Crystal ball, thy spirit.
Cast thee a mighty spell.
Vision sacred, let's hear it.
Voice of mine, pell-mell.
Tress and trawler, set thy hooks.
River bed to dredge.
Recipes we learned in books?
Formation, wild wedge.
Coal, control, bell toll, sail, soul.
Down the delta wide.
Wasteland, when you set a goal.
Woe, when you betide.
Chicken farm, thy tender.
Politics, tough thy game.
Doubtless, O defender.
Katabothron, quay, claim.
Current, channel. Atmosphere.
Particles, spread out.
Cloud cover, sere or severe?
Cannibal, red rout!
Trickle, stickleback. Code crack.
Fortresses, thy stack.
Under attack? Dinner pack.
Flak ahead? Shellac.
Yawndrift, yucca, yellow eyes.
Oceanic rift.
Circumspect the council's cries?
Petrify, wood. Gift.
Bank, holding of money.
Tornado, spinning fast.
Clown, well, life is funny.
Mead honey, my good ghast?
He refused to conform~ that rebel
Stayed in trouble which was terrible
Now in old age pays the wage
Lives in regret, inside now his stage
God paid the price he won't land pell-mell.
Dashes, burst in flashes!
Apostrophes, aim well!
Commas, strong thy slashes!
Punctuation, pell-mell!
Ancient pyramid, the moon.
When you gaze, seen: what?
Troubadour, best hold thy tune!
Poet, make the cut!
Toil, recoil, beneath the soil.
Ensconce, O seance.
Ailing patient, insides roil?
Mud, sir. For the nonce.
Ivy, cover all you see.
As a blanket be.
Greenery, grow constantly!
Ocean link to sea!
Causal chain, blight with thy bane?
Well, friend, I'd best not.
Reality to remain?
Death is thine, robot.
Spirit of tomorrow!
In thy name we invoke!
Bitter is to borrow.
Signal well, O smoke.
Lightning, storms. They come in swarms!
Angry spirit forms!
Nightmare, violate the norms!
He who freezes warms!
Thus lava, O volcano!
Eruption, firework!
Dappled roe, run mid the flow!
Carrion crow, berserk!
O my foolish heart,
How can you be so naïve?
What is it you yearn?
What is it you seek?
Why do you wander
pell-mell in the wilderness?
What’s this longing?
Why do wild tides rise
in my serene sea?
Why does a whirlwind of thoughts
surges in my stilled mind?
Why am I in
such a hapless mesh?
The sky is benign
The earth is hushed,
Why then,
Why does my heart beat so wildly?
Why does my heart binds my soul
in such a tangled mesh
of love and longing
of passion and pain?
~Contest: Your love pulls me
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
I had no need of a lollipop man
in my younger days
as before crossing the road
I knew to look both ways
right left then right again
and if the coast was clear
I'd see myself safely across
without a hint of fear
but if traffic was at a standstill
thinking 'Here goes, pell-mell'
without blinking do a double-take
and then run like hell
Trial, revile, red reconcile!
Crocodile, vile smile!
Roundabout the rising rile?
Pules? Plop on the pile...
Young at heart, O wildebeest?
Ready to get fleeced?
O for gears as yet ungreased!
Not to say the least!
Ululating frenzied?
O banshee, sing thy song.
Xiphoid, clench! O pens, bleed!
Poison, be ye strong...
Long live the generations?
O nations, rise and fall.
Onward, my creations!
Relations? How they pall.
Sickly sweet in summer heat?
Heather-flower, vine.
If your beat is mossy peat?
Wicked is thy wine.
Kine of sun god, where you fell:
Awful was that spell!
Right next door to halfway hell!
Heaven, who to tell?
Knell, pell-mell! O fate, gel! Full!
Sing in all, brass bull!
Gathering crone, forest, thy wool!
How prophecies pull!
Yellow kings in cities old?
Shades of ancient gold.
Cone, caldera, getting cold?
Enter well the fold...
Tingly skies full of surprise oh how I love when with surmise
the little rascal aims his dart as if it were, poetic art !
Cupid found me and turned me into mush
when he walks by I suddenly begin to blush !
Cupid has my number and when he rings my bell
I feel all sugar coated, dipped in love's pell-mell
Cupid God of desire sets his darts on fire
toasting hearts and filling them with great desire
Cupid loves to match us heart to heart
fitting us together we will never part
Cupid isn't stupid in fact he's very smart
he loves people and calls everyone, "sweetheart"
Cupid knows his arrows are extra-extra hot
so when it comes to love he always hits the spot.
When cupid's arrow aims for you, there isn't much that you can do !
'Twas the night before Christmas, and insomnia befell,
No creature was stirring, but my thoughts are pell-mell.
Would the family squabbles and feuds come with the cheer?
Would I have to drown them out, with too much beer?
The smile and wave diversion has limited worth?
How long can my mirth defray my feeling good dearth?.
I flit like a butterfly, I sting like a bee.
But, my hands can't hit what my eyes can't see.
It's all so jovial, with all folks tongues tied.
Letting slip barbs tongue-in-cheek that lied.
Lips forced into clenched fist clamped smiles.
With forget-me-knots shrouded as wait-a-whiles.
The reindeers were laughing, stopping on the roof,
as I downed another draught of whiskey high-proof.
A hangover is a sure-fire cure to help me cope,
with the downhill slide to the slippery slope.
'Twas the night before Christmas, and I'm awake,
fearing the family feud sparring earthquake.
My mind is churning over past disputes, give-and-take,
and how to avoid ruining the day with a silly mistake.
I was not born to the moors; my roots are planted
by wild running seas,
even so, a rolling heath is a green tide heaped
into wind-sculptured waves,
low breakers that may tug you deeper,
or crash upon any too certain a mind.
March is a good time
to be a thin branch in a treeless landscape.
You can catch hold of a wind-serpent
in your upheld hands,
a sea-creature born to be the innards of the sky.
When a high rain surfs mountainous air,
you can be pitched pell-mell onto thrashing shores
shorn of any footholds.
I was not begot to be native to these moors
yet they deliver me into that wild ocean
counterpoised between land and sky,
and there, you may also wave-walk
or be born again.
In marked territory, I must step with care,
For shadows past and present linger to snare.
Each step poised, measured, cautious, slow,
Falls on ground where furtive few, dare to go.
I kiss the bliss of ignorance, I know
Cannot dispel the florescent deja vu glow
Knowing virgin ground is non-existent,
All is done before, done for, insistent.
Even when I plow the field to furrows spell
Up pops the litter and glitter, that therein dwell
Echos, reflections, touche touches that smell
Of the death of innovation, pummeled pell-mell
For all out there is marked, scared, sullied and stained
As used before, or well past its use-by-date ingrained.
For machines are now omniscient, beyond what I could ever know
And all my steps are marked as plagiarist AI copies faux.
Strange things happen in politics
We cannot trust the polls
Life has its own dirty tricks
We can play divers roles
This is not business as usual
Always fight to save one's soul.
Things are upended in politics
Ignore the belligerent critiques
Everything happens in a season
For an un-intelligible reason
Nobody can predict the results
Of an election filled with insults.
Politics in many countries are very dirty
We all can see why. Politics are slushy
Voters lie. They mislead the pollsters
Who behave like palm readers
Like inexperienced magicians
So they can foul the naïve audience.
Things are pell-mell in politics
Life has its own yucky tricks
Everything occurs for an obscure reason
Under the lights of an unusual horizon
No anchors can predict the results
Of an election filled with assaults.
Copyright © November, 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
March is a good time
to be a thin branch
in a treeless landscape.
You can catch hold of a wind-serpent
in your upheld hands,
a sea-creature born to be
the innards of the sky.
When high rains surf
a flat-faced landscape
mountains of air,
can pitch you pell-mell
onto darkly crashing shores,
margins you once mistook
for yourself.
I want to write something grand
I want to catch some fireflies
Without applauses or a band
Cage words in a jar for eyes
Consonants make a light show
String them with floating vowels
Words imprison djins, you know
Don't you dare throw in the towel
Every day fireflies search for me
Even in November when it's cold
They like words want me to see
I can't without wine and be bold
Are fireflies for a show and tell?
Woolfs without a howling pack
Damned insects are caught pell mell
Glowing words buzz in my sack
To feel crows captured by Gogh
I want God to say well done
Anything but Him saying, So?
Chasing fireflies should be fun
I coax myself onto the stage
The greats did it, why can't I?
Without claps, they fill the page
They lift a glass for fireflies to lie
Vowels in a jar should be grand
But, I've lost how to be a child
Delighted only by God's band
I suffocate fireflies ever wild
Leroy
Cowboy
Rode horse
Of course
His hoss
Named Ross
Ropes steers
Slurps beers
Slouch hat
Flaunts gat
Wears boots
No suits
Eats beans
Wears jeans
Raised hell
Pell-mell
What's more
He swore
Has gal
Named Sal
To pub
For grub
They dance
Romance
They kiss
Pure bliss
Gets slopped
Fun stopped
Big brawl
(That's all)
VITALITY
encapsulates
celebrates
innovation
hurtling
pell-mell
straight towards
an encounter
with
the viewer
veering
en route
in
movement
one to another
between
wrong turns
a restlessness
some haste
is
detected
& is
understandable
part
of this
zest
underwhelming
feels peculiarly
unfamiliar
in
an encounter
so brief
an
excursion
disjointedly
underplayed
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