It is unnatural to start a war or a fight
Ladies and gentlemen, I know that I am right
Violence solves nothing, on the contrary
Chaos or violence makes things bad and eerily.
Soldiers are people too: they are our brothers
Sisters, fathers, mothers, cousins, aunts, grandfathers
Grandmothers, relatives, friends and visitors
They need to be protected all the time and at all hours.
If you want to fight, go fight your own stupid wars
Humans must behave better than wild and mulish tigers
If you want war, go ahead to get killed like dumb boars.
Only idiots, bullies and zombies behave like vampires
Let the babies and toddlers enjoy absolute normal lives
The world needs peace, love, harmony and fresh flowers.
Copyright © March 2026, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Written: December 23, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
*************
Castle Ravenloft looms—
a janiform crown of storm-light and stone.
Its spires protrude as if imploring
a cold, unanswering nimbus.
Below, Barovia lies—
a shabby village where cowslips squirm,
and daybreak, under mists,
offers only a brief farewell.
This land’s spirit is sacred suffering.
Hope and death entwine in chiaroscuro.
Symbiosis curdles into a curse,
and the living move with shadows
as though born to them.
Ubiquitous, gelid mists
embed xenogenesis in every breath,
Their jagged deceit conning the brave and mulish.
Dark, shriveled streets of Barovia—
laden with pale wisteria—
echo with inane, forgotten glee,
an odor of treacle, revulsion, and lost joy.
On the edge between night and terror,
a winsome child may hum a chorus—
a fleeting overlap of sorrow and mercy.
But the mists return, hostile and persistent;
after tasting music, street, and soul,
only the castle remains—
a riddle whispered against
a cloudscape that refuses to rise.
Mulish pic-headed Lex was headstrong
Could never admit a mistake or being any way wrong
Opinionated, stubborn, and inflexible too
We set him up with our mean unbending Auntie Lulu.
She cast a spell, and turned nasty Lex immediately around.
A more compliant, agreeable man, cannot now be found.
WHEN GOD CHOOSES
Who can be against who God chooses
Who can council the Lord God Most High
He does what He wills
Fear not, just be still,
To His will all men must comply
Who can lay a charge to God's chosen
Who can condemn one of His own elect
He was made guilty more than all
For us took the fall,
Of His own He was the greatest reject
Victory belongs to our God
He defends those the system abuses.
The innocent and poor,
their oppressions endured,
He will raise up who the whole world refuses
It's whatever pleases Him, no excuses,
the brazen, the stubborn, and the mulish,
He will take off a head
raise a tail there instead,
Confounding the wise with the foolish.
Let all men put trust in the Lord Jesus,
When God takes it out of our hands,
What God does is good
Whether or not understood,
God's ways are much higher than man's.
Mind is a child, stubborn, mulish,
Maybe bullish, but not foolish.
As some from wisdom school
Say, let your mind play fool,
Cheer it up, never admonish.
___________________________
Limerick |19.01.2023| humour
Tomorrow
Poem
Lionel Derbyshire
A beautiful night..
Raptures delight
Light's shimmers bright
Fresh and moist is the air
A moon a blushing
the stars they quietly take their seats
the waves orderly cleans the sea
everything sync together
to make another day
which GOD has made.
See it again tomorrow night
wherever you stay or stray.
Betwixt here and there
And in between there are
Miserable mulish miscreants hub
Those who want to close our drawer
Of our universe.
They are perverse
And temper bad
They headstrong, they err.
Too few pleasant mickey mice
And no more happy donald ducks
Once a time this planet was nice
When I was younger
Now war hungry men
With angry mind's
Are gunning down bullets
Blood everwhere..
Peace is out of touch.
Belly's with empty tummy's
In broken down dwellings and alley's.
They dread the beautiful night.
Their light's are out.
Gunsmoke in their air.
Another new day
They will not see again.
Give peace and love a chance
Today..
Live sensible and be around for
Tomorrow..
Tipsy
Lipsy
Too much
liquor
made her
snicker
balk and
bicker
acted
foolish
downright
mulish
shamed poor
Mama
with her
drama
angered
Father
such a
bother
almost
tragic---
then like
magic
transfor-
mation
brings e-
lation
cele-
bration!
October 16, 2022
Trouble, trouble stirs the wind
ghastly ghosts rise and ascend
warty toads croak
vile spells are spoke
witches’ covens evil intend
Burbling, gurgling cauldron hot
with purple vein, red blood clot
virgins hopeful eyes
fear and dread belies
throw them in and stir the pot
Screeching, screaming banshee songs
garish ghouls with pointy prongs
mulish mummies
reeking rummies
to evil spirits the night belongs
Trembling, tremoring witches fear
townsfolk are coming too near
sticks and stones
fire bemoans
the end becoming too clear
Freaking, shrieking their cry drums
slicing the air with its thrums
unwilling to face
they cut to the chase
quickly flee to save their bums
A Difference in Opinion
There once was a conversation
Bickering about something,
Something somewhat preposterous.
The two fought
side on side
Left on right
When in the end they agree to disagree
cause both are too obstinate, mulish, and pig headed
There all of these at once because no one would listen.
10/20/2021
The chilled blue of a noon sky
drapes over a coating of diamonds on a milled earth.
Cocoa branches shake in the mulish winds.
Yellow feathers are the hue of the sun.
A red cardinal is the color of gleaming berries.
Their wings lift against the brazen edges of Winter.
The expectant morning's
snow frosted tree peeks through slats.
The half-blink of the cat.
The right eye is murky,
reflects a brown yellow sheen.
My brown-eyed girl song.
The mid-winter clouds
view the lands, plan to drop bombs.
Mulish clothesline sheets shake.
The cat drags a leather
mouse. The hunter's maw widens.
Bone-hued birch trees pose.
A partly frozen
dove blue river asks, " Where are they.."?
Suns, sterling moons grin.
The dusk's lemon sky
surrounds the house- lamps, streetlights.
Tea, coffee stains on teeth.
Deep Wounds Do Bleed in Vain
Even the Greatest of the heroes, humble and handsome today, morrow
Must Inevitably make themselves immobile static carcasses,
Their Doom must shall stab their mates into Deep woes,
Their vail of Agony stays mulish in 'em as the dark patch of sorrow
Grievers gotta grieve in futility, deep in that dark shadowy billow
The Unwise do so, for it's futile to make the Reapers-foes
The sagacious truly know of the Essence of Life; Soul's
The All-permeating immortal of the body, for its presence, isn't shallow
The Unwise too are the ones to fall for their instincts,
With visions of being bein and the only ones to lead,
It's true that some indeed become weeds
For the real humans not always can stand in their stead,
With fallin', Hope falls too; But in this
Capricious game of Chess, The once failed twice succeed
Obliging black arms,
crooked fingers cut freezing
as they reach for winter
greys, blues of sky-
The trees are framed within
her eyes green as last
Summer's carpet.
Embroidery of native
life. Mulish winds sweep
lands...violence loved,
admired. A milled earth
is hushed to lull, charm.
Blue wings soft as May
fold into the afternoon chill.
A chalk sun throws gold
dust into a sketch;
a raped land is the captive
of oppression; false-
hoods, folly, darken
the tenets that twist and break
in the immoral wind.
Sun against white paint;
side of a house- immaculate
hues. Claws grasp edges,
cimmerian grey tints,
feathers soft as confection;
as grains- malt, sugar,
sand. Crystal methane.
Tingling Pluto- waves weave
brazen seas, tincture
of egg-whites cooked.
Mulish solar winds, pushing
radiated light
that endosphere Earth.
Orbit spins tales: robicund
flush of love; the epoyllson
of stygian loss.
Ingress of the corpse
of rose-colored
truth. Gash. Cruer clot.
The pinion dressed by seeping
sunset. Angelic.
I do bitterly fault your restless digits, slatternly time;
Your agile dial's design I defy with mutinous rhyme.
What's the veiled intent of your lightning procession,
Against this snail-mover's beleaguered progression?
In swearing truth say why your sight-eclipsing wings
Party and feast and conjure merry over littler beings.
What sadistic banquets in spooky nooks yonder,
Turn your lot-dwindling schemes ever so fonder?
It's true your snaring turns I strongly loathe,
With damning sneers and deserving derision.
What's that blot against heaven's sternest troth,
Obliterating dancing suns on her creasing face?
To what main gain do your life-slicing edges fly,
Usurping innocent freedoms of humble breath?
Your mulish cruises along snaky course-ways,
Flare spite-perfected ills to slay slowing health.
With daring tropes I’ll yet trim hours’ blacking crime,
And I’ll chide the deadly glooms of carnivorous time.
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