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.
Knock, knock, knock
seething at her core,
it's your older sister
emoting once more..
Knock, knock, knock,
bar that door.
She's launching missiles
in hopes of a sibling war..
Knock, knock, knock.
You've been there before.
If you don't want her angst,
then just ignore..
New
Thus it starts/missiles in Poland/hitting
Poland flitting over Ukraine/Putin acted again, NATO?
SELL OUT Nick Armbrister new book out soon
The War Rages On
The war in Ukraine
It rages on
More refugees,
More orphans,
Mothers with children
Trying to settle
In Poland,
The war in Ukraine
It rages on
The city of Mariupol
Nearly destroyed
Russian tanks
And missiles
Deployed everywhere
Hypersonic missiles
Attacking Arms Depot,
Apartment buildings,
Schools, even churches
Being attacked by
The Russians every day,
Innocent children
Have died,
The war in Ukraine
It rages on,
Poland taking in the refugees,
And the supplies,
NATO worried about
what Putin
might do next,
President Biden issuing more
Sanctions against Russia,
Poland worried
Russia may attack,
The war in Ukraine,
It rages on,
When will it end?
Only God knows
And Nostradamus
Who predicted
A Third World War
In the 2020’s-2030’s,
He’s never been wrong,
The war in Ukraine
It rages on.
Celine Rose Mariotti
as if I didn't know it was you
after all this time
becoming nothing inside of me
I'm tired of carrying your leftovers
sabotaging my victories
you who saddened my planets
look up there the missiles strolling
already looking for people like us
look there among your memories
there must be something that justifies us
a damn happy breakfast
after absence
two or three tears
and an ashtray full of goodbye
Sky Flames
The general loved missiles.
He got a tattoo of one.
A big super-duper boom stick.
Boeing MX Peacekeeper ICBM.
Ten MIRV'd 335 kiloton warheads.
City killers on our heathen commie enemies.
The inker moaned like a boiler.
Huffing and puffing.
You represent evil.
You're the military industrial complex.
You're gonna wipe us all out.
And a dozen more rants.
The general sat there.
Listening and getting his tat.
Why didn't you say no, son?
You never had to do my tattoo?
What you represent is madness.
All that firepower, aimed at Russia.
Well son, that's the way the world works.
They aim their SS20s at us.
It's all madness.
Nice tattoo by the way.
I'll remember you when Reagan orders me
to order my boys to push the red button.
There are certain foods that make one salivate and dribble
Like all-dressed omelets, pizzas, pastas and kibbles
Though kibbles is a dog food
Try it, it helps you go poop
You are even able to launch deadly nuclear missiles
THE OCTOBER OF MISSILES
I loved her right down to the ground,
But we were just too different:
Quiet me with my books,
In the public library; and
Her with her noisy friends.
The trouble had been brewing for weeks -
The break up of the love affair;
The last-minute envoys between,
Her friends coming to me, mine to her;
Trying to make peace.
But it was useless, hopeless.
Who could ever forget it ?
Just around my birthday on the 25th
I was seventeen and left with my books;
And the radio announcements
As background noise
About some events in Cuba.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
NOTE
Based on an intense teenage love affair which ended painfully in October 1962, during the terrifying missile crisis.
It's March nineteenth, time for some sun
No more nasty weather, send those blues on the run
Nothing but giggles
Sending love missiles
Smack on the lips of some unsuspecting chum
We all hear about the habits of successful people,
My habits are not the same.
Successful people, whatever that means,
Their habits seem kind of tame.
I don’t read a lot, nor organize my year,
Nor ever get up bright and chirpy.
I enjoy writing my thoughts, living spontaneously,
Then waking up feeling blurry.
I dance in elevators, touch hot plates,
And practice arguments in my head.
And rather than minimizing distractions,
I live with color and music instead.
And when I’m on the phone I don’t sit
And pronounce with perfect allocution.
I walk the house laughing, joking and swearing-
It’s a trusted institution.
I would like to eat healthy, drink water, walk heaps,
And regularly go and press weights.
But I love my kebabs after a night at the pub,
Dancing, drinking and singing with mates.
Actually, the other day, I went for a run, through the rain,
In the car park, to my car.
It was a fun little run; I dodged bullets and missiles,
Pretending I was a big movie star.
Well, thinking about it, my habits are successful,
Other people’s just don’t match mine.
To me it’s about being happy, open and free, it was easy,
“Success” I would redefine.