dawns me with coats of many colors
I give up the Garment of Praise
For the spirit of heaviness He pours oil of joy
For morning is Beauty for my ashes
The planting of the Lord
That He may be glorified
Blessed
Glory
Holy
Hallelujah
The planting of the Lord
That He may be glorified
The planting of the Lord that He may be glorified
Now I be called tree of righteousness
6/8/24
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2024
Referencing Isaiah 61:3
I kept vigil a hundred hours
I slept a hundred hours
Only to rise under bowers
Streaming with hot showers
Now my eyes mist for things I have seen
Including things forbidden by sin —
Like wind-harried shutters facing and backing brothels
On whose grungy grounds they have conducted betrothals.
I summoned the laity for prayers
But heard they had since stolen in for a hushed seminar
I then crooked my fist and invited pipe players,
Who, in the calamity of staccato tunes, heard something similar.
Moments from now the moon will wane
And the eyes of man shall catch only the dregs of stolen wine
When particles of moon dust rebel and feign
The madness of deposed kings, their tears filled with brine.
I’m broken because nothing is working
The mourning city grieves with singing
While running darkness is spitting and lurking,
Spewing debris of mockery with slinging
Our sins have caught us red-handed
Frost warming alerts an otherwise docile city
When winter hoes up the lewd corners of the land branded
By debauchery and annoying pity.
I have since insured my heart wreck with the heavens
And prayed to be washed clean in the waters of Meribah
After, by the heart’s ease, I had eaten of the flailing crumbs of the leavens
To rid my wretched soul of the harlotic prints of Salivah.
We can never forget 9/11
We will forever remember such a date
A date that will live in infamy
A date that has everything in it:
Sadness, fire, death, destruction and bravery
Heroism, sickness and resilience, except happiness
9/11/2001 is a memorable and a daring date
That changed the world. Things are not seen like
The day before. We have a different perspective
About life and everything under the sun
We learn new ways of mourning, sighing
Fighting, of course new ways of being absolutely resilient
No, we will never forget this fateful day where terrorism
Became a new word. Everybody is talking about the death
Of so many brave first responders: firefighters, policemen
And many others who wear proudly their uniforms
We shall never forget 9/11. We will never forget 9/11
The sacrifices made by the brave civilians who had lost their lives
Are priceless. The eternal flame in our heart cannot be extinguished
We know that everyone in NYC and elsewhere will always
Remember how the world got shocked, stunned by these egregious
And deadly actions perpetrated by a bunch of sick cowards
9/11/2001 is a monument engrained in our brain which will live there
For a very long time. The memories of the braves are metastasized
In our psychic, no one can suppress them without killing us cold
"911" is no longer three numbers but a historic symbol like Pearl Harbor
9/11/2001 is now 18 years old.18 years of tears, fear, pain and suffering
We shall never forget 9/11. We will remember. We can never forget 9/11.
Copyright © 9/11/2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
It was instant attraction without hesitation
We were meant for each other, two hearts…
Melting into one beautifully gentle song,
Almost creating a sincere connection of hope.
We dreamed the dream of shared passions
Opening our minds to the ultimate warmth…
Breathing into each other the sweetest joy,
A whisper of angel’s wings freeing our spirits.
There was a vision felt ascending between us
A hunger for merging all our finest dreams…
Persuading feelings that reach down to the core,
Touching a satisfying faith for what tomorrow holds.
We shared our thoughts and deepest inner treasures
Pure gold sparkled when our eyes made contact…
Whatever came we knew we would be there together,
In the most intimate relationship either of us had known.
Then, one afternoon, the ecstasy turned to mourning
What had been the answer changed into a question…
Would we ever overcome the transformation we felt,
In moments, our harmony became a disastrous storm.
We tried to remind ourselves of the past pleasures
The stars in our eyes turned to flashes of lost hopes…
Suddenly the worst days were there before us,
And we realized what we had was failing to nourish.
Finally, we decided to let go and leave the dream
What once was good had turned to remembrance…
Love, when lost, feels like someone must have died,
Yet, there is something inside that forgets if it was you or me.
September 9, 2019
Sometimes love is not enough Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One
The physicality of you
watching me rattle my keys
in your dream watching you,
in a fever, the feels bubble up
inside the mourning zombie
summons an evening ghost
which keys to be
singled out
to open
which cavity
slid into that
which is locked
magically
dissolving all
that for a time
walls stop
and the miraculous
touching confronting occurs
the meeting
of mind and body
honey in the ethereal
qwerty world
Candide Diderot. ‘24
“Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been—a most familiar bird—
Taught me my alphabet to say—
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie…
A child—with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings—
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away—forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.”
Honey.