The other side we face a steep ascent;
To immigrants a big ask for consent.
If it's a harbor at the end of the beach
then just say my name in a whisper
like a boat going back and forth
within its sturdy walls
And if it's a house
then the door is cracked
even though it's battered by the wind
There's no hot tea there
let alone the lonely flower of eternity
only soft eyes that feel different
No, not because everything has faded
but simply because it's over
this body still exists amidst the dusty walls
and you just need to speak
And if everything is gone
conveyed in the coldness of your low voice
then never close that door
let the dust continue to seep in between the cracks
and everything will fade
but not all the stories
that you whispered in the dim emptiness
Death, death, Oh! Old Death
Old death makes everybody dry and sad
Death even makes kings who are grumpy and mad
Absolutely powerless, helpless and useless
Death makes us mute, motionless, lifeless and deaf
In the darkest, hottest part of the crater
And deep within the brightest cell or cache of the chamber
Where too much light
Blinds the retinas and this is never right
Death makes everybody lifeless, powerless and useless
Death, death! Nobody can get used to you
Death, death! You are a fool too
For stealing life which is vitally precious
Death, death! You are backward and too ambitious
Nobody can get used to your ways
Because you make us part ways
Old death! You never show compassion and pity
You are wicked, greedy, sick and crazy
Old death, will you leave us alone?
Please use a different style and tone
Death, death, Oh! Old Death
Old death, you make everybody weak and mad
Old death, you make us worthless, lifeless and sad
Death, death, old death, please go away
Go, go away, please go, go find your way.
Copyright © April 25, 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Threads of Thoughts
threads of thoughts
ever trail my mind
as a companion
that never leaves me lonely
as I stroll along
the corridors of life
in the stillness of solitude
in the midst of the multitude
at the break of dawn
during sunshine of the day
in the dim shadows of twilight
and darkness of night
as a moment without thought
I cannot be myself.
threads of thoughts
ever stand by my side
as a guardian
surveying my ins and outs
all along my journey
counselling me
on the road ahead
in search of my goal in life
as without them
I would be like a ship
without a captain
that will sail in the wide sea
without knowing
at which port to land
Let’s make the Greenland green again
Melt down the ice with fire
Let’s build on Greenland’s pleasant land
A city of desire
Erect the towers most gigantic
And hotels on the coast
The biggest port on the Atlantic
I dare to propose
Let’s make some money out of soil
I hope you understand
We’ll label it a Greenland oil
A number one oil brand
The Danish king must be well paid
To him we’ll do no harm
We’ll offer him a job to paint
A brand new coat of arms
I’ll be depicted in my pants
With a stone axe in hand
Parading on the golden sands
Of Greenland’s pleasand land!
I have one green goal
To shed fears that weigh
Down my soul like black coal
And find my wings publishing
My song hoping it will be known
As an anthem of advocacy
For those who need a warning
Not to drink and drive
I am a poet who writes despite
Short days and long lunar nights
I sing with my purple pen
Dream of peachy publishing
That my heart will be heard
And perhaps a life saved
For someone special died
Because another drinks and drives
At last a rationale has struck! And the poisions out of style
Port Hedland council has recognised that deaths have
Grown.. Too wild; and how.' I'll give it here to you.! From one a week
On average, now at seven too sad yet true.' its time and
Past, it could never last, the con-vid tale; has fallen through. fast!
Now Hedlanders what will you do.? Now at last some are speaking true.! Close ranks' its your time; now to 'rise and shine'
That all Australia, may..( Stand to )
Is this a poem? -- I'd say so!
Near my home, convenient, clean
and comfy. Very low prices.
Varied delicious specials.
Slogans artistically painted
in strategically located spots --
poetic samples of our regional
colorful cuisine and culture:
"I like my cafecito with a little chisme"
(I like my coffee with a little gossip);
"Y la dieta?" (And the diet?)
and near the register, another:
"Hay que empezar el dia con
HUEVOS,*
frijoles, chilaquiles, y cafe"
(You have to start the day with
EGGS,
beans, chilaquiles, and coffee).
At the exit, beside the door:
"Si acabas de llegar bienvenidos,
y si ya se vas vuelve pronto"
(If you have just arrived welcome,
and if you are already going
come back soon!)
An important part of home.
At this location since 1984.
Friendly and familiar.
Puro poesia. Pure poetry.
*"con huevos", here has double meaning
Manifestations of your Gauzy Fantasies
Unravelling Bonds of Tangled, Mangled Destinies
Sun of Man Set His Right Eye on Me
Tenaciously Searing, Calculating
To Entrap Me, A Prisoner to His Needs
Inspired A Premedimated Deed did He
With Intent To Plant a Seed!
Stormed Wrecked and Invaded My Archipelago
Pirate Prowess, Sophomoric,
He Stared, I Jeered, Blotted Proviso Smeared
Drenched In Salted Sweet, Freshly Spring Showered Awhile Ago
Armpits Crying, Young Sun, I've Done No Wrong
No Shade to Evade the Soundless Seranade
As The Father, Not the Sun, Pearched In a Chariot
Cascaded, Paraded Crusade
Blazing Rays, No Mercy, No Refrain
Solar Purgatory, Solicited by the Solar Nova Hovering above Port-of Spain
Evaporated Senses, Smothered Disdain, Budding Foliage Scorched and Drained
Organically Syphoning Hydration Reserved for Lack of Rain
Heat Rashes, Depleted Cortizone Stashes
Senses Assunder, Lost in Wander
Drifting Sun Stroked, Begging Pardon, Parched and Punished In Port of Spain!
'Pon Mt. Edgecumbe lies soft serve ice cream
Being surrounded by fuchsia lips
Wishfully gazed upon by a cobalt blue dream
Over the port full of harbor ships
Colors of the sky predicting snow pretty ugly
The ice cream running down the mountain awfully good
Those waters in the harbor down deep bubbly
Teeming with jumbo shrimp and on the beach driftwood
Sitka, Alaska experiences each day's end
With a sky ending with special delights
Sky and earth seem to together blend
When day seems to slip into the dark night
finis'...
Written: June 2 and 3, 2023
Uvira my birthplace
A small town of Democratic
Republic
of the Congo
Which is at the boundaries
of the lake Tanganyika
In Southern Kivu province.
A place
Where many rebellions
started because
of many borders
with other countries.
Uvira my birthplace,
I see many rivers
And long chains of mountains
called Mitumba.
I see the second Congolese
Seaport interm of income which
connect DRCongo with
Burundi , Tanzania
And Zambia.
Uvira my birthplace,
The birthplace of many Bavira
Bashi ,Bafuliru,
Babembe Banyindu,
And Barega people.
A beautiful place
With multi - cultural and
linguistic people
Who relay on businesses,
Agriculture,
Small farming
And fishing.
Oh! Nice view ,
Weather , fauna
And flora.
I always dream about
This small town,
My beautiful Birthplace,
I love so much Uvira.
May 25/2023
Written for poetry contest sponsored by
Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Shaving your
Scales mermaid,
And against
your will.
Beautiful sea
Creature, a siren
Entrancing the
Loneliest of
Seamen.
I bless the
Sea Captain,
The Admiral
Inside you.
To your rescue.
I like the old buildings,
the weathered brick,
the worn down doorsteps sanded
by a century of shuffling feet,
the musty smells from
old bond stores and hotel
cellars wafting up through
grates along the street.
I like the defiance
of the old façades,
how they hang on
beneath layers of gaudy paint,
the names and dates
embossed on buildings
refusing to be rubbed out,
the held dignity of a stone wall,
desecrated by graffiti
yet still standing straight.
I like the late night
peace and quiet
that settles along the lanes
and back streets
of the old port,
places only the locals know,
home to the ghosts
of washed-up sailors
and the lost souls
who have nowhere
else to go.
knew him as he walked in
A Port boy by the size of his grin
That went from ear to ear
And we shook hands like old friends dear
There was sea water in his veins
And a story for each move of his game
Growing up there was some time around
In Rosewater Ethelton Henley Seaton and Semaphore bound
For the summer it was at beach time
At the carnival Semaphore road for mine
I remember laughing with my mates
In those days when fun was our fate
Being a Port boy from a Port family
Meant that there was no hiding easily
Aren’t you the son of.. was for real
So you had to stay on an even keel
Even though we may move away
Coming back it’s like we stayed
For we are forever bound to the place
As a Port boy with some grace.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Santa shouts out, the sleigh has sprung a leak
Below steam emerged, forming frozen streaks
Smells like ‘Brussel sprouts’
We’ve took the wrong route
Nay! sneers rudolf, your undercarriage’s weak
A Funny Santa Limerick Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Howmanysyllables 10/10/5/5/10
12/17/22
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