Long Skirmishes Poems
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STORM CLOUDS ARE BREWING*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The evening news lulls me into a nightmarish sleep.
In the distance ominous, greenish-colored storm clouds are brewing. I hear the rolling thunder of division and dissonance. On the horizon I see lightning bolts igniting fiery hatred. The storm rolls in. Muscular columns of darkened clouds and densely pelting rain march in indomitable columns across the landscape shredding it under the weight of the storm. A deep-throated thunder seizes everything within its reach shaking it with invisible hands.
I smell destruction.
I see faces touched by desperation and hopelessness, their spirits crushed. I witness nation rising against nation, kingdom against kingdom. Cities turn to rubble. Bodies lay scattered about, the halo of violence lingering over the land. I’m told these things must happen. “There’s always another storm,” they say. “That’s the way the world works—snowstorms, rainstorms, firestorms, and war.” Some are fierce. Others are small, merely squalls and skirmishes.
I awaken with a start.
What if tomorrow vanishes in the storm? What if time stands still? And yesterday, if once we lost our way, blunder in the storm? Will we find yesterday again ahead of us where we thought tomorrow’s sun would rise?
storm clouds are brewing
angry wind slows then changes
winds of change blowing
*Note: This poem was first published at Story Circle Network’s One Woman’s Day blog, August 14, 2023 (storycircle.org/august-14-storm-clouds-are-brewing-a-haibun/) This is my original poem.
We loved the land
We tilled the earth, under sun we toiled
We pledged our souls, to nature’s whim
The King of France none to pleased
We took the sacraments
We held our faith, mournful to fates embrace
The British demanded a new oath we take
And scalped we were, both sides did partake
Our villages burned, our fields afire
Our woman and children, in hunger perished
We feared Monckton, a hunter of death
And from him, to ships hold, deported at best
We preyed to Canada, to lend us a hand
Evangeline an angel of our land
The darkened forests, to where we fled
Became bloody in battles, and turned to red
For Redcoats wandered in search of scalps
As Father Le Loutre preached unheavenly deeds
He was bloodthirsty and in skirmishes his evil flourished
His Mikmaq warriors helped rivers flow to blood
We lived along the rivers edge
We fought them all, to no one did we pledge
As serfs we served, to whom did rule
In the end, the forest sang our quiet eulogy
The vessels sailed from Halifax
With their human cargo of Partisans
Off to the West Indies, and a new land
Disease triumphed where Lord Laurence failed
And so the voyage, onward went
The traditions of Grand Pre, to Louisiana was lent
And there they settled, peace at last
As angels of their battles, in sacrifice did rest
Oh, dear Sparrow! Fallen still
Softly feathered where you lay
As of a soldier gently eased
To sleep in dreams away
Whose dying wish was lost, was lost
In wars of yesterday
Your folded wings are nestled close
Your uniform unmarred
There is no stain upon your coat
Nor mark upon your bars
It seems from battle you emerged
Without a battle scar
For there you are composed, serene
Your earthly visage calm
No sign of struggle or of strife
No specter of alarm
Nor outward damage I can see –
Within, then, be the harm
Where broken wounds internalize
Beyond the battlefield
Where kamikaze skirmishes
Could not survive the steel
And solid soundness of the pane
Which from you did not yield
To you then, fallen warrior
In tribute, hear my prayer –
That you may soar unbounded, free
With worry none, nor care
In everlasting flight on wings
As virtual as air –
Cutest prattles of children I adore
Are now the loudest cries I bear
Oh, No! The grieves of these abandoned souls
The worst sounds I have ever heard
Mesmerizing songs of endemic birds I carried
have become a threatening alarm now
Migratory birds missed the way to their hometown
Endemic ones sense no way at all to escape
Minerals accumulated river
is now of blood spilling over
Obnoxious odour it is,
I couldn't carry further...
Daily prayers and chants I hear
have turned into laments with fear
Thrumming thunder drums I bring
turned out to be the horrible skirmishes
Two military factions strictly crafting their plans
Echoing the sounds of huge bombs and gunfires
Reigned over their people by creating boundaries
Unfortunately, this unbiased breeze is same for all
Amidst this tormenting situation, I still try to thrive
to be a solacing breath to the struggling souls out there
If not, I would have become a windstorm
and ruined the entire place certainly
21-Oct -2023
trickling streams enlist fingers stroke
translating silent stares script air bubbles
soul skirmishes dying and breath twitches
her amort jabs shatter blind eyes
soft breaths linger aphonic sighs
surfboarding alongside rocky creeks
you wish to decry me with metaphors
whispered secrets shared solely betwixt us
words untied weighed by fireflies glow
bemoaning to aurify amid fiery solar flares
hoping for air in a pathless stream
let me shed words from balm of dry lips
you said that you might catch them
I've seen the way a glass dances, though
slips through your fingers and shatters
I hear a forlorn violin pluck its strings
catacombs lurk in a hollow cage
when it beleaguers, it wails and shrieks
an uncaged spirit walks with a dog
left, just a beshrew echo in a silent world
Minding other peoples’ affairs or businesses
Some villainous pundits or vile hyenas are the best
In simply doing just that, comrades. They ignore
Their own problems. They leave a huge door
Ajar, wide open, so they can put their flagitious nose
In their neighbors’ personal businesses or affairs
Please, always have the fireman’s water hose
Ready, in check and in full force in order to shower
Them with love, pity, comprehension and compassion
Because their primigenial tongue is way too long
For their mouth to handle or encase. Please bless them
With Holy water and incense, in order to chase away
Or to obliterate the viruses in them. For them, night is day
As they are confused and lost in the corridors of Gotham
Gossipers are liars, predators, sinners and troublemakers
They don’t want peace. They don’t like peace
They want wars and skirmishes. They have a list
Of nefarious or unholy things outside the craters
That they want to implement in order to destroy
Good and decent human beings. Their tongue is a deadly toy
At all times, be aware of the culture and the environment
The venomous caterpillars and the evil bees are ubiquitous
And never forget to use a special spray, which is inodorous
Or a special glare, which can shame them on the pavement
Many of you who know exactly what I am talking about
Expose them, denounce them and force them to change route
That’s the way to discourage or to defeat the evil worshippers
The hypocrites, the quislings and the professional gossipers
Who are minding other peoples’ affairs or businesses.
Copyright © January 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
The year was 1946...
Grandfather, on my dad's side, chemistry professor at the Ann Arbor Campus of the University of Michigan had just finished his tenure, completing his service to our country in the reserve as a full-bird Colonel in the US Army during WW 2 as Base Commander at Fort Benning during the build up to D-Day. He visited his old friend in Washington, the longest-serving Speaker of the House Sam Rayburn. Sam liked to tell G'pa " it's 5 o' Clock somewhere Marshall, let's have a drink" (1-drink limit). Sam would regale G'pa with tales of inner-sanctum bitter feuds in Congress and G'pa would regale Sam with stories of skirmishes his buddy the General, George S. Patton (tank commander) had during the the summer of '42 (see the HBO Series 'Band of Brothers) with various Branch-Generals, scheduling jump-platform qualifying times preparing for the D-Day Invasion. For years, G'pa seldom visited Dad's dear suffering mom, who passed way too early in life (G'pa never even went to her funeral) this permanently scarred dad, a hurt he never recovered from, seldom visiting G'pa in later years...I remember one visit to Florida just outside an Army Base (where G'pa had canteen privileges) G'pa read his book the whole time, never looking up, he was dismayed dad wouldn't accept an officer's commission at the start of the Korean War...one in 4 Lieutenant's perished in battle, and on the advice of my precious Irish Grandfather on my mom's side, chose to begin a family...and here I am, writing this story...
No sooner than we set foot within said domicile
attestation to so called gentleman’s’ agreement with guile
initially infrequently, but incessantly as time elapsed Isle
never forget (nor will spouse forgive) with rancor and rile
ceaselessly besieging, bruiting bare-knuckle skirmishes
for us to remove ourselves and personal belonging with vile
lent vitriolic wrath from the day we decamped
within hoity -toity Mainline –
our matted unwelcome would endure for quite a white.
* I * S * I * N * G
With hindsight and accumulative less cloudy fifty shades of gray,
an irrevocable clear er voyance viz summoning forth would lay
an irreconcilable rift (rivaling the Mariana), and constant nay
saying presaged an emotional price to pay
whereat we deterred sale of vintage crystal balls – our stay
purported prevented sale of precious heirlooms – oye vay
in tandem to estate sale divvied up, cuz we whar in the way.
* I * S * I * N * G
Analogous to Little Red Riding Hood, we could not see
blitzkrieg, cannonading, incessant strafe carpet bombing re:
bloody onslaught from the generation of elder vipers que
endured feeling trapped by memorabilia meant nothing to me
* I * S * I * N * G
Warfare found us hunkering down within said tract housing unit,
a fusillade fired off re: porting volleys of character assassination
bombarded this unfortunate civilian clearly implicated to whit
for being a non jewish schlemiel inducing endless economic
denigrating calumniations – fulminating against this “twit”
we decried wicked, vicious, unwarranted abuse would not quit
with no defense against slings and arrows, a plague round
of ceaseless, ferocious, and insidious pilloried that pit
pendulous injustices for each of our **** (emphatic branding
per diem me own scrawny gluteus maximus to git
the hell out – eventually hiring a lawyer with eviction edict!
Form:
Spending an entire weekend
with one of your best friends
is a treat onto itself,
but spending an extended weekend
with the same friend
is even better...
******************************************************
Drew had come over, with his parents,
to get a haircut and enjoy some conversation.
Before they had a chance to leave,
he was talked into staying the night.
We spent it lounged on basement couches
enjoying our viewing of Spartacus.
******************************************************
The next morning,
we reenacted historical skirmishes,
with a bit of artistic license,
until it was time to accompany my mom
to a friend's cookout.
We enjoyed the usual fare of burgers & hotdogs
as we quizzed one another on random movie trivia.
Although we weren't all too athletic,
Drew and I played a few games of pickup football
with a group of kids we'd never met before,
before retiring to my place for the night.
*****************************************************
Sunday was set aside for camping,
the original reason Drew and I were
supposed to hang out.
My parents took us to one of my favorite spots,
Kennerdell,
where we delighted in swimming in the creek,
hiking the trails,
and watching Return of the King.
*****************************************************
A copy of Wedding Crashers
kept us entertained on the drive back home.
After dropping Drew off at his house;
back to his temporarily estranged family,
it was time for me to finish,
and begin,
work on my D.A.R.E. project.
I finished pretty quickly
& spent the evening thinking about
how wonderful of a Memorial Day Weekend
it had been
in the company of one of my best friends.
Up the dark barricaded staircase
with a monitor well focused between their legs
they came to digest an ego
caress ten long fingers aflame at tips
Imbibe bright juice
heal a chequered heart
mount the focused quartz
don weathered leather
as African heroes of the past stare
through windows draped in
white chiffon
They smooth peppercorn hair
in ecstasies of bliss as delicate oil
flare their nostrils, ignite their liver
while township youth play dice upstairs
modelling their future on one man alone
as jazz tunes are whistled from corners
a piano remains covered in velvet
with a blighted knight trying some stunts
and wizard talks tales of Mecca
then prays on centre stage
They twist locks and slit bars
violet Sun stream in
all is touched with gold as he glances
at their toes, skirmishes their
breasts in figures of eight
on a path to the beyond
White Witches in Wind