The skies are black
where you tread,
the stars having drifted
into a distant abyss.
You scream to be heard
yet not one sound emanates
and there is not an ounce
of passion in what remains.
Morose has become a colour,
an aroma, a flavour on my lips.
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
november rain reminding me of all the funerals I attended over the years
AP: 1st place 2025
Unpredictable and volatile--
morose and quiet one moment,
laughing heartily just after a while
at whatever excited his mirth,
his high thin loud laugh strange
from a person with a grave mien.
He would often be in deep thought,
as if engaged in contemplation
of a philosophical question.
You’d think he is not given to humor,
but know him well and you’ll divine
he is not averse to jests even at his expense.
You would view it with some misgiving
he delights in fairy tales, children’s books, toys,
movies with superheroes or fantasy themes,
colors, flowers, and childish games.
But perhaps you would forgive him
for through circumstances not of his doing
childhood had somehow skipped him.
November 15, 2024
she resigned herself to feeling morose macabre and melancholy
determined to be miserable, was our cousin, Miss Harriet Holly.
Focusing on wretched negativity, and all things bad.
Tossing good things out of her schemata said my friend Tad.
Determined to be solemn, depressed, angry, alone and sad.
It was a keen observation from the self-absorbed Tad.
Not everybody is having a safe and joyous Noël
Not all are enjoying a holy and holly jolly Christmas
Many people find themselves living in pure Hell
In countless countries, civilians are apprehended en masse
They are under sporadic and constant bombardments
Brigands violate the rules and the Ten Commandments.
Many people find themselves living in pure Hell
They are under sporadic or constant bombardments
Not everybody is having a safe and joyous Noël
Bandits violate the rules and the Ten Commandments
In countless countries, citizens are incarcerated en masse
Not all are enjoying a holy and holly jolly Christmas.
Copyright © December 2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Erroneous mirror scatters his face
Mills his skin into thin porous powder
Muck which gets stuck under tongue in a paste
Mouth stuffed with rubble cement rancid sour
Embalmed motorbike tennage champion
Mist cobwebs in his chest, windless clothesline
Murdered dreams dumped, tight vertibre cramp them
Measure of failure in winnings' decline
Engine never to rev segments ego
Mourning whip lashes languish in his lungs
Molten moon drips millions he forgoes
Mortality unknown among airborne young
Moonbeam diamonds stall, star status dements
Ebb of ignition rides midnight lament
Sixteen year old Hero, Matty
Mine of mind
Morose of mope
Flailing through
The torrent
Beside but never near
Perched upon
Window's ledge
Splintered soul
This silly man needs some cheering up
Really don't get it, the sun's my pick-me-up
Things are in tune
Born with a silver spoon
Then why am I carrying such a grudge
It’s time to put aside my pen and pout awhile.
Forty years of dreams squashed like a beer can
under the wheel of a wild vintage car.
It’s time to sulk, to bathe myself in self-hatred.
Brooding on my past failures to create,
a box I created and can’t escape.
Let the gloom of the night roll slowly over me.
Showing the failure, I was born to be.
Hang on the cross for all eternity.
But just as Prometheus, bore his daily due,
Liver picked, torn, a bleeding tatter.
I return expecting a difference.
Please allow to me my daily state of morose,
doesn’t last longer than a cigarette.
Now ready to strive forward once again.
It is impossible, your morose self says.
Do not try it.
You will fail.
Your joyful self laughs at morose's silliness.
We can!
She says.
We do!
We will!
Let's start this second.
But wait, sad sack morose self says.
Do I not get a say?
You already did, joyful self reminds him.
Usurping him in every way.
Thank God!
Appears To Be Morose
Trump appears to be morose
Disgruntled and is really grouse
A real chip off the block
That ended up being a crock
And has often been bellicose.
Every path he is on always leads
to another war.
Jim Horn
The power of life’s morose destiny
Written with definite pain
Certain bane interest
Russell Sivey
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