Our inheritance become stranger to us
The throne of our fathers birth the bastard king
Our palace rose against its people and its environs
Ripping us into pieces, breaking our flesh as the price to our right and inheritance
Grinning at our pain and discomfort, feasting on our flesh and blood in our land
The land that belongs to us.
The land will never forget the taste of our sweat and blood
The land will not recover from the taste of our heroes' flesh
Sons and daughters are trapped in the cage craving for bread and wine but our tears and blood become the price and the currency
It's not negotiable.
We were taunted
We were massacred
We were stabbed
We were oppressed
We were bullied and cheated
Now we're taunted
We're undefeatable, unstoppable, unbreakable in our land
Though our flesh is broken and our blood was shed but our bones and veins are risen to take possession of our archaic palace and our fathers' throne
The labour of our heroes' past has risen
It's the beginning of our journey.
The beginning is begun
We began with the journey.
We will never die again
496.
Our Golden Times During PNoy – Part 6
Behold PNoy's country in the Year of the Ram
Our nation experienced both ugly & handsome
After Papal Visit, 44 policemen massacred in Mamasapano
But this year crowned Mr. International, a policeman, a Filipino
Although in FOTC, male superiority went to USA
In Latin America, Pinoy Pride 33 champions all the way
Although in FIBA, our might supremacy gained by China
In Asia's Got Talent, champion is El Gamma Penumbra
USA & China we have united
In APEC Summit we have hosted
Our new light was seen by America & Asia
When salt lamp introduced by Mijeno, Aiza
Our light brightens, its glory & radiance disperse
Upon getting the crown in Ms. Globe, Ms. Earth & Ms. Universe
We have been light to the East & the West
We can be a light to all of the rest!
-12/26/2015
(Dumarao)
*Our Golden Times During PNoy Collection
We wake to the morning—
and find ourselves mourning.
The Powerful Incense or Priest that once stilled the air is gone.
You leave our peace forlorn.
Our peace has been lost;
the atmosphere is full of mules.
I thought wars had rules.
So this is not a war—it’s a massacre.
Blood will flow by the acre;
the air will thicken with massacre,
because the Incense of Peace has been massacred.
This war is measured in mar.
And the only way we’re taught to stop this war
is to war.
my dog is chewing up my bushes
cleaning his teeth
dragging healthy limbs off
I do not stop him
happy he is being entertained
even though my bush is being massacred
I was a tender, fragrant rose,
free and beautiful to the eye -
and, likewise, pleasing to the nose.
One February, I would die -
massacred on Valentine's Day,
I was a tender, fragrant rose.
Why did we give our lives away -
my sisters and I, tied with bows?
'Twas only fickle fate, that chose
a boy to love a pretty girl.
I was a tender, fragrant rose
who died just as I would unfurl -
all for a love that also died,
wilted, stole by a wind that blows -
forgotten, after those two cried.
I was a tender, fragrant rose.
Oh, my sweet parakeet, Cheesesteak,
I cannot bear to see you in this state -
your beautiful black and white feathers
all ruffled, no more to ever flutter;
your cold dead bruised body left here mercilessly
ravaged by the claws of my black cat, Stella -
Stella, the stealthy predator
who already massacred other birds of mine.
Who can fathom the mind of a cat
whose soft fur and purr are so precious,
yet whose attacks on innocent creatures
are so ruthless?
Such a strange and awful paradox it is -
that sweetness can display such savagery.
Dear Cheesesteak, your singing still
reverberates inside my mind.
My darling bird, who never harmed another,
nothing can I do
but bury you and say a little prayer
that you are safe in the rainbow realm
where all good pets go.
Sing, Cheesesteak, sing.
And fly with your pretty little wings
among the heaven’s clouds.
One day again, I’ll be seeing you.
I saw it being built on sacred ground
a field where we boys had many times
reenacted Custers Last Stand.
Ashen boned jaws were riveted to the sky.
The school now waited to be
a concrete cave where madness
was injected into cringing sponge.
I dreamed once that I was a dog
chained to the school's bicycle rails.
Inside the new school, demented teachers
screeched through split nails.
Each lesson had to be hammered
into my psyche, each day my scalp tingled
with a foreboding.
Yet I knew that the arrow in my eye
had to be pushed in a lot further,
a whole lot deeper,
if my mind was to be ever
totally massacred.
I write the saddest things just to see if I feel.
This is real
Depression
Repression
The world holds us back
Words on the attack
My imagination does not lack
Love hate
Different aspects of the same fate
Why it comes and goes so fast
Words that forever last
As times slowly creeps past
Then life's a blur
No heart pure
I love you, I hate you
Leaves one so blue
Hello is the beginning of a broken heart
Feeling miles apart
My crazy mind
Nowhere can I find
Something so kind
As no first kiss
Lonely, so much more bliss
Love at first sight
That is the start, of your first fight
Everywhere I see
wounded knee
Massacred heart
Scalped soul
Which be love goal
Bitter tears
Too many beers
Truthfully denying
To yourself you be lying
Spend your nights crying
Then go out and look for more pain
To increase loves stain
Was not once enough
Hearts are pretty tough
I stay alone
From what life has shown
You go back for more
Us smart ones done closed that door
Nailed our hearts to the floor
Now my crazy words come to an end
Got chores to tend
She cries for the slain,
She mediates for the oppressed,
She opens the door for the innocent,
She avenges the tortured.
Her voice is heard on the streets,
Where the feet of the downtrodden tread,
Her tears flow at the grave,
Where the massacred are laid.
She walks into the courtroom,
Her presence permeates the space,
She hears the cries of the forgotten and lost,
She goes in search of an arbitrator.
She traverses crooked lanes,
She journeys on jagged terrain,
She searches out the lost pieces,
She embraces the embittered.
Before
Toussaint and Dessalines
It was nothingness
Organs, guts and spleens
Of our ancestors could be found alongside the roads
Many fleeing poor slaves in disarray
Were treated worse than animals
Oh! It's hard to find the words
To describe the usual carnage
From the time of slavery.
Before
The Battle of Vertières
Graveyards and cemeteries
Were virtually everywhere
Before
Pétion and Boukman
Christopher and Biassou
It was slavery
Blacks and Indians were considered savages
Worse than animals
Were humiliated, lynched, tortured, massacred, and killed
By adventurers, buccaneers, hyenas, deplorables, freebooters
Pirates, motherless bastards and marauders of the time
In search of sugar, foodstuffs, indigo and gold.
Copyright © June 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
He is eight and confused. He has been borrowing ideas all year.
He asked his classmate if he could copy off her.
She has always said yes until today.
Maybe four weeks of copying was enough?
Now he is irritated and angry.
She did not say yes or no, she told the teacher.
The teacher talked to him about plagiarism.
He thought he would be handcuffed and put into prison.
I tried to reassure him.
Refocused him.
He told me a story about his dog being massacred.
I asked about that.
His dog has a sore paw.
Then he told me about his thirty-two family members
Who all live in the same house.
I am thinking maybe there is a bit of exaggeration in this child.
Raising the cross on the dome of the rock, we rejoiced
Oh god! what did we rejoice, our hatred, our love,
What is love, sadistic love, crusaders love, for the love of god
There is no love, we massacred them all, ....everyone’s dead
Liberum Divisa 4 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Gregory R Barden
From my poem, Everyone’s dead
27/02/21
The insidious reign
of your apparitions, your
coitus with the attic serpents
was sufficient to strip all
pigment from my skin.
Was it they who walked you
blindfolded through the upper chambers
of our modest Eros quarters?
Didn’t you walk them?
My self-reckoning, old Freudian suppers
were wet cookies beneath your heels.
And we lived here!
Their split tongues crowded my speech.
Our energies were split hairs, gnarled
To the scalp!
Our timid blithe seconds were
massacred!
Published: PS It's Still Poetry, January 2022
Like Abraham Maslow's highest Hierarchy of needs theory,
You are a ruler, self actualized and need not to worry.
You look down to downgrade the poor from your mansion,
That has been your passion.
You shine so bright like a light,
Brightening the paths of your loyalists at night,
You have stood time still,
Crushed emotions, souls and let their blood spill.
You buried the hapless, unknowingly they metamorphosed into a seed,
They germinated. In you, that sprung up greed.
Many are still afraid to be massacred,
Seeing you from afar with their beautiful eyes that are not mascaraed.
Your marginalization pierced them like arrows,
The pains registered but they lacked no songs like sparrows.
Amid the direful calamities of the time,
They stood tall beneath the cold glare of your desolate crime.
As they rule their world, the death of your dynasty and tenure came so fast,
In anguish, you are dallying in maudlin regret over the past.
I'm sorry you have collapsed into a dreary and hysterical depression,
Making your days to be brief, shadowed and full of condemnation.
Catholic churches were attacked in Sri Lanka
Many of our brothers and sisters were massacred
By
Fanaticism and ignorance
In
The name of their God
But
When would we understand that there is only one God,
And that is the God of love,
That we all are his children,
All embraced by Him the same,
None being loved less than the other,
None being put higher or lower than the other?
Those who committed this abominable crime,
Thinking they will be rewarded with a place in paradise,
They soon will find out that their miserable souls
Will be condemned to eternal damnation
For committing:
Patricide,
Matricide and
Fratricide!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
21 April 2019
* CNN: Sri Lanka blasts. At least 327 dead and more than 500 injured
in multiple church and hotel explosions.
R.I.P. our beloved parents, children, brothers and sisters.
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