Nobody does something for nothing
Everybody expects something in return
If he doesn’t receive the prize, he will snatch the land
If he gives you something, he quickly extends his left hand
To grab or pilfer something in return
It’s dark, please turn on the lantern
An eye for an eye, an eye for a nose
To tell the truth, my friends, nobody knows
What the heck is going on
Piracy is a fantastic weapon
No prize, no land
No money, no band
No oil, no freedom
No fun, no gum
No kiss, no honey
No hugs, no money
Everybody wants something in return
It’s nighttime, please light the lantern.
Copyright © January 2026 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
To be unique
akin to be safe from from an imitation
though is hard
to be such a claimant
but what good can I not
do to save my life
from leaching or leaking
if it is from a prey
mine is a culprit
and now it is like a story
but how and how
can I be blown
though a life of a wishing
but how an imitation
for little or more?.
PORT ROYAL
You want to see the fate that was Port Royal’s?
Then let me flyyou back three hundred years:
look in this tavern, see those buccaneers,
flushed more from fiery grog than honest toils,
who soon would dice away their ill-won spoils;
then hear the thunder roaring in their ears
as underfoot all firmness disappears
and round their throats the rising ocean boils!
Now marvel as this port, the stamping-ground
of pirates on their hellish pleasures bent,
by quake and flood is shaken flat and drowned.
Then tell me, when that fury has been spent,
if you, like some, believe that God had frowned
on Man and to his anger given vent!
Port Royal, Jamaica, 1672
"America will be great again" he always says
before his rallies and in the nasty tweets
How is that, me lord? Asked his secretaries,
by fingering the Pope's palm
And receiving the counterparts from the House backdoor
with no formalities to stage or hold,
Like stolen sheep never harbored unless they pay
I will build a great wall like the Chinese to make my name forever recalled
And banish the ******* states from the list of our subsidiaries,
non of such trash enters our White Great Abode,
And I'll do one more things all great men shrank to do
The gatherers look at each other; Oh Lord,
What's that big thing?
he winks at them; How do you want it?
A "Gentle Puff" or a "Releasing Valve"
A "Releasing Valve, me Lord" as the applause grows aloud
and all of a sudden his valve opens and his bang explodes
"I'll declare Jerusalem as the eternal capital for Jews"
The audience shouts out
Drown out the noise with a louder one:
A MAAAAZING GRAAAACE
A poem by Lateef Shareef Dhmayd
Lo, the Missing Link has been found
Caught by the Net, he is fast bound.
Seeking to keep his privacy
He lost it to trade piracy.
As partners share nation to nation,
Identity goes on chain migration.
What we take in each day,
what I choose to read,
to watch,
which individuals and which species I choose to listen to
and how long and closely I prefer to listen with them,
are all predicted by past nurture,
predicting future nurturing v toxic choices.
What takes me in each day
toward opulence of night,
what stories choose to become most richly mine,
which voices prefer to speak of and toward my growing identity,
these control me
when I cannot
and choose not
to control them
together,
mutually nurturing
our cooperative interdependent natures.
Taking in and out each day
and resonating pirate night.
Smile is like simile
but simulating is unlike authenticity
Liar is like lair
but simulacrum is unlike authenticity
Sometimes I prefer the simulated smile
over the too honest glances of distaste
Take me to your lair, my lover
and whisper your sweet words
even though I know you simulate
I prefer your honey-like lies
over your screaming honesty
My words ring authenticity
My actions ring truth
The ring you gave me
was a poor attempt at love
Its fake-gold scaling off with every
false kiss you gave me
***
3d place in contest: Privacy is like piracy yet copy cats are unlike authenticity
Sponsor: Ir0nic ZiNk
November 26, 2016
I just had an epiphany
one on the grandest scale
Fire works went off in my head
Lucky pennies tossed in the well
I will take a single line
from all the poems I read
and come up with the greatest poem
in all of history
Just one line from brilliant minds
and jot them as my own
which shouldn't take too much time
for me to stand alone
I'll take their lines that make me cry
ones that make me smile
The ones that make me think I'll sneak
over to my side
I'll mix them up, lay them out
in some sort of rhyming order
No one the wiser will find out
I took them from another
I'll be known as the greatest poet
to ever grace the stage
As the greatest poet
to ever bless the page...
12/12/16
Otherworldly, tactile retraction
of rainbows,
from the eyes of believers.
Detachment of restless mind
at twilight, pot starts
boiling.
Sundowning, a paranoia
takes over, you suffer a childhood
near the pyre.
Thing is not a thing
exclusive of an extremist,
something burns inside me also.
The age of a tulip
moves backward; I, untethered,
float thoughtless in speech.
SATISH VERMA
Otherworldly, tactile retraction
of rainbows,
from the eyes of believers.
Detachment of restless mind
at twilight, pot starts
boiling.
Sundowning, a paranoia
takes over, you suffer a childhood
near the pyre.
Thing is not a thing
exclusive of an extremist,
something burns inside me also.
The age of a tulip
moves backward; I, untethered,
float thoughtless in speech.
SATISH VERMA
It was original craft
Here comes unjust
Making out for cash
Setup mode to catch
Bring the sinner to judge
Include the planner cast
Conspiracies quash!
This day marked my thirteenth year
and the wound I received
from a drunken bar maid
shall linger longer
My heart still beats
and yet,
if I look closely,
I’m sure to be bleeding,
my very soul wretched
From beneath her bony fingers
I saw the piece of eight
handed to her by dirty hands
Whispers of a promise from
a dirty mouth
Unbeknownst to me,
he had offered her money
to make me a man
When I was out to prove
to myself and to them,
that I was worthy of a woman
She came to me,
offered me her dark secrets
Took me to a place I have
Never known to exist
Laughing as she walked away,
she winked and called me
her little boy
Crumpled upon soiled linen
I offered her my innocence
And she left me bare
Crying out for its return,
sorrow filled my empty chest
for it’s false demise
Tomorrow, we shall return to
the unforgiving sea
and I shall try to overcome
this hate that is building
inside my chest
Candle light flickers it’s
rhythmic dance
and strikes shadows across this
brittle parchment
The sea is rolling, chomping at the boards,
angered by our trespass
I try in vain to steady my hand,
to write with even flow
The winds have long since
given up its ghostly attack
on our tattered sails
and weathered faces
Yet lines of distress are deepened
within the folds of night
As I sit below deck,
cramped between pickled eggs
and rotting barrels of gun powder,
my mind transfers images of
fields filled with flowers
I can still see in my hand, malted ale,
the taste of which still lingers in my mouth
I would pay my weight in silver
to touch land with my bare toes
And forgive the madness that overtook me
in the search of money and power
Amongst the sea of raging greed
and soiled men, I shall try to rest
And pray my slumbering imaginings
shall restore my hope, my optimism
for the long day ahead,
for the long trip home
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