Old, friend, as you come slowly into view,
why is it, I ask, am I always seeing you?
Your grainy, pitted, asphalt complexion
seems always to pull me in your direction,
where your answer is dispiriting, but true.
Running from my nose, a stream of blood
drops on your pebbles, mixing with your mud.
Our visits, for reasons multifarious
and circumstances, diverse and various
are punctuated by your answer with a thud.
Sometimes, it's another drunken fight
or a girlfriend who kicked me out at night.
Is it comforting to know that, in the end,
I always have you, my faithful friend?
Very soon, I see we two will reunite.
Concerning our reunion: in this regard,
my heart and face are already scarred,
and I can feel you now as I make impact,
and though your message is a fact,
why must your delivery be so hard?
DOG CHASES TAIL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In circles goes the dog,
a furry whirlwind, tail a-wagging,
his nose to the ground, sniffing out the ghost of a bone
with no clue as to where he left it.
Ahh, the circle grows, and me thinks he’s quite mad!
Truth be told, that bone is a relic,
a trophy of nothing, a piece of yesterday's joy,
devoid of any savory delight;
yet, he’s bewitched
by the lure of that which once he had.
The quest persists, but time, the trickster,
plays its multifarious games.
Memory grows faint, but
the haze of longing remains
lost in the labyrinth of time.
Distractions dart by—a squirrel, a leaf,
But wait—what’s this? A flash of color
bounces by and the spell is broken,
the quest for the bone forgotten,
distraction wagging his tail.
And so he circles, a furry Sisyphus,
chasing phantoms in the grass,
he sniffs, snorts, and spins—
a canine circus act.
God in all His majesty
gives us now His tenth great gift
of multifarious joys.
Ghostwinds whistle lilting tunes,
motivating dancing leaves
to make their scuttling noise.
Distant hills are masterpieces.
God, the Artist, planned the blend
of reddish brown and gold.
Mums and pumpkins fill their spots
in front-yard settings bright and bold.
I’m finally going to get on that platform
on the 18th of next month,
for a first-time, one-time performance.
The once, seemingly impossible will come fully true,
which seems like a lot narratively.
It’ll be like leaving home—but we’re crashing out.
Moving on to other plot points, big topics and intense missions.
We’re all caustically optimistic.
Although there’s a cellular-level pull to move on
we can’t help but feel a hesitancy to jump into our multifarious futures.
We’ve never been improvident.
In my personal pool of experience, when I feel alone,
friendless and unseen, this unintelligible fear noise arises,
and I'm tempted to tap out. But I never have.
.
.
Songs for this:
walk but in a garden by LLusion
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
I Like You (A Happier Song) [feat. Doja Cat] by Post Malone
Miscellaneous, multifarious
These were my musings, mixed and various
Poems that were happy, poems so sad,
Left me heartbroken or cheerily glad.
Poems about people and nature and such
Sometimes I wonder if it’s all been too much
Questions arise as I struggle to find
The perfect balance of poetic kind
Are the lines a bit short? or are they too long?
Is the meaning too deep? or simply a song?
Is it telling the truth, or telling a lie?
Or wild imagination out on the fly?
Rubbish or nonsense, it’s all much the same
I won’t even try to give it a name
Once I would write, I would write every day
Then something happened, and it all went away
And try as I might, it is hard to regain
To coax fine words from an unwilling brain
Other poets I read, whose wise poems shine.
What on God’s good green earth happened to mine?
It’s been a long time, some ten years or more.
Perhaps a bit less, I’m not keeping score
But I’ll keep on trying in this the new year.
And hope that my muse will seek me out here
So this is my goal. I would like you to know.
Is it attainable? I surely hope so.
hetrogenuity
beating
in
rhymthmic
regularity
with
a
multifarious
manner
of
timpanic
pitch
&
tuned
harmoniously
weighed down with the snow
multifarious springtide -
a sanctuary
My veins are the schematics
My conscience the pragmatics
A nuclear weapon that’s omnifarious
Self destruct the one that’s multifarious
Many parts no two the same
Doesn’t mean I’m not painfully plain
Nothing about me is distinctive
Identical and parallel, anatomy’s instinctive
So why am I so self-destructive?
You don’t need to be quite deductive
Deduce the reason and the people pleasing
My consciousness requires easing
Rhymes makes the feelings and words coalesce
Does it really makes you digress?
Words made up of morphemes
Feelings made up of morphines
Nothing without you has meaning
It isn’t held it’s given without demeaning
My schematics look better inkless
Don’t want my veins to circulate just ingress
You, gorgeous Muse, with velvety skin
The sugary sap of my poetic pen
And the sole labyrinth of my soul
You inspire me and I adore you.
You are my perennial spring smile
The garden of my ethereal flowers
The leitmotif of my dreams in exile
And the fictional oasis of the fall showers.
You are the guardian angel who's never absent
And the devoted hope with multifarious scent
You never say no, no. Oh! Eternal is your beauty.
Woman, Woman, Muse of Saint-Valentine
Your sweet perfume seduces my whole being
And your maternal voice rocks me daily like a baby.
Copyright © January 14,2015 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
STYLISATION
natural
myriad
scintillating
feeding
fluidity in
exemplified
opportunities
detected
exuberant
& ominous
empathy
Of
imaginative
dedicated
&exclusive
opportunities
of finished
d facets
MANNERS
direct
peculiarities
unrestrained
in joie
de vivre
attain
clarity
closely
modelled
on radical
orientation
of
unmixed colour
in
synthetics themes
closely composed
yet?
sketchily
suggested
by
inspired motifs
& etchings
in
corrective considerations
of multifarious
impressions
of
continuing
& intensifying
Haven't the brains of beings fractioned into lobes various?
The hearts of creatures have dissections multifarious;
My physique and psyche got several separations,
Like a train or a shelf, yet, these have conjoint relations...!
Classifications and categorizations are good,
If, like good deeds, they're optimistically understood;
Like roots, shoots, and fruits, the sentimental segmentation,
Just as constellations, should have a proper fixation...!
Boundaries are for safety and security we know,
Forming only frontiers, we shouldn't our strength and senses show;
Grouping of goals and prioritization of morals,
Must pave the way, like battles, toward attaining laurels...!
Am I, in the process, keeping away from kith and kin?
Does my passion for lonely liberty lead me to sin?
Do my conflicting thoughts and deeds bring me contradictions?
Does my anxious unconsciousness gift me many frictions?
If self-separation replaces cognitive action,
Compartmentalization is simply a distraction;
As bouquets of various flowers are placed in vases,
Prudent compartmentalization can bring in graces...!!!
multifarious
group high-rise birdbath bathing....
sunny winter morn
Grandma’s craft cottage was a magical place.
A room with thimbles, embroidery, beads, bits of lace.
Multifarious fat quarters were folded into neat little squares
There was always a hot iron close at hand.
We cousins loved stopping in to listen to a story.
Or tell one of our own, watching Granny’s nimble fingers create magic.
This was our haven, our heart, the epitome of our safe place.
Even though Grandma was gone now, her legacy remained.
Each one of us came by to tell Grandma how much we loved her.
For we felt her presence in this craft cottage
More than any other place we had been that day.
The church had given us no such comfort.
It is not the kind of conversation that is exigent to the circumstances.
When questioned, we could have feigned its importance, but why?
It was a superfluous conversation, and no one should have asked.
But the police detectives did, because there was a murder to solve
Mrs. Peets, the main detective used multifarious methods to get us to talk.
Attempted to get us to confess to what we had been sharing in the booth.
One look from Migs, our ringleader squelched us immediately.
Migs’ rare effulgence has elevated him to sovereign of our little gang.
Miss Bee, another detective played with the amaranth on the table.
I watched tiny purple buds fall onto the white linen tablecloth.
I am pretty sure this plant is pestilent, but kept my mouth shut.
They both tried to foment discord, but we were slick and walked away uncharged.
Moonbeams magnificently magic,
Marvelous modest mimic,
Moments mostly monitoring,
Mellow mood moving
Multiple merriments mostly,
Most muddled motley,
Morbidity means mysterious,
Manifestation matter multifarious
Written: July 05, 2022
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