What to do? It’s too much silence
I won’t ask, and they won’t speak
Answers will contain misguidance
Questions open the same link
Accidentally I follow:
At the doorstep, there I am
Your today is my tomorrow
Will you meet me, if you can?
And that wheel will stop its turning
So we’ll carry on, as if
Nothing’s happened on that morning
Just some stupid space-time rift..
Nothing has changed.
Except:
laughter became louder,
colours more vivid somehow;
my home more welcoming
and I am aware of beauty
in the simplest of things.
The sun is reluctant to set
and the night, when it finally comes,
is magical and holds more stars,
higher and brighter than ever before.
Even the roads seem wider!
I know what you think:
it was always like this,
nothing has changed,
except me and the way you
made me perceive the world.
I wish I could write down
the words stuck in my throat,
the thoughts in which my mind may drown,
the feelings stashed away like a winter coat
They say, on paper, we bleed-
Though I fear I'm a fraud
for with my own hands, I've sewn
my mouth shut, my eyes plead
And with a mouth-held knife,
I've sawed my own hands, heart flawed
Lies I've disguised as delusions
I'm not who they think,
who they say I am, illusions
Who am I, when i claim to be a star
that glows pink, intrusions
I'm not who i say,
who i think i am, delusions
you’re very talkative today
said my therapist (i was in therapy) (i go to therapy every two weeks)
you’re (i) very talkative (am not letting her get a word in) today (the day i have therapy) (once every two weeks)
sorry (real apology) i say (i feel bad)
it’s okay (it isn’t) (it probably is) let’s take it one thing at a time (slowly)
now (once every two weeks) i (my therapist) don’t want you to take this the wrong way (be offended) but (here it comes) i’m (my therapist) amazed at how much nothing (nothing at all) happened (nothing at all)
here i am (in therapy) (i go to therapy every two weeks) on the couch (white) with some tea (chamomile) on the table (wood)
here i am (in therapy) (i go to therapy every two weeks) on the couch (white) with some tea (chamomile) letting nothing (nothing at all) happen again (a pattern)
here i am (couch) therapy (once a wood) nothing pattern (happen letting) chamomile
The Art of Saying Nothing
Gather the soft clay while you can,
the junk mail, the tissue paper, the living speech of man.
Be utterly open to the frozen winter landscape,
to the buttercup, the faded blue, the magic flight, the shape.
At first it is a lumpy loom, a box of random words,
a snowman flying wordless with the melancholic birds.
Layer the torn washi tape, let common accents fall,
poetry is the art of saying nothing much at all.
Then take the chisel to the stone to free the hidden face,
cut away the lazy phrase, the ghost of time and space.
The mystery is the absence, the silence left behind,
the lines that shine like stars inside the borders of the mind.
No rigid rules to shackle verse, just listen to the air,
read the beating line aloud and strip the sculpture bare.
For gifts are not the reason that we block the text in blue
we only do it for the rhythm, pushing, pulling through.
IN AND OF WHAT WAS, WILL BE AGAIN
(I.E., There’s Nothing New Under The Sun)
In more ways than one,
it has been often said,
“what’s going to happen,
happened once before;
and what happened before,
will surely happen again.”
How thought-provoking.
Is there anything ever new?
Pondering the question,
check out the following flow:
Was not the present POTUS,
once before; and did he not get
kicked out of that office?
And will he not be
kicked out again,
this time too?
Indeed, no matter
how it goes, he will go:-
Just check out the Daily Sun,
and its sojourns: yo-yoing yesterday,
today, and tomorrow; as if to summarize:
“Its happened before, and will again.”
And hey, just check this out:
“Finally, let me say, remember,
we always reap whatever we sow.”
(“There’s nothing new under the sun.”)
I write of heartbreak, fears and tears
But then somedays, His love He shares
I hear His kindness in the voice of rain
He’s the wonder that comforts all my pain
Beneath the echoes of my deepest prayers
Shadows and feelings, blessings and cares
Beneath all the yearnings, are praises galore
For the One who created me, the One I adore
I write of dreams, still breath of spring and fall
The voice of winter is found in each distant call
But, mostly, I believe He touched my very soul
With love that reassures, love that makes me whole
I write to you, my fellow believer, my brother
I write of this joy and peace found in no other
He is the answer to every need, every desire
His love is wise and strong, it’s like a burning fire
Beyond the tears that seem to overwhelm me
There is a blessing of His grace, making me see
He tells us of His kindness with each rising sun
But nothing is more wonderful than His only Son!
In my youth I did my time
Doing strict religious discipline
A whole decade dedicated to mindfulness
And right livelihood.
And in the several decades since I’ve done
All that on and off again, from time to time.
But now my discipline is different
It’s the discipline of do-nothing
The wu wei of effortless action
More like mindlessness
Than effortful mindfulness.
What does it involve? Nothing!
Too simple you say,
And that’s the point exactly!
Like a cloud drifting through an open sky
Neither born nor dying
Simply manifesting
Into something
From nothing.
(9/16/26)
And if you have nothing to say
Except what is strictly necessary
What are the points that you may
Be fed up with, so measurelessly
It could be the war you are taxed with
Or the regular fiddling with apps
Are you not a robot, they ask you
You probably are, under wraps
Or maybe it could be the weather
Repeatable orange alerts
A wind that’s too warm for the leather
But cold for the cotton t-shirts
And everything looks plainly evident
Spins like the merry-go-round
You know fairly well what’s been said
You don’t need to echo that sound
May speakers apply to the air
In tireless wondering why
A few withered leaves over there
Drop down the expected reply..
I know Nothing, and I know it well;
and that ensures that my head doesn't swell.
Nothing is nothing to gripe about,
suppressing any desire to shout.
Nothing is the stuff of sleepless nights;
it's like a deer caught in the headlights.
Nothing has no heft or feel to it:
the legacy of a hypocrite.
Nothing, sometimes, is all you have left;
loss of innocence is a slow theft.
Nothing isn't easily washed away,
even by the tears wept every day.
Nothing is frightening to confront,
like an empty gesture or affront.
Nothing can obscure your path to love;
it forces your heart to rise above.
There is nothing eternal.
Therefore, we cannot be bound.
Yet, look upon reality!
With bound iron chains
Shouldered upon our backs,
We begin an invisible war.
"We win, and sometimes we fall."
There is something eternal.
Therefore, we are bound.
"In the name of family,"
With fused iron chains
Locked tightly against my chest,
In your name and mine,
We plant our flag upon this earth!
Splitting
Nothing is
A task for
A word
To make sense
Of it all..
More words
Assist on a
Task without end..
This Limerick contains no dirt or smut
No pontification of breasts or butt
Just tryin' to keep it clean
Nothing bawdy ~ quite pristine
No flaccid male parts, not one jiggly nut
What a way to begin the week,
A crystal blue sky reflected in a Mediterranean sea.
A Thousand Kisses Deep by Leonard Cohen,
The melody that is, not the words
Waft out from the speaker
Of the beach front hotel
In Port de Pollenca, Mallorca.
I'm biding my time, gazing onto the calm
With, coffee and treat.
There's nothing blue about this Monday
An unexpected moment of,
Bliss and solitude
Takes hold
Where everything is perfect
In a sometimes, imperfect world.
The trumpet players lips caress the melody
of; A Thousand Kisses Deep.
Sending out its waves onto a
Blue Mediterranean bay.
Then a text bleeps,
'Leaving in five.'
I arise, take up my bike and walk
In step and on the right note
For the day ahead.
Unfortunately, the Haitian people have everything to lose
They are very fragile, humiliated, vilified, and abused
My people have been suffering for years, for centuries
On the pavement, in the streets, in the harbor and on the high seas.
Our people, our brothers and sisters!
Their wicked leaders once in power, the liars
Change all plans to the detriment of the poor
Who are quickly forgotten in the filthy cans
Their spleen, sweat and blood flow are floating in the sewers
They are despised by hens,
By guinea fowls, by roosters, and all types of demons
It was yesterday that they were applauding like dummies,
Cheering, hoping to be awarded with crumbs and pennies.
These zealous brothers are on fire, they are now deaf and crazy
at the end. Even patience has borders and boundaries
Where greedy, covetous and corrupt officials behave like evil yeasts.
Copyright © January 23, 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
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