Long Sporadic Poems
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Night after night I still dream about these blocks. Dance they do, dance they don't.
Seeing them hand-less in effortless glide, my mind strides so young to differ!
squared, cube, these blocks move
sporadic movement in dance
no rhyme, reasoning
Again the nights throw these scratching sounds from below my bed, dread I.
In confusion scrawl, they bawl silently to me, em-blazing their letters to allure
from within my abyss, this deep that haunts me, yet I know is alive.
scurrying, confused
to and fro they go, they show
mis-spelt disarray
Again I'm sitting, anticipating, yet I know where I am, I'm home, again alone.
I'm under, yet bolder, shouldering at six years old, now seeing clarity, for the
blocks are speaking to me, I see, now crying believe.
no longer grotesque
his zest upon his request
blue lights alight, gone
.
As i sit here and ponder
About my love that's gone
She was tall, slim and shapely
Angelic and full of song
But then i started to wonder
At certain times she never came home
I used to wait and worry
And the streets i would sometimes roam
So many early mornings
She wandered in all tired
The changing of my love
Whom once i craved and desired
So many questions i asked
But for her, there was no tell
For it came to break my heart
As i told her to go to hell
One wintry stormy night
The truth i needed to know
I followed her in my car
Through winds and driving snow
Her car turns into a driveway
In an classy part of town
Where the elite look down upon us
In typical, turned up nose frown
I park my car discretely
Hidden from the road
As i make my way to this mansion
Quite an affluent abode
I slowly, quietly walk
To find out why she's here
As i approach a bay lit window
Stealthily i begin to peer
I see a well dressed man
Slightly older than me
As in the door way stands
My darling so close to me
But gone are her innocents
That were by my side
She's now scantily dressed
The truth to why she's lied
Her skin on show all over
Black leathers in sporadic view
Her breasts all pert and ample
Eyes of azure blue
I stand in total shock
As my love in another mans arms
Sharing her heavenly body
Rejoicing in her charms
No more of this i can take
As i turn and take flight
Betrayed by my loved one
Her other side of midnight
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love5.php
Written: December 02, 2023
Quote "Without birth and death, and without the perpetual transmutation of all the forms of life, the world would be static, rhythm-less, undancing, mummified." Alan Watts
________________________________________
“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form reborn
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love concurred”
I deploy discursive divine depiction as a guide.
A gateway to Genesis, where it takes its side.
Unbridled and untamed, my voice may rise.
I pursued knowledge out of pure surprise.
Low-frequency vibes induce a shift in shape.
Scarcity leads to transmutation, of spare scape.
Alchemists transmute leads to sacred gold.
Metal sheds its genius luster in the kiln hold.
I waltz freely with doom in the gloom.
I inhale oxygen to marvel at life's bloom.
I endure steps yet disappear in the dream.
Structure is unaffected by the skill stream.
Love is my soul—my reason for existence.
Living in lavish love is a lifelong vow of diligence.
A mind, weaved with such insight, was so warm.
I flaunt my firm frame in this fabulous form.
When you are feeling opulent and egotistical.
Those who are dominant were miscible.
Departure might induce an unfillable hole.
Descry a suitable way to purify your soul.
There are ecstatic and tragic days, love and hate.
No matter how tough we strive, this will be our fate.
Note how sporadic and fleeting life is; spot the stride.
Our days of tribulation bruised our noble pride!
Rather than succumbing to hatred and rage.
Turning negative into a rising trend of assuage
Let trust and troth tackle tricks and malicious
Such a restrained demeanor is truly auspicious.
Within, most consensus spans are wide.
It's all whim; scatter love and watch it glide.
Trust your scintilla—trek to the boundless sea.
We may all profit from sowing wisdom trees.
Conquered the most-dubbed landmass on Earth.
And yearning to discover raw levels of worth!
Death, then delirious with deceit, drove his life.
A wicked beast embedded himself in strife!
A susurrus sparkle to the shimmering love.
Enhances adieu strut below the moon above.
Breeze says, "Love on, my dear, and dance."
Across the trees, a gentle man's glance.
Early morning
In various places
Faiths of many
Wearing different faces
Families descend
To spend their time
Families intend
To queue in line
Shoppers gather
Sellers sell
Many hundreds
Getting on so well
A face so different
Enters the scene
Although they blend
The look of mean
Position chosen
Before this day
No thought or care
Of who they slay
Connection met
Explosion spew
Scarlet life
In sporadic flew
Innocents scattered
Families torn
These newly called martyrs
From natures womb born
Media coverage
To foreign lands
Showcase this horror
By cowardly hands
Carnage cleared
Blue skies return
To witness the horror
Where many lives turned
This belt of no faith
Triggered for what
Remembered today
Tomorrow forgot
The people's people
Return every day
Market Square Heroes
In spite of the slay
People who tell it like it is
Are usually wrongfully targeted
People who tell the truth with ease
Are routinely are attacked or assassinated
The truth exposes the weaknesses of the oppressors
The truth empowers the victims who are weaker
The truth undresses the wicked and the haters
The truth gives hope to the civilians who are poorer
We live in a world of deceits, shootings, murders, and lies
We see the hardcore criminals on the news all the time
We witness daily the diverse bombings of babies, infants
Toddlers, teenagers, passerby, pregnant women and innocents
And we are tired of watching so much grime and crime
Indiscriminate killing of civilians is genocide
Hourly slaughtering of infants is genocide
Sporadic beating of teenagers is genocide
And arbitrary insulting of the elders is genocide
Democracy is dead. Justice is decapitated
Liberty is extinct and freedom is exterminated
International treaties and laws are violated
Words are shackled and tongues are slit and amputated
What kind of democracy is this?
What type of country is this?
The thieves rule, roam and run the streets and the valleys
Their planes bomb churches, hospitals, dams, pipes, rivers and bays
The truth brings fear to the cruel offenders
The truth upsets the cursed liars and the nefarious murderers
What kind of world is this?
What type of race is this?
Lions, tigers, hyenas and dogs are wondering and talking
About the human race which is supposed to be civilized
What a shame! War is genocidal and uncivilized
Violence beguiles more violence. The world is weeping
Because too many innocent civilians are dying
Too many murderous guns, too many deadly bullets
And it’s so discouraging that so many voters burn the ballots
Thank God that countless good People stand for the truth
The youth is scared. Ouch! They dropped another bomb. Ouch!
Copyright © November 2023, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Glancing down from breathless heights,
Amidst climey sighs,
The looming colossus awakens from slumber
And stretches across Thelwalls linear skies.
The hot engines hissing steam -
Recalled from fond memories long back -
Tumbling like huffing little rain clouds
Down from the lofty metal track;
Wherein brightly painted carriages:
The publicans daughter, the verger,
The magistrate, the chief executive -
Seated first class, all habitually sat.
Swift grandiose arches, a celebration
Trumpeting the artful masons cunning devise,
Boast loudly of the great towers
Parallelogram of terrific forces:
Crossing over in giant leaping strides.
Here below, like Hercules reclining,
The stoic gates of Latchfords black fortress locks
Lift to brace against the immense swell
Far and beyond the chimming remarks
Of Greenhalls absolute, mechanically proven,
Georgian bell;
When, ensconced within a purpose-built,
Purple brick tower:
Strikes the centuries old brewery clock
On the twelfth
Of every God given hour.
A rich bankers cantilever
Pushes doggedly against opposing, sheer,
Red Sandstone walls;
Again the mauve and azure rock pigeon claps...
And then...coo, coo, cooingly calls.
Dry buzzing heat blurs over
The hum of a high noons imcumbent midday;
The coup-de-gras scimitar wing stoops -
To fasten onto its slower-witted prey!
Steeped sides slipping amidst tumbling yellow
Gorse and sporadic flowers
Balk at the foreboding waters edge,
Where, over the denizens swirling bowers,
The resolute little rusting lugger,
Puffing and chugging,
relentlessly dredges and scours;
Churning the murky Eastham silts
That drab Manchester draw:
Into the vast hollowing quays
On beachless, concrete Salfords industrialized,
High-rise dockland shore.
Through the deepest part of the black
Channel
A salt grimed hulk smoothly slips...
Attached by a twisted hemp to the tugboat
That hauls the great ships.
Stirred by the bow waves
Flowing and ebbing like currents in time:
From the trough to the peak
The jettison and flotsam climbs -
Before succumbing to powerful undercurrents
Of irresistible designs!
Eccentric Emma, third world charity advocator
Posts smiling foreground photos in mud slewn villages
Personifying inconsistency wafts remote mantra
Mind realm torrents when Followers Like - limitless!
Travels to India restore her heart's connection
Finds enhanced spirit to spruke eco awareness
Flying globally promotes environment's protection
Inspiring group loaded Moped selfie shared with us
Music festival painted face participant
Conjured creation poetry flow in cosy yurt
Auto biography depicts flatulent elephant
Busy vision mushrooms make logic inert
Occasionally posted toddler rememberings
Receive role call of awe drawn replies
Blond curled spark eyed munchkin grin
Retained young outlook, fart poem supplies
Updated page sells self painted guitar
claimed to have been owned by AC/DC
Imported stock sees profit from spirulina
Entrepreneurial shift from childhood ADHD
Nomadic yoga posing 80's born alternate
Emma, changed her surname to Everfree
Her permaculture preach has holes in it
New living quarters each month or three
Sporadic travels to soul's partner, Hawaii
Engaged by quest to marry herself
Masculine inner attributes enlightening
Complexity must be hers uniquely dealt
Keen Facebook fan of spontaneous dance
Rolling to Random Rab, office chair expressive
Arm fling brings shattering of glass desk lamp
Naming failure destiny, stalled artist replenished
Close to home exploits in essays documented
Park brake left off vehicle, ensuing downhill chase
Securing it heroically before damage (almost) resulted
Brings multitudinous comments of (unearned) praise
Originated: 14th June 2020
Subject' s actual legally changed name
rhymes with 'Emma'
Satire Saturday passed without posting,
so I went with Rip the Crap out of Someone Sunday!!
Parody speaks its flattery
Curiousity reeks of jealousy
6/9/22
Apparently far from tacit
Near endless racket
In day light and pitch blackness
For the sane and those in strait jackets
Dammit
Still sporadic
Caught in transit
Can't rely on magic
Nor give up when it all turns tragic
It's just madness
Even though I feel low and nearly at my saddest
I don't care about any bracket
Or what all is on this pamphlet
I've no intentions to read 'Hamlet"
What the happened?
A world obsessed with gadgets like tablets
Most act like they're above you and in their own palace
Becoming cold and callous
No matter, I shall handle this
No need for prayers and candlesticks
You may be an addict
Following the same old habits
But it is something you can kick
And quit
Occasionally worked with a mallet
As well as pallets
Sometimes had dinner with shallots
Just trying to maintain my balance
Mentally it's a challenge
The same can be said for honing talents
It's bat
Still all this bad
Across the planet
It's not all written in stone, aka granite
Looking at it
From the entire gamut
Instead of a single facet
I don't care about party affiliation, like being Democratic
Quit being so dramatic
It's fixable, far from problematic
You'll regret it, if it turns to static
Because you will be turned to ash quick
By a device made of metal and plastic
Won't be much left for a casket
It's hard to make a classic
And smash hit
I'd like to mine for agates
I already buried the hatchet
For now enjoying the view of the Aurora Borealis
While drinking out of a Titanium Chalice
Good intentions not full of malice
Still looking for my Alice
Their lies on the West Coast of Scotland
A Kingdom that's rarely been seen
Where it's beauty radiates through ones eyes
Even closed you can only but dream
Natures gems thrive through seasonal change
Blessing colonies of sea faring birds
To witness the call of it's wilds
So many voices just have to be heard
Cordyline australis grace her lands
They are palm trees to you and me
A native from a land down under
Not Australia, New Zealand is where they be
This area where this Kingdom lies
With it's rugged and beautiful scenes
Freshwater lochs lure many anglers
To catch the fish of their dreams
Many visiting tourists, some in family trace
To discover where their ancestors be
Capturing snaps of their homelands, a past way of life
Filling the blanks of their family tree
Sporadic green forests of pine
With ferns and heathers, carpet the lands
Rugged juts off an earth from the past
Spewed through her juvenile glands
And this land through your eyes that you see
Is the Kingdom that's rarely seen
If you live here we call it Scourie
So beautiful in natures scheme
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/scotland-5.php
Normalcy seemed to resound
like a year-end brag letter,
for out of reach are those possibilities
when locked up in a ward.
Voices itched inside her body
and creepies crawled along her skin.
Scheduled meds didn't cessate this,
just kept the demons from screaming
loud enough for others to hear.
I ask about her, in cordial simplicity,
through our sporadic letter correspondence,
but those words only fill a void
that speechlessness requires,
for I know she isn't well.
Unable to contribute to society
must be a burden of worthlessness.
Long term, she hasn't seen
the trials of the outside world,
only the weight of sin within.
No muscular arms carry that weigh with love
and no one receives her vain attempts.
Many boyfriends have left
over a decade ago
and took her sanity with them.
Possible opportunities of redemption
are now ghosts that taunt.
I flounder for words
to tell her plainly about
what's going on with my life.
Marriage, kids, home, hobbies, a job,
all common things, generic to many,
seem like a year-end brag letter,
for in her life
all these things
could have been,
but are now far out of reach.
Instead, I prayerfully and artfully inscribe
just one phrase, and only this,
"Happy spring, a new beginning."
5/30/20