It seems that every 10 to 12 days or so
my living room faces the force of my manic episodes
sticky-tacking every coloring book image
completed to the walls
rearranging lights in hopes something shines better
I can’t arrange my furniture in a way
that curls me into comfort
molds me interwoven home’s aroma
maybe
the issue isn’t whether the couch belongs
against the left or right wall
or against the wall at all
or possibly
the fact my bed is a place of unrest
it’s probably
my reluctance to unpack the real problems
but I’m too preoccupied trying to change things
that won’t make a difference in the first place
I have paint on four fingers
My pants leg, my shirt, my cheek and my nose
I am almost always a mess as my whole family knows
Bathing means nothing, I am an artist you see
There is always glitter, paint, or oil on me.
I wish I were not psychotic
not to have this brain with a thousand weird functioning circuits
with a fantasy of its own
so I would be left alone from the society
that uninvited steps in my door
that goes and decides what is best for me
I met three today
I never asked them for a coffee
I never wanted to hang out with them today
but they shouted and screamed
what I did not want to hear
that I can not care of my son.
Ridiculous Gods
In clown clothes
scared of a different member.
I tried to take something off your plate,
That was a huge mistake.
Honestly, sorry for what I ate,
Now there is no way to replace.
Trying to find a compromise,
I honestly want to apologize.
Truthfully, can’t decide,
Do I deserve to die?
The whole time, I was just along for the ride.
Got me staring at the sky
Questioning is my brain working fine,
I tried to brush it to the side,
But now it doesn’t want to hide.
Maybe it was the wrong place, wrong time.
Did I learn my lesson?
Well now I’m second-guessing
I just want to know what’s the message.
Honestly why am I stressing,
Hoping for a blessing,
Steady checking
When I didn’t even have the weapon.
Not one thought of aggressing
Is it time for me to do some reassessing?
Or will I just be regressing?
I sit here with the truth oppressed,
Wearing guilt across my chest
In this silence I’m a mess
All I wanted to do was my best.
I remember the days when I'd fall
asleep before hitting the pillow.
Ah, the joy of a sound sleep.
I might not have been at my best
in the morning all things considered.
Day-old makeup very much past its prime.
My eyelashes were caked and looking scraggly,
my lipstick smeared across my cheek and pillow,
eyeshadow streaked clear across my forehead.
Thankfully one good shower made me whole again!
AP: 2nd place 2025
Mess
Making a
Mess is for children and pets but not for
Me. At least so I think, but
My wife tells
Me otherwise. However, I have
My own way of organizing things. I think she likes
Making my life miserable
what a mess
dog toys strewn around house
he doesn’t care
there was a young lad from Cork named Hess
who liked to fool around with a lass named Jess
one night it was said
he forgot to wear a certain item to bed
and Jess said ugh you made a real mess
No mess is fantastic
Lack of respect leads to war
War is horrific, evil and poor
Racism is not chic
Modern slavery is painful
Hate is awful, hurtful and plentiful
There is no justice
They don’t really want peace
Hypocrisy is ubiquitous
Supremacy is senseless
Discrimination is tasteless
Their audacity is obvious
Corruption is rampant
And the economy decadent
This is absolute chaos
The whole thing is a mess
Less than nothing: worthless
Death shall come. Alas
At last to change the formula
That’s karma
Nothing is eternal
Power is ephemeral
Tomorrow is a song
Belonging to no one
I know I’m not wrong
I am addressing everyone
I am talking to the crowd
Without being too loud
Long live Respect and Peace!
Long live Love and Justice!
Copyright © March 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Chaos has its own grace,
a beauty hard to embrace.
They say it leads the way,
a way nobody dares to obey!
Living only where it sways,
they say they hate the disarray.
Where peace feels so far away,
Who needs order, anyway?!
Small Arkansas town had tolerated enough
Deceased bully is now not so tough
Lots of guns blasted the square that day
They did not give the brute time to pray
Gunshot came from every direction around
It did not stop until the bully was on the ground
Don’t mess with Arkansas, said Detective McBing
None of the townspeople saw a thing
Depleted...is all I can say,
From every ounce of abuse and pain,
To the point where you wanna shut off any negative existence,
You want to hide from the battle and keep your distance,
You find peace in the small things in life that take you away,
Until you no longer care or can feel the pain of yesterday,
And if you must deal with a feeling when it pops up,
You take it to God, and cry it out in hopes that's enough,
Because you cannot change what you can't control,
And your only option is to emotionally let go,
Your heart is tired, and you need a break,
And sitting in silence listening to the wind takes you away,
It soothing like a lullaby and you can finally feel rest,
Giving you beautiful solitude away from the mess.
Time for spiritual cleansing
Unnecessary doubt
God can work it all out
Spiritual Body in order
Remove all the uncertain clutter
Spiritual Enter
Front and Center
A savior who welcomes all in
A change that can begin
The clutter that surrounds
Enrich and be found
A Lord who knows everybody’s name
The Holy One true who isn’t lame
Heaven being the target to aim
Good News
Don’t be confused
The Devil wants to destroy
He uses all kinds as a decoy
Clutter cleaning
The Lord of power having meaning.
If a little bird told me a secret,
how did it know in the first place?
Had to clean up the mess on my sleeve.
Clutter, I call it. Sentimentality. An attachment.
Some rational people would call it a mess.
Objects scattered. Thoughts left across the floor.
I look to the reflection of my mind,
Thrown, left, forgotten. How could I forget?
I’ll tidy it later. I’ll remind myself. I’ll get more organised.
A rotting excuse, as my thoughts trail through my door and leak across the room, too much for my hands to hold. So I let go.
Ripped up sheets, photographs,
The bin has surpassed its limit.
Mugs gather dust, along with the remnants of my last sip of energy,
When I could be bothered.
Broken hourglass,
There’s only so much sand left in me.
Before I make a mess.
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