Dear Poetry,
We met when I was just a child,
Still full of dreams, a little wild.
But then time held me in your grasp,
So many thrills, my soul forever clasp.
We found each other on summer nights,
Unburdened by plans or tempting delights.
Life took us over some slips and turns,
When my spirit knew its deepest concerns.
We knew the amazing of autumn’s mist,
Such love when September and October kissed.
Joy would tremble inside our soul,
Playing a song that would make us whole.
We once died in the arms of a prayer,
Feelings blessed by praise to share.
In the wind, I felt the breath of grace,
Needless to say, you – time wouldn’t erase.
We knew each other when things were good
And, with you inside, I always felt understood.
Melancholic, excited or elated – I always knew
You were the music that felt so fresh and new.
We wouldn’t believe that our story would end,
You were the answer to a prayer that God would send.
I’m thankful for your friendship, one so very rare,
Because of you, my friend, I know how much I care.
Its look, beyond improving
This scene is now more perfect!
Air-brushed, wheat-gilded; more streamy
Cirrus-silvered, flows.
Needless to say I should, dear
Compliment, on whose effect
Yourself! Whilst transferred this mood is
For summer love, blows.
Subtle tee preferred the company of those in sweet repose
His presence needless to say, an easiness would impose
We tried to engage him but this seemed to enrage him
So we settled for making him the subject of this prose.
A sonnet of love
I know of a delightful woman who lives in France
I have adored but been unable to do anything
about it since my wife is her aunt
I have often thought of going with her and her son
to holiday in San Juan, where the lovely people live
As it is, I hesitated too long; I can dance no more
Today, she sent me a poem I wrote years ago
about a friendly plowing horse that liked children
To think I didn't know she read any of my poems
Needless to say, now she knows my soul
I love her more than before, the old horse symbolic
And we will be together forever
A rush of wind came through my hair one minute I'm in bed the next I'm in thin air.
Laying supine with eyes scattered here and there the stars are scattered everywhere.
I hear a voice in tetronic style that migrates from my ears to my wandering mind
"What is your binary code?" it asks, it is needless to say my memory has gone blind
Earlier that day I had done an MRI, soon they sent me home to wait for the results
Since I was scared it may have been just imagination but here is the kick and catapult
It spoke to my heart with alien power and I heard it with extra-sensory perception
They told the MRI machine was a result of their input knowledge and intervention.
True Story...
America First has a long history
Over 250 years now
Of resisting the tyranny of kings.
Needless to say, Trump is the obvious face
Of America First,
And yet here he is being called a king.
The irony is those now opposed to MAGA
Would have been opposed to America’s independence
And so called “loyalists” back then.
Loyal to what we might ask?
To the top down power of the monarchy
To the mercantilist crony capitalism of the day
To a status quo that didn’t want anything to change.
Kings like this kind of stability after all,
Not being elected to serve a limited term
They worry about the only way they can be replaced
And that is through death.
But real kings these days are figure heads,
Not doers or even tyrants
But remnants of past glories
Held up to inspire and unite a culture.
Maybe the protests today aren’t really for no kings
As much as not their king.
If they were really honest they’d have just
Had a posthumous crowning ceremony
For their immortal King
Karl of Marx.
(10/18/25)
Unhappy lunch
I could sense as soon as we entered
the restaurant that was a family run business
there had been a turmoil in the kitchen
the servers were father and daughter who
normally worked well together, but to day he
was in the kitchen, his daughter said, when
I asked
There were still many costumers, but they
kept a low profile and spoke subdual when
eating, we had entered a war zone
when our food came it was served on a dish
where my meat was grey like it had been
boiled, fries were uneven remanded of sailor
who had jut made ashore from a sinking ship
falling exhausted to the ground, and the
fried egg had been killed into a hard shell
However the salat, possible made before the
civil war, was good
Needless to say I refused to eat the served
my wife more skilled in diplomatic niceness
told the girl server to pack the food to take home
that I for some reason was not hungry
the lesson is, do not upset chefs in their kitchen
Oddballs in New York
The strange people who want to live
until they are 200 years old and, if possible, forever.
Needless to say, these people are also rich
I saw the leader of the odd people, who tells us
He goes to bed at eight and rises at five
shift workers to have a similar routine, not they
wish to be a shift worker forever
The leader and his follower do not laugh as
Laughter might upset the blood and stomach
That has to be at ease at all times
Of course, they have no religion as they try to
outlive good and miracles
It is a pity that people should love and live now
Do not wait for an uncertain future
As I stood in the car,
Traveling from the airport to Oulu,
I could hear the radio,
Where the speaker
Was speaking in finnish;
I could not but notice that foreign accent,
And those repetitive sounds,
In every two syllabuses
Of «tt»
And «kk»
It is needless to say,
That I could not understand one word;
It is in that moment though,
That I was seeing the language
In its essence;
Seeing the language for what it is;
A set of sounds
That are not connected to anything or anyone;
With a look in the mirror I see
I'm as round as a bumble-ing bee.
Having so much on show
(yes, wherever I go)
a tri-kini I'll need at the sea
Though some people may say that I'm stout,
do they know what they're talking about?
In all matters of size,
the beholder's blue eyes,
discern only the parts hanging out
But in order to taper and trim
will require I burn at the gym.
So I think that I'll start
with a blueberry tart
so I'll have enough vigor and vim.
To reduce my excess was the quest
so it's needless to say I was stressed.
Eating soup made of prunes
through the pale afternoons…
Well then now you can guess all the rest.
All the women look at Mister Macho Man
as he flexes his muscles
and cracks his knuckles
while working on his tan.
Mister Macho Man is always at the center of attention
wherever he goes.
Needless to say that all his peers and foes
have to settle for rejection.
But despite all of the cheers,
he is not happy
and often even feels crappy
because of his growing fears.
His biggest worry
is that he'll eventually become furry
and lose face
in the race.
The most beautiful proses or poems
Were divinely dictated by the Almighty.
I'm not immersing in some profound dreams.
Needless to say, I'm neither inebriated not crazy.
Believe me, just like the verses in the Bible,
Many poems came from the womb of inspiration,
However, the most powerful ones were scribbled
By the Spirit of a Higher Power through dictation.
After reading a few verses from some poetry books,
The words come out alive and move like sharks in hooks,
One can experience the very presence of a supernal being.
Poets of all style, in God's name, please do not to stop writing.
Copyright© February 2017 Logerie Hebert, all rights reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several books of poems.
When I see you I see a rose
A flower from God from what you have shown
Your hello has that certain style
It says “I know you, we can talk a while”
We share certain things
That brought us together
Needless to say it wasn’t the weather
If I need to see you
It doesn’t take being clever
I just open my mouth and say what not or weather
I’m not a Romeo but I am a friend
Telling you that I’ll be there till the end
What we share on our job
We share with others
Are things from the heart is what I discovered
I share this with you because this is my art
A poem for you a piece of my heart
Praying
It was just yesterday,
his love was a quiet smile,
embracing the faith, the sigh,
like a heart who can see,
past the ugly in me,
through the expanse of shadows,
pouring over my naked palms,
awakening dreams in a heart,
who is silent,
yet unburdened of doubts,
when will he see…
beneath the worries, the fears,
beyond the softest tears,
where there is a flow, liquid signs,
melting the yesterdays,
as they quietly descend
from the memories bleeding
pouring out darkness,
then grace, then all the light
like his embrace…
wounded by the music,
playing, softly,
in the heart, on the mind,
roaring like an ache in time,
with the stars,
rhythmic, beating,
trembling in gentle beats,
soothing away the past,
as it melts into the shadows…
it was only yesterday,
his love grew quiet, quite silent,
as the heart breathed,
rhythmic words,
healing and hoping,
needless to say, to this day,
he dreams of her,
as the past preys, he prays.
There’s something about a sonnet that grips
our heart, that cajoles our mind to be still,
even as a song appears on our lips,
of its own accord, in rhythm with God’s will.
We begin not knowing where the path leads
but be this as it may, needless to say,
heart sings a song, just the way our soul pleads,
conjuring a verse, as though it’s mere play.
Breath by breath, soul’s inspirations ignite
flame of our heart, which then conveys to mind,
innate desire to pen in black and white,
soft emotions that seek to be defined.
Save the sonnet, there’s no other technique,
which can into soul offer a sneak peek.
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