Long Vainglorious Poems
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S'more sprawling poppycock
Chock·a·block discombobulated poem
for your reading pleasure
dashed off ad hoc
my final literary endeavor before
hour hand affixed
to intricately carved cuckoo clock
displaying carved leaves, birds,
deer heads (Jagdstück design),
other animals, aquatic militia man,
etc feigns firing flintlock
(announcing onset of
daylight savings times)
said French soldier christened Jacque
dipping paddles of oarlock
into time stream
as the sun beats down,
he doth shockingly unfrock.
Once again modest wily word wizard
sports, struts his stuff inarguably
a blinding blizzard
of poetic gumbo mumbo jumbo,
his convoluted crafted vizard
easily misinterpreted as offal
lee batty, quirky, snooty, trippy...
who honestly doesn't know A from izzard.
The ticking seconds will not wait
while yours feebly cobbles etches
across blank figurative slate
lame resultant impasse I narrate
experiencing disappointment
earlier spurt of balderdash,
gibberish, rubbish... which I hate
yet must suffice impossible mission
to complete satisfactory poem does agitate.
Vainglorious idea to employ
daylight savings time
even a mediocre reasonable rhyme
futile effort finds current strife prime
juncture to breakaway
and resume later nighttime or
call writing aspiration quits
crowded house that for being sublime?
Unlikely literary pursuit or aim
will find yours truly a best seller
never experiencing accolades
nor remuneration to claim
truth be told, cuz I haint seeking
neither fortune nor fame.
The principle impetus explaining zeal
to discipline generic human to hone
his ability, where basic blocks of English
language (words) linkedin incorporating
mental cogs and gears mesh
making (mishmash) as figurative wheel
in the sky keeps on turning
perhaps divine intervention
intercedes as yours truly takes
lock, stock, and barrel of himself, one
bumbling, grumbling, tumbling schlemiel
cue hapless characteristic vagrant tramp
as viewed courtesy black and white newsreel
enroute to meet cobbler, cuz worn out heel
actually kind individual stopped to offer hobo
an uber lyft courtesy fancy automobile.
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
his foundation flows
around my ankles
flooding ‘tween the trees
baubles of aquamarine
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
paradise soaked with many suns
storehouse of spinnerets
orange, yellow, blues
shining, twinkling, twirling
those leggy-legs
brown and skinny twigs
in swamplands of serenity
soaking up the sea and sun
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
my mind in wonder -
ivory pearls, like roots,
surrender to the soil of wafting sea
my pinwheel irises whirl
swoosh in waters?
climb vainglorious bark?
play with the suns?
the artist tempts me with his brush
circles within circles
harmony of sticks and stones and gems
8/17/2021
Twas the night before Christmas - came like a flash,
Mob of gingerbread reindeer prodding elves for cache.
The Clausman reigning, doling out orders this stint.
Lady of his, keeps his tongue supplied with peppermints.
The vainglorious list of children, like snow through the Pole,
Now hides in the cloud - smart tablet tabulates toys or coal.
Head of the snowmen, cold and wise, supply the twinkle
To Santa’s eyes. Green-elves polish his boots, unwrinkle
The fat man’s caboose, untangle the reins, ready the ride.
The lineup from A to Z better well shine or it’ll be their hide.
All is still as the stars light up the path until Santa hops
Down, creates sinkholes in the snow with flatulence, flops
Into the overstuffed sleigh, jolly and jingling, creating pain
For the svelte and prideful eight who sail gift cargo like a plane.
Twas Christmas Eve and children around the world wait,
For the jingle and jangle of the sleigh-bed to find out their fate.
Tired, the sharp-suited Santa, now enters by window or door,
A small finder’s fee for each elf who steals a key - keeps score.
This year dear Santa abhors the cookies, milk, and snores.
The liquor cabinet habit keeps him warm, loving kids to the core.
Even when both parents and all the kids deserve some coal,
He’ll ignore the rules, with a good whisky or rum (takes its toll)
The reindeer left the last house hastily, and onward they speed,
As lightning sears the sky but jolly old saint Nick is teed-
Off, for he was found sleeping on the floor, by a kid. Now he shops
For a good Santa Claus lawyer. Who doesn’t toy around? The cops.
On Christmas day he is one of many dressed in black and white.
All say they’re the real Santa. He snatches beards, ready to fight.
Mrs. Claus makes him retire after his cheerless reflection.
The head elf ready to update the store in a whole new direction.
She puts the sleigh to bed, the deer no longer on loan,
Fires up the internet, next year she will send out drones.
11/27/2019
The Night Before 2 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
The scorpions creeping out from words slowly, acutely framing
where judgement claims the higher position unconditionally
lone vulture hanging over its unsuspecting prey ready to pounce
once so blind ambitions reverberates back as unqualified honours least deserved
Pompous narcissistic elements with nonsensical fruitless talent
held within egotism where fools of choice becomes one’s ability
under total admiration publicly declared in lonely self-centeredness
becomes a sterile reflection back to oneself blinded by arrogance
As friends become nemesis’s unnamed obstacles of your vainglorious rise
Sounding echos reverberates a never ending recording of undeserving self-pride
knowing more than all of what is right claiming the false prize for me, me, me
It matters not that lonely superiority must accept the great divide
False praise their claims attention that inflames your senses unjustly wise
crying regrets a prize is a prize nothing to be gained under the sun or moon
striving after winds have blown a gale force within hidden torment
the wreckage that's left after such destruction can only be found wanting
a co written piece in unrhymed quatrains by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid
All of us should know by now that there’s one race:
The Human Race. Narcissism and nepotism
Are destroying the very febrile fibers of our society
Greed and narrow-mindedness, at an increasing space
Are eroding our soil like mites devouring the mechanism
Of our ingenuity. This is odious. What a sad and sorry pity!
Freedom is about being at liberty to do things on our own
Freedom is about being in control of our destiny
Freedom is about using our God-given talent to be
And to do whatever inspires us at dust, at dawn
Or at any time to make the world a better place for all
Freedom is about exposing the lies and walking tall
While telling the truth in the best interests of the planet
Freedom is about saying it like it is, on the internet
In the newspapers, on the radio and to all the media
The nocuous system comes now and then with the craziest formula:
This one is lighter than you; that one is darker than you
This one is thinner than you; that one is bigger than you
This one is dumber than you; that one is smarter than you
This one is shorter than you; that one is taller than you
After meticulously reading the final analysis, you and I are the same
We all belong to the same Human Race, we need to be tame
In order to comply with the principles established by the Almighty
Otherwise, we become mentally dumb, vainglorious and really cocky
Freedom is about breaking the inessential chains in our brain
Freedom is about unclogging the flexible pipes of the dam
Freedom is about going straight to the sources
Freedom is about utilizing our best resources
All of us should know already that there is one race:
The Human Race. And for all, there’s plenty of space
Freedom is about improving things for a better and safer society
Freedom is about creating better filters to help the environment
Freedom is about respecting the fibers and the colors of humanity
Freedom is about enjoying the neoteric air under the firmament.
Copyright © August 2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
It’s taken care of.
A friend of ours
who owns property by the Ohio river
has agreed to make use of her pontoon boat,
to take my ashes, to scatter them.
I have been working toward this, making plans,
arranging for loose connections to connect;
it’s what I want and imagined.
Now we are drifting over an Autumnal morning mist,
the craft, a handful of mourners, the low throb
of a 90 horse power outboard motor.
I like the thought
of 90 horses under my cardboard urn.
I like the way even Autumn can be arranged
with a little forward planning.
I envision the water churning, horses
plowing a way through the still stream,
the craft rocking gently, a limousine
full of spectral wide-eyed children,
some of them sketching elaborate blueprints
of the day after,
some plotting navigational calibrations
regarding, spread, speed and eventual dissolution
of burnt atoms into the smaze of
recycled fish food.
We are all sanguine, buoyant with hope and wonder.
I would pat myself on the back if I could.
My wife kisses my dark container,
everything is going just as it should,
I have taken great care developing this scene.
My widow has not had breakfast yet
and the air is a little chilly.
‘Now’, I declare, ‘better here than elsewhere
don’t let the plot drift away’.
The mist is lifting, soon the world
will reveal itself to be just shorelines
between one dream and another.
I need to be away,
vainglorious schedules must be met,
the script notarized.
In the beginning there was a lonely word but soon after
there was no room at the meagre hostel for the saviour
Sanguine hopes flash-flooded the sanctuary of hearts
sacrificial blood of Christ awaited to be spilt in vain
Spelt out the message of rusty nails corroding on cross
bones mounted the flesh ready for vanishing memories
Lest we forget Christmas it amounts to summits of wrappers
luxurious gifts opulent indigestion after a vainglorious feast
Reindeer and global delivery services occlude the notion that
taking stock is not about counting presents but reducing the cost
Jesus flashes from i-pads I this and I that please give me more
extra goods additional abundance mince pies and stuffing
Belching and flatulent Tim reaches for his heartburn medication
tastes uppers and downers sniffs white powder on bank cards
His wife smears the makeup she grabbed from under the tree
her new perfume a bountiful offering of disguised scented myrrh
No sense for frank frankinsence as she sniffs expensive fragrances
from benefaction bottle’s decadence and reduces benediction to myth
Gift wrap explodes from the fireplace in the mix of unopened packets
just after Father Christmas has made a lucky escape from the scene
Arson of gluttony self-inflicted suffering self-immolation of sorts
sorts out this unholy communion followed by smouldering mourning
The insurance company refuses to pay as they insist that the couple
had backed the wrong course of action in vile contempt of true faith
They however donate a beautiful bible of careful calligraphy
with gilded ornamentation bound in leather and lather of time
There are no walls standing for wailing when Tim and his spouse
and it remains to be seen whether they might find a mangled manger
To resume business as usual or take refuge in meaning and truth
when the word in the beginning had become a sorry blank canvas
18th November 2018
Contest Christmas Mourning
Sponsor P.S. AWTRY
Quotes from the 1960 movie, Pollyanna:
Pollyanna: Why don't you come out of the front door like normal people?
Jimmy: They won't let us. I can come out anytime I want with my tree.
Pollyanna: You could also fall and hurt yourself badly. You shouldn't play in trees.
Jimmy: That's stupid. Don't you believe in God?
Pollyanna
Impregnated with positivity…relishes wide toothed smile.
Lips, cherubic-pink…so courteous…chin tilted godward.
O this angelic pekingese courts the sinner for their own good.
“Impertinent child,” man, woman, and gut, clench in good grief.
The sun rises on her, never sets — vainglorious retch.
Still…crystal illumination twinkles rainbows and puppy dogs.
In the big house, rent free, Pollyanna roams the rooftop.
What - sneaking out! Can’t be. Jimmy coaxes her down the tree.
Her aunt’s an awful louse, forcing her down. Breakneck landing!
Daddy, the preacher died, leaving her legacy, unkind.
Black and white, no insight, everything will be alright - but it’s not.
A forest vigil of candlelight - flames reach to the highest height.
She does her best to tamp the flames - aims to feel sorry for herself.
Hurts worse than she can imagine…her doubts, her pride…she hides.
Yup…she has the whole town spinning…their sinning ways, trimming.
Impregnated with a gulp, this blue-eyed, bow-tied, Pollyanna.
They shut her up but good. Her goodness flew. Hit them in the pie hole.
With wicked widespread grins, they cheer the impertinent snipe.
9/24/2021
Sijo
A peacock's demeanor reflects its heraldic crest
the avian's plumage dazzles with its presence
fanned out tail of blue green metallic manifests
appearing prideful, vainglorious in iridescence
veiled is its vulnerability and its fragile heart
We immerse ourselves in its beauty and grace
an aspiring and soulful sanguine work of art
until bittersweet's tinge, shows its harsh face
gone the saffron sweetness that of happiness
losing self in vanities futility caught in tangles
ocelli ring patterns tips of eyes it apprehends
illusions of melanin waves and keratin angles
Living walls of purple flora vined creeping plants
beware its bright red-orange berries, poisonous
superficial self-seeker, servile are the sycophants
skulk about corridors, spreading judgment upon us
decking privacy, holding the mulch of innuendos,
dim skyscapes of golden sunrises, of ruby sunsets
Our inner light casts truth from the irises’ windows
how much more must I cry out like suffragettes?
No longer do I dwell among sloth losing my identity
like the peacock that flutters and spreads its charm
I embrace no longer useless supercilious mentality
the vanity of human wishes, grandiose that its harm
The rhythm of my heart’s vibrant vignettes heard
That I Am, alongside the greatest of them all
those of you curious who cling onto my every word
He who stands beside our Creator, shall not fall
We are the sons of valiant blood
with a past crowned with glory,
and that richness is still ours
to build a brighter tomorrow for others
who will come after us and thank us:
many didn't give up their swords so quickly,
but in their quest: they boldly encountered
the threat of death and continued their journey!
The scariest, tenderest young boys and girls needed
a caring mother through darkness to stop their shivers
from relentless fears and visions of blustering cannons...
while their brave dads fought the heartless invaders;
growing up in a colonized land was the reality they faced,
but losing their identity was worse than losing their lives:
who would let their valor be washed away into a sea of old
which saw young soldiers dressed in blue aiming their rifles?
We are the sons of valiant blood,
the warriors who defend a kingdom devastated
by the will of a vainglorious lord
whose only intention was to destroy, pillage and kill;
and such a cruel king was thirst for gold,
blinded by his own cruelty, became the fiercest bull!
And the invaders tried to erase memory from humble souls
that weren't willing to put down weapons and surrender,
and the invaders rode sturdy stallions spreading terror:
horses neighing and screams rising to the bluest skies;
oh, even in death they invoked the names of their beloved:
united and unseparated as one honoring their strong bond!
We are the sons of valiant blood
that dripped on meadows and squares,
where fragile women were raped,
brutally murdered and exposed nude to avenge
the rebellion to their regime of violence:
they choose death over the freedom they promised
with a falsity they perceived as questionable lies:
why be silent and let the victor continue his insolence?
Come to our tables abundant with food and wine,
our generosity has the warmth of the sunshine;
these lands saw the grit of a valorous people in stride
who defended them with noble gallantry and true pride!