In 1836, a posse of brave European settlers
Riding horses, armed with muskets
Brutally killed 12 Wiradjuri men, women and children
Can you remind me who the uncivilised ones were?
It all happened not far from my home
Where the kookaburras laugh high in the gum trees
Bodies piled up and burned like rubbish
Can you remind me who the uncivilised ones were?
It was rough justice they said
For the killing of two white settlers by Wiradjuri warriors
But dirty little secrets can’t be kept forever
Can you remind me who the uncivilised ones were?
Courage, bravery, wisdom and love
Maybe we can learn these things
From the traditional owners of the land.
beauty but a beast
creeping bluebell horror scene
weeds the death of me
It took one hour to define the war on Iran --
A massacre becoming the hallmark of American aggression,
168 girls, ages 7 to 12, incinerated by the smart bombs, their teachers too.
Minab is now a metaphor for the entire war,
Mentioned on page 11 of New York Times, not fit to print on front page with the headline"American atrocity in Iran." That would be uncharacteristic candor!
Sometimes the imperialists bury their own atrocity under a soft deceiving rhetoric, like the words "alleged"or "under investigation," hoping the time is on their side, but it ain 't.
Minab s girls are not forgotten, their pictures adorn the streets of Iran, remembered forever.
If one does not blame the culprits who blame it on "dated targets," empires get away with their madness, though Minab is now engraved on the forehead of Western civilization --an eternal sin that can t be washed away, call it Iran 's Mai Lai, binding the downtrodden of the South in their oceanic empathy.
A Christmas Eve party
A bitter husband dressed as Santa
Went on a shopping spree
A shooting spree for Satan
His family’s home ablaze in Christmas light
Flooded out when an eight year old girl
Opened the door to Saint Nick
But instead of his holiness
She met his “nic” named Insanity
Receiving quite a large gift
He shot her cold in the face
Then sprayed the fleeing guests
With his fertile fluid of death
And the house went down into the flames
Satan’s slaughter was done
And inferno had touched the earth
On the other side of the manger
Where no real kings ever come
Christmas is always a special time
Special even in the Dead Land
Everyone wants to get something
No one wants to be left out in the cold
Not even in Hell
No one wants to be left out
Not in the cold with the beasts
Alone with Satan
In the belly of Enugu’s coal-dark earth,
Men toiled beneath for all they were worth.
Sweat and silence, pickaxe and pain,
Digging riches, yet bound by chain.
No crown they wore, though kings they stood,
Their hands were scarred, their hearts were good.
But when they rose with voices loud,
The empire answered with gun and shroud.
November wept in forty-nine,
As rifles cracked a crimson line.
Twenty-one fell, dreams undone,
Beneath the unforgiving sun.
They asked for bread, were given lead,
By those whose flags in silence bled.
Their only crime? To dare to stand,
For justice on their native land.
The coal was black, but deeper still,
Was British greed and iron will.
Yet from that grave, a fire grew,
A cry for freedom, strong and true.
Oh Iva Valley, sacred ground,
Where martyr’s blood still speaks profound.
Not just a tale of loss and dust,
But how the broken found their trust.
Their names may fade from pages read,
But history walks where they once bled.
And every step toward liberty’s light
Was paved by those who dared to fight.
All of a sudden
The stars have stopped shining
Blimming sadness in Heaven
Too many babies are maimed and hurt
Too many infants are starving and suffering
Too many women are crying and mourning
And too many men are being sought
For summary executions
Where countless elders of the sad nations
Have disappeared without a trace
The pain is excruciating. What a disgrace!
All of a sudden
The sky has become extremely dark
Bloody chaos in Heaven
The cemetery is in the park
The buildings are bombed and bulldozed
For heaven’s sake, too many soldiers are overdosed
Where ships, vessels, yachts, boats and canoes are sunk
Somewhere is buried a dead skunk
Where everything is comatose and decomposed
No one can honestly envision a bright future
Where nobody can dry the tears of Mother Nature.
The stars have stopped shining
The moon is visibly absent
The sun is on strike and fasting
And the weather is eerily aberrant.
Copyright © June 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
bureaucracy cull
a death by a thousand cuts ~
slasher slash and burn
***
Killing women and children
Is absolutely unacceptable
Executing sick and old men
Is obviously low and despicable.
You can make countless speeches
You can invent endless excuses
Slaughtering so many is genocidal
Hurting so many can never be justifiable.
The world is now less peaceful and civilized
A cease fire is long overdue and warranted
This is barbaric; too many leaders are demented.
When will decency and humility be exercised?
Lies won’t fly, because they have no visible wings
This is horrific; too many have blood on their hands.
Copyright © July 2024, Hebert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
All through wee hours of the morning
Laminga search their missing persons, mourning
The track that leads to Amurum forest
Are traces of blood stain northwest
They search until sunrise by the river bend,
Where headless bodies on the water meet an end.
The corpses littered, unidentifiable,
Vultures grunt, tension grows so palpable.
This was another midnight massacre
When men slept, this ambush occurs
Bukuru have breached the truce
So all hell now must be let loose.
We must return to war
The young ebullient youth swore
To avenge the innocent blood of their past
Their heart drumming so fast
It is war that has no end
For this we no longer pretend
A tale of hate, of who must claim the land,
Passed down by each generation's hand.
In fighting over what's their due,
Tens of thousands snuffed too.
As senseless conflicts and retaliation
Have become their everlasting damnation
Thank you God
That I’m always a student
I abhor
The slaughters of the babies
Toddlers were killed dead
Young boys and girls were shot dead
Pregnant women were stabbed dead
That’s terror
Young men were executed
Young women were raped and killed
That’s horror
Women weren’t spared
Sick women were beat
Old men and women
Weren’t exempt
No error
Fuhrer is alive
Terrorism
Is not dead
Students have conscience
Leaders lie
The buildings are pulverized
Treaties ain’t for all
Blame a few
Murder is no joke
That’s death
True free speech
Is dead too
Students have conscience
They are always right
They make sense
They protest
No justice
Here on earth
No freedom
We wonder
We ponder
We differ
They conquer
Like wild beasts
There’s no peace
Terror, horror and revenge
I remain an alumnus.
Copyright © April 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
The vampire exited the saloon doors
covered in blood her gaze enamors;
Cowboys on horses stop mid motion
to see what was causing the commotion;
Mysterious woman dealing black jack,
apparently someone had tried to attack;
Whiskey shots were barely dispensed,
outlaws came in and the energy tensed;
No intention of drawing first blood,
then he asked to play five card stud;
She said ‘I’m not part of the party;
You don’t gamble with the referee.’
He tried to hit her she broke his neck;
Then came his friends, a train wreck;
Not fond of utilizing easy murder,
off she rides from this sunset massacre.
Whoever killed Our Jesus
Son Of God
Now has a killing machine.
Copyright © March 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
It's time
To bring back
The days
Weeks
Months
We spent locked in combat
It's time
To wade through
The bones
Lungs
Hearts
That still yearn for you
You bombed, bombed
Now you airdrop aids
You killed, killed
God’s children
Pregnant moms
Innocent women
Poor toddlers
Weak boys and sick men
No reason
You poisoned water
You robbed, robbed
Now you want
To give sweet ice cream
To children
You are crazy
You are sick
How naughty
What a shame
How nauseating
The world is at war
This is sickening
Hypocrites
You are, yes you are
You bombed, bombed
You killed, killed
The world is at war
Humanitarian
Food, bombs and missiles.
Copyright © March 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
The killers are killing--
Keep silent, dear.
With cold corpses, they are filling
The beautiful earth--Still no sound, o Dear!
Don't talk, don't cry;
Surely, they'll hear.
Keep two eyes dry;
If they come, welcome laughing, Dear.
See, the world has turned dumb
And is silently watching their killing.
It's the time to become
Stone that has no feeling.
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