Nauseating Poems

To keep alive in loveliness my faith

Her face showed freshness of a fecund lea, 
Inviting eyes lured me then to explore, 
Her bosom conveyed warmth that was friendly,           
Lighthouse-like beckoning to come ashore. 
Each tiny cell of her anatomy, 
Derided by the wise as mortal flesh, 
And deemed Maya, if not an enemy, 
Posed, why such rare beauty be scorched to ash. 
Let all the wisdom warn of beauty’s blight,  
I still in life’s splendid things would believe, 
Let all keep philosophy’s vague delight,
I fall for beauty’s charm, let it deceive, 
    And love to kiss its lowly dust on death
    To keep alive in loveliness my faith.   
____________________ 
Sonnet | 01.04.2014, revised March 2025 |
Note: Beauty is only skin deep, and if one were to scrape a shade below (forget the sub atomic levels), the scene could be quite nauseating. Beware of beauty’s blight, old wisdom says. It is all illusive Maya. This sonnet nevertheless says: let me keep my illusion and faith in loveliness.

Conditioned

This cold scheduled grey life 
Has me so on point and on task
The tunnel vision is nauseating 
The horse blinders debilitating 
Want for what, wish for who 
An existence built to hypnotize
Time coerced me into being  
Unapologetically institutionalized

Residential between the kingdoms

Wandering  the two in between the kingdoms 
One side, quiet and bright, flagged the havens
The other, earthly world, noisy and light dim
Drifting up or down when the moody flow faint 

To brightness fly and blurring dim fall
Somewhere belonging may lack for souls
Quiescent and chaos changed as tides floated
Uneasy and wobbly similar to traveling boats

Up or down, with straw sticks grasping 
Steering wheel holding for the time clouds
Time goes likewise the seagulls chasing 
From starting point to the place anchor

Heart awaits longly for people nauseating
While mind gonna sparks  be star exciting

Sad and Painful Tears For Haiti At Xmas

The nonstop negative news or publicities on Haiti
Hurt tremendously and disturbingly
The relentless or constant bashings of all Haitians
Twinge and twist my heart like cancer patients
On their death beds, who are resigned, hopeless
Penniless, helpless, and spiritless.

Haiti needs a mega break from all the powerful parasites
That are still exploiting our precious resources at countless sites
While concomitantly exploring and impoverishing our peasants
Our innocent siblings who perilously work for crumbs and cents.

It is time that all truths are spoken or be told
It is time that we unearth, unfurl or unfold
All vile plots so the world can witness the premeditated lies.

Papa Noël is a well designed invention in disguise
At Christmas time, the hurts are excruciating
And the misery is objectionable and nauseating.

Copyright © December, 2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.

Self-hatred

It is addictive.

Used to it
like the wicked bitter pills
that one swallows to numb the pain,
to block the feelings.

Lethargic yet nerve-wracking;
A tightness in the chest that
never goes away.
Faint, throbbing, persistent. 

It is inherent to me.

the salinity of an ocean of tears,
the chaos of a storm wrecked ship,
the thorns of a lonely cactus.
Never clears away by itself.

Haunting like monsters,
nauseating like rotten hopes,
Appalling like oblivion, 
Repulsive like nightmares.

One drinks it,
Slowly. 

Like the morning cup of coffee,
Bitter, gone cold.
 Yet addictive.
Mine alone.


-Ree

Tear Gas, Bloody Tears, Airdrops

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.

Screwing Up or Hooking Up

Yup ... there's no question about it,
    I'm talking about sex, and all the 
        Calamity and comedy that surrounds.

Yet I'm not sure if the destiny will
    Defer to the clumsy, or if it will 
        Remain nerve-racking on all grounds.


Because seriously, it is by far the most
    Common and popular topic, that virtually
        Everyone is scared to death to talk about.

Starting with the basics, the birds & bees,
    Before graduating to STD's, I often
        Wonder if the birthrate is in doubt.


This nauseating nervousness stays with
    Us always, from the first dance to the
        Last nuptial that we profess.

So as long as those butterflies keep
    Flittering, we might get lucky with a 
        Sexual encounter, I guess.


It seems ironic that something so natural,
    Can bestow so much anxiety with the 
        Mere thought of its success.

While we fumble along, sometimes pulling
    A loose foot out of our mouth, but who knows,
        We've done more with less.

Mountain Venture

Weeks of rigorous preparation are now complete
As the journey up the mountain begins I can not accept defeat
My goal is to obtain the worlds most ultimate view
I know I must go beyond physical and mental endurance to follow through
I start to feel breathless reaching for the sky
The higher I go, struggling through the bitter cold and deep snow I try not to cry
A flock of birds glides right by me in perfect flight
The sunshine is so brilliant such a perfect site
My dream of reaching the peak is about to come true
As the clouds break apart the top is in plain view
I finally arrive fighting incredible fatigue and  nauseating pain
A sense of great accomplishment for conquering the terrain

Vacuum

In forms of crusts and curves and caves and carves and undulates,
The vacuum looks exceedingly charming and gorgeous;
This vacuum, yet, when becomes a throne of naughty fates,
Heart and mind get twisted and turned into strains enormous...!

When vacuums are crowded with cockroaches and lizards,
The environs become disgusting and nauseating;
Vacuum can turn violent when gnawing, like blizzards,
When, owing sorrows and sufferings, life grows frustrating...!

When silliness and meaninglessness fill the vacuum, 
Pessimism, like thorny plants, fills the fields of existence; 
Delight, like chased-out parrots, leaves the heart's loveliest room,
Towards pain and bareness does vacuum show resistance...!

Even richly strong life could be, like chaff, easily blown, 
Wisdom filled vacuum can become a heavenly throne...!!!

Bag of Spiders

Disgusting could be a weaker word to express the scene,
Nauseating and stomach-churning the locus has been;
Sliding, slithering, groveling, crouching, crawling, creeping, 
Filling, feeling, and falling they were seeping and sleeping...!

Crab, lynx, silk, orb, ogre... varieties were within,
Specimen of many species, yet, resembled akin;
Weaving webs and entwining each other they pulled, and pushed,
Weighing and wheeling their bodies across they looked ambushed...!

Shooting silk out of their abdomen, they preyed on insects,
Powerful they all seemed as though with venomous effects;
The patience and persistence they practice can be adored,
Midst their ugliness their role in the world can't be ignored...!!!


03 June 2023 
Bag of Spiders Poetry Contest
Bag of Spiders Poetry Contest

Crazy

Crazy 
                    stable, calm 
      exciting, invigorating, captivating   
    Adventure,Anarchy, Boredom, Routine
        dulling, unyielding, nauseating 
               imbalanced, vicious 
                        Sane.

Migraine Cloud

Crippling, draining, head in a vice
Throbbing, nauseating, not very nice
Poor concentration, vision change
Heightened perception, feeling strange
Sleepless nights, debilitating pain
Intolerance to light, that’s Migraine 
Ears ringing, sounds too loud
Wish I could click and send to my Cloud
Body fatigue, from migraine attack
Day’s left feeling, I’m out of whack
No magic cure, a complex condition
No click to cloud, just my rendition.

On Shores of Eternity

In the deaf woods of curious willows
lies stalwart beliefs of days bygone.
Retribution, restitution, resolution
resolve, beginning our journey.
Blinded by bewares of sours ungifted
lost constitutions coagulate.
Lamenting gargoyles grin in reside.
The lost, given to hateful
brawls detonate heaven and earth.
Solemn potentials greet our solice of 
batteredin-betweens. Spores of negativity
parade the sovereign coming storm.
Holy mountains of Nosfreatu thoughts
reek of broken lenses of scum 
serpents, a continuous path to an 
Event Horizon, a culture of patterned
violence to dog days of uncoiled reckoning.
Leviathan pipe dreams of nauseating
Oblivion, casts a universal dark shadow
How many tears to reflection?

Fading Scars

© Francis Maugo

This weak flaw you see in
The length of my cheeks,
Just helps me to remember the 
Traumatic adventure that came to pass for me,
The occurrence that left
just a single man standing,
The disaster that was
To be discussed for age.

This distortion you see on my left cheek,
Projects my brain back to the misery
Also, torment I went through,
The aggravation and wounds that
Could consume a huge chunk of time to mend,
It additionally portrays of how ardent
I was to bear every one of the hurts.

This wounds you witness
In my nauseating face,
Provided me with the new significance of life,
It advised me that we as it were
Live once; life's excessively short,
Subsequently valuing each
microsecond in one's life.

Sympathy Pains

As she stood there, waiting. 
Waiting for a sign, a reason perhaps,
I'm glued to the television, knowing 
Her world is about to collapse.

The pain in her heart, is mine
too. Her eyes all cried out, staring,
directly at the camera, I can sense it 
in my bones, it's obtrusive, glaring. 

I hear she screamed when she saw,
the pool of blood and people oscillating. 
Her whole world destroyed, in a moment,
truly vile, nauseating. 

I'm a mere spectator, in this dysfunctional
world. Forcing my thoughts, evaluating. 
And there she is, fighting every day,
running, crying, dying, alternating.

I move around my house, helplessly.
For I only know her pain, not understand it,
hating the world, the people, everyone,
for the crimes they didn't commit. 

Will she get the justice she deserves?
I do not know, but I do know 
that tonight, we'll both won't sleep, 
we'll both see him, alive, breathing, a shadow.

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