Perhaps I'll write a poem for you
to gently touch your pain-filled heart
that I may caress your frightened world
to make a diamond from your coal
Would you read the words I write?
to heal your heart, make it whole
I'll ask your senses tenderly
to read this poem from my scroll
Will words save you from being lost?
When shades and shadows surround
hurt by trusting tenderness
When your faith has broken down
Can my poem reach your heart?
touch the hidden tears you cry,
will it change your shackled bond,
to golden wings of butterflies?
Will my poem free your storm?
Will it help you to transform?
Is age really just a number
With no money no slumber
When birthdays were a fun
Why now I feel that I am done
For each year I used to wait
Now each year appear as bait
When kith and kin were all fam
When we all were herd of ram
When Aunt was another mom
And well enacted the rom com
When Dadu play my super spine
When he’s there for every dine
When love gets lost in labour
No kin, no trust and no favour
In chamber of thorn in all line
Where wonder i if all is fine
In drums of drama’n distance
In every heart there is a fence
A hope resides like star shine
In million miles i may get mine!
Bright star, shine far
Deep scar, leaves mar
There once was a girl full of perk,
Whose dad thought her poem some quirk,
But she said with a grin,
“An essay on bin,
With school snacks – that’s real work, not just work!”
Perhaps a poem,
created from the stardust
in your eyes.
Perhaps from the hum
of bees as they harvest
the last of the vines.
Perhaps from the thump
of the deepest bass drum
marking love's lyrical time.
Perhaps from a token,
an effigy,
of two souls entwined.
Artist Versus Entertainers
Philosophically well educated
Obfuscation methods in placement
Evolution from their predecessors
Thought induction with language
Interpretation may vary
Subjective and misinterpretation
Hopeful to make changes
Unleashing words as weapons
Mental landscape vivisection
Anomaly amongst the lilies
Nature appointed tether
Ideological meaning hidden
Thunder before the rain
Yugen laced Ya'aburnee
My love has shadows, they are dark like a moon, they turn day by day, leaving their mark.
My love has never shown me the dark side, but I feel it from afar.
Like a calendar every moment in time has stories it tells.
Stories of love and hate, the thin veil between time and fate.
Like the moon wants the day and the sun burns the dark away, my love has the struggles with the shadows each day.
My love is so sweet, like the berries on the vine, they fill me with sweet divine.
My love also has a shadow, that is like the lion, and will roar, when needed.
My love is strong and works for good, not giving into the evil doers.
Life has shadows, we all can see and feel, so pray and love each day.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
PERHAPS, A POEM
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pondering in silence before the ink descends
Outward expressions of creative soul
Evocative whispers on pages reside
Monument to human condition chiseled with words, line by line
The Jazz poem brothers, so hip and so way cool,
With their smooth jazz talk, they never play the street fool/
They snap their fingers and dance to the bass conga beat/
Their rhythm and rhyme are hip in time/man, they are kicking the verse and breaking it down/
They paint a mind collage with each word they say, Man, it just lays me out / What can I say/
Taking us on a word poem journey, in their special soul jazz spoken word way/
Get down to their word flow/ a slaughterhouse of jazz words/poetry from the jazz edge/let's go/
The brothers transport us to a place where the bebop Buddha shows his face/
Yo listen up tight, to what their jazz word orchestra has to say/
Let their words guide you to the jazz planet in the Milky Way/
The Jazz poem brothers know how to groove high/to the spoken word poetry/ in the simmering jazz Zen sky/
Their poetry word jazz will lift you/Man, it's a swingin' affair/ Miles, Trane, and Diz/ horn blowing word jazz and a gin fizz/The jazz poem brothers/in search of the new word vibe/Tossing a snow storm of words into the crowd as they wave by by/
A poem is an artform –
well, not always
A poem is an idea –
hmm, not necessarily
A poem is all rhythm and rhyme
Ha! What about ‘free verse’
A poem is a thing of beauty
--though some are pretty ugly
A poem is a window to the writer’s soul
--though not to Shakespeare’s, whoever he was…
O, A poem is what’s just been written
Whoever thinks he can explain one
~ that person’s got to be kiddin’
Mother Nature Teaches
via
Geese
m i g r a t i t i n g
once again
intuitively
know
One = All
weak + well
vital vigor
flight soaring
long with
wings kept
tip-to-tip support
uplift motion
onward for All
By Poet "The computer is the delivery room for a new poem."
Pen, ink and paper join forces,
Opening up a wonderful story.
Everyone will enjoy reading,
My dancing words are now a poem.
Poem blooms as flower on tree of literature .
On composition, muse, runs, reflects, ripples on passion.
Emotive urge surges to lighten pain, to brighten joy .
May be memorable life long, if the poem charms and moves mind.
A song is a poem
With rhythms and rhymes
It would be a blasphemy
Not to say it and explain it.
A song is a prose
Put on pause
Intermittently
With various beats and tempos.
A song makes you dance
A poem makes you dream
And a prose helps us examine.
A poem is a classical prose
With harmonic words
And well-calculated rhymes and verses
A poem is really fantastic.
A song makes you live
A poem makes you revive
And a prose helps us survive.
Copyright © December 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Shadow Waters
The water-bearer leans his urn silently,
pours starlight over forsaken streets
where neon lights flash their final confessions
and shattered promises accumulate like rain.
Here in the reverse trickle of time,
where advancement is lost in its own reflection,
the era turns in, searching for explanations
in dregs of what we believed we'd gained.
Electric prophets air hollow gospels
while the crowds scroll through ghost lives,
each contact another strand that entwines us
to this tapestry of lovely despair.
The constellation turns above, unchanging
those very stars that once held out liberty
now witness us tumble into the labyrinth
we built from our own radiant ideals.
In tower suites and lower-level clubs,
the children of the future sell their souls
to algorithms who recognize their secret names
and dole them out in morsels, afterwards.
Yet, still, the water flows, unceasing,
carrying seeds of something not yet born
perhaps redemption sleeps in darkness
of this shattered, brilliant age.
The carrier's face away from us,
sloshing the future drop by drop
while we stand dry in the flood,
suffocating in our own lighted shadows.
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