Pens Poems

Pens of Praise

The factories no longer exhale fumes but fillers
Clanging steel is traded for selfie stick.
Whip is gone but the gaze remains.
Wage is still dingy and stale.
Accepted without questions.

When the labour was visible, we called it brutal.
Children with soot in lungs, blistered hands,
bodies bent before they grew.
Now the soot is scrubbed, hands are clean
but the bending of

Why Do Many Pens Love To Write???

Why do so many old pens love to write,
bright light comes from a lens.
Many write to their old friends.
How about to boyfriends?

Blueberries

fresh picked blueberries
stimulate poetic pens ~
my muse just wants pie

Epistle

Will pens
(I'd have to think
when last I dipped mine in ink)
and sad to say
pencils go
the dodo's way
become extinct or obsolete
(oh no)
to the average man in the street
as if it weren't for junk mail
no matter how large or small
never mind trees and ecology
wouldn't have no mail at all
when I was young still a nipper
a lot more

The Soul Who Pens Poems

   The soul who pens poems 
       for a living
    At the end of each day
       what’s he taken
           what’s he given

    A perfectly gorgeous

The Mistreatment of Pens

The pen is mightier than the sword
The pen is the copyist of every word
Just don’t combine “pen is” as a paper headline once did report
And it might be mightier because it seeks pleasure and not war

Freedom, intelligence, creativity, determination and diligence
All found in the written sentence
Some say the pen husk plastic is a polluter
I contend

To Live and Breathe Creating

To Live and Breathe  Creating

…for some time 
again
to rapidly wing
into joy
creating
with words as heartbeats 
and lines 
    each sketched for breath
as these pens with their inks 
draw in a song of solace
from creating
with its humbling thrill
given stroke by stroke
to designs discovering
thought arias
poetic murals
    lit in symphonic chiaroscuro
for embroidered

Papers and Pens

 ___" Paper and Pens " . . .

She found paper and a pen,
then wrote down her feelings, 
creating something amazing. 
She got lost in writing,
or you could say, poetry.

Ode to all the Missing Pens

Where do all the pens go
that's what I wanna know

Did we give them to friends
who might keep them (depends)

Maybe burglars stole them
but not jewelry or gem

Or snagged by the goblins
scribbling with impish grins

They might move, we forget
--the final place it set

In a pile of papers
those inky escapers

Did they all take a hike
their pens' union on

Hold My Hand To Write

Hold my hand to teach me how to write
Take me to the library. I need to shed light
On a few words that I have never seen before
Teach me how to spell, that can open a new door
For my future. I want to learn. I’m eager to learn
Feed my starving brain and help the minorities too
Let’s

If God Had To Write A Poem

If God had to write a poem
Being the best divine writer
Ever
This poem
Would have been very simple
No words
No swords
Writing on the parchment
No, this is not a sample
Of his mysterious accoutrement
Just blank pages
For the ages.

Copyright © April 2016, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.

The Pen Is Mightier Than the Sword

"The pen is mightier than the sword"
Said the towns' poet, a bit of a bard,
To the Chief of the military,
Challenged him to a duel, gave his shiny card

The card had his house no. and plot
The challenge? A battle to death
To see who will rot,
The Chief sharpened swords, the poet simply read

They got in battle, in

Pens

Pens
for whom to share their writings  
for whom to share their feelings 
for whom to share their thinkings 

Pens 
to which it's a friend more than a foe
to which it could be full or hollow
to which i would love to show 

Pens
from the tube to the nib to the schoolbook
from feathers to fountains to

Pens and Swords

We who spangle wet eyes, salute proudly
our unflinching eyebrows.

We are the rubber band of rubber soldiers;
we who bundle the truth up-tight,
we war poets that never served
demand respect.

Some world weary solders 
even claim they buried God
in a foreign field. “How sad” we say
and pray for those of such little faith.

We untested poets
simply ask that those in

Poetry Soup Is Supportive

Chances she had to be disruptive,
Like others try out The Abortive
And like them unleash The Eruptive,
But she chose to be The Supportive:
For the legs that hop a bit a prop,
To pens asking for more ink "Don't stop".

Soup  I thank for proving me active
On matters hyping not The Native.
Tower she does with clean objective,
Her actions

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