She said she would love me,
Be faithful, come what may,
In front of the parson
On that warm summer’s day
But now she has left me;
Our love’s just history.
With no explanation,
Why is a mystery
Sponsor - Nette Onclaud
Some kind of Mystery contest
11th January 2026
There once was a sensitive vicar,
who said, "I'm not one to bicker,
but the peal of that bell,
makes me feel quite unwell,
and plays merry hell with my ticker."
An incensed old soul by the spire,
preaching incense-igniting to the choir,
exclaimed, "There is but one catch,
when striking a match,
don't set your surplice on fire."
A parson spoke from the nave,
"Spend all you can, do not save,
if you've spilled all the sands,
and still have time on your hands,
you can't take it with you to the grave."
A wise minister in the kirk,
enlightened, observed with a smirk,
"When it's dark out there,
put your hands in the air,
as many hands make light work.”
Believe it or not
The Parson is right
We shall return with zeroes
Many zeroes. Let’s be Heroes
For and to the world. Let’s not be selfish
Because we shall return with zilch
With nada, mit nichts, perhaps with empty zeroes
Which mean nothing. Let’s pause
To think. Let’s be wise and humble
Love is essential. When the trees tremble
And fall; when the ground shakes and burns
When the soil slithers and slides, the world yearns
For peace, sympathy, compassion, and love. With nothing
We shall return, just like we came on earth with nothing
The sky will always stare at us, as we raise our head
Heaven will remain at the same distance
And we shall leave alone, with nothing, with no bed
No castle, no money, no power and no incense
Believe it or not
We will be blessed to be in a wee lot
After the soul departs
And the ash rots
Believe it or not
The Poet is right.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to the kings of the world.
Copyright © January 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
The first time we met
Was the day I knew you were the one to get
My first Jack Russell Parson Terrier
Was coming home without a carrier So small and plump
Holding you firmly so you couldn’t jump
Feisty and full of energy
I knew then you would bring us wonderful memories
Our walks together
I will always treasure
Your strong presence
Showed your wittiness for independence
How you never wavered
Your might and will both tailored
Giving me your paw
Showing me you’re smarter than before
Hearing your mighty bark
Would of called the entire animal kingdom to the ark
Playing with your soccer ball
Displaying the skills of a professional on team Nepal
With all your might in your heart
Helping us to understand the importance
of a restart
Your determination
Your life
Will always remain the greatest gift
that forever shines on
so bright
~October 08, 2008 - June 15, 2024~
We Were Fighting
By Franklin Price
04/28/2024
We were fighting with the Devil
From last light to early morn
The we is me and Jesus
Against the Devil and his thorn
The Devil wants me elsewhere
Than to be with Christ my Lord
Wants me to go to Hell with him
The river Styx I will not ford
I believe in my Lord Jesus
On the cross He died for me
Arose from death in three days
From my sins to set me free
He awaits for me in Heaven
With my loved ones by His side
Every day He carries me
From tide to changing tide
When the Devil tries convincing me
That all earthly things are grand
Christ Jesus is within me
If I will only take His hand
Without all the specifics
Of the last night that was spent
Fighting with the Devil
He surrendered, left and went
Now it is Sunday morning
I am tired and need to rest
To stay at home with Jesus
I believe today is best
If I went to church and fell sleep
As the parson preached God's word
Some may think I don't believe
Last night proved that is absurd
With every breath you take for as long as you live
for as long as you exist and have your being,
I will be by your side to guide and protect you
my child *
You are the reason for my bluing wings
for this Parson light that blew up the skies
only to dive in and save you from a pellucid night
my child *
I am here to remind you that your soul
has a destiny and a purpose in life
so don't get lost in the noise of this world
my child *
I LOVE YOU !
The Woman gave him meaningful look
But he buried his face in a book
There was I with one other person
“A Fine Wench and he is acting A Parson!”
A Nice Woman asking for Thoughtful Mind
And The One before her rather behind!
Should she go back for a colorful dress?
What if it still yields ‘His Suffering Yes?
A man she wants to show Eventful Life
And he’s begun to stab it with sharp knife...
Maybe on him a bucketful water
And, as apology, bread-and-butter!
A Sunday morning clear and fair
My heart with gladness filled,
I walked to yon churchyard there
The breeze was calm and stilled.
Suddenly from the tower above
The pealing of an ancient hymn
A song about the Savior’s love,
I whispered the words of the gem.
The parson greeted me at the door,
Shook my hand and bid me well
From the apse above oaken floor
Notes from an old organ welled,
As I began to feel a certain peace
Needed here in pure grace to dwell,
This place of perfect stress release
I felt the Doxology began to swell.
Written July 1, 2022
To our Christian Public:
Anglican or Catholic
But also to The Interested Muslim
Abdullah or Taslim,
Vacancies have we for A Cleaner,
Whose Sense of Hygiene is keener,
A Customer-Friendly Waiter,
Not wishing to be tipped later,
A Vibrant Security man,
Who would all entrances man,
A No-Nonsense Bartender
But can be a lot tender,
A Damned Experienced Driver
In Oceanic Traffic, A Diver!
A Flower-Treasuring Gardener
“To The Pencils A Sharpener!”
A Much-Talked-About Cook,
Whose tasty dishes have a nice look
And A Tireless Dishwasher
Who should sometimes serve as Usher …
The Interested to strictly apply in person,
Preferably as referee An Imam or Parson …
Salary “Very Tempting!”
You wouldn’t need much prompting …
It was a hot Sunday afternoon in Vienna, Missouri…
If I’da been a gentleman, I would a turned my back
When I got to the swimmin’ hole today.
Instead, I hid behind a tree and spied as she undressed;
And Lord, the vision took my breath away.
I knew that she was beautiful from watching her at school;
The auburn scholar reading Parson Weems.
But her beneath that cherry tree beside Ben Miller’s pond
Was more than what I pictured in my dreams.
It felt a bit dishonest though, I cannot tell a lie.
I thought my heart would burst right through my chest.
The cute straw hat she wore to church was lying with her clothes,
Her cotton dress, her scarf and all the rest.
When she moved here from Baltimore, I knew she’d bring me luck,
But this reward was more than I deserve.
As she stood pinning up her hair, I practiced what I’d say
If I could only rustle up the nerve.
Tomorrow we’ll be back at school to start the final week
Before the summer frees us from our books.
I know I’ll have to fight the urge to whisper in her ear,
“Hey, I know how a naked goddess looks.”
Pete's parson preached when you're dumped in the grave
You can't take those things with you that you crave
But afraid to take a chance
Pete arranged far in advance
For U-Hauls in case he could cop a waive
A venerable parson of Hauxwell
of whom men would say that he talks well.
While some ladies did swoon
and went over the moon,
gossiping together how he looks swell.
Another for our local collection.
It hurt so much it robbed her soul,
and drove her cross the line
The men she knew, the men she loved,
the pain thought once sublime
The last man in, the last man out,
now done with men for good
Her passion torn, her body raped,
a woman she now took
She lived her life on foreign lands,
with mirrors that denounce
She washed the staining from her hands,
returning count for count
And when she died the parson said,
upon this somber day
“A spirit pure but torn in half
—the best part cast away”
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February, 2018)
From his pulpit the parson railed 'gainst booze
For some in his pews this wasn't good news
For so many, you see
Bootlegged on the qui vive
They all harmonized in singing the blues
Once there was a parson named Ezra Heap
Whose Sunday sermons were profoundly deep
The louder Ezra implored
The more his congregants snored
He could never arouse them from their sleep
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