Gloom blooms as more bombs boom;
Even saints are tainted by crimson stains.
Fears tear through cradle-cries,
And withered blood floods the clustered gutters.
A prowl of projectiles surrounds their bounds;
Wounds whine on a round ground.
Pleas fail to heal the skin’s impetigo—
As silence stains the lens.
Then violence dons another garment,
While silence lies dormant;
Cries from festered wounds pry the dry, wry air,
As echoes crawl along.
All goes to soothe egos,
They boast with coats of loathes in floated boats,
In self-conceit concerts,
They celebrate nothing, noting no woe.
Wicked wicks don’t wink weak,
They sow discord and spit splintered discourse,
They supplant hate as baits,
And their words plunge the world to more dangers.
Peace peeks through a bombed hole at round tables,
Yet war speaks through their mouths;
Those who would quell the spell still sow their guile,
While skies scold, souls lie cold.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
My Amtrak races between mountains
and rivers, my traces, my inner spaces,
my dawnings, my inner longings.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
I leaf through fading pages
of crumbling books bound
with passion strings,
broken by wounded fissures
of regret.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
Others declare me a man or fool,
perhaps the father they never knew,
perhaps the boss who fired them,
or just the impostor they always hated.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
I slowly abandon their puzzling
projectiles, their momentary mocks.
Such a child am I, even the petals
of new love go unseen.
I see how I look inside out,
not how I look outside in.
I take the long way alone,
my feet heavy with clay,
I wander the deep gloam,
my mortal vessel, my only home.
There is luminous grass beyond.
There I will rest my head in
the resplendence and comprehend
that inside and outside
are just a revolving door.
The wild clouds
Are traveling
In the firmament.
The missiles and projectiles
Are bursting the profile
Of many innocent people.
The children
Are crying on the benches,
And their moms
Are suffering miserably.
Big and expensive guns
Are devouring mountains,
Valleys and cities.
Where is the love,
Amidst all these killings,
In full fury,
Where day
Becomes night?
In the whirlwind of miseries,
Absent are the roses,
Where nature is gloomy.
Man kills himself, why?
For nothing; for cow dung.
Humanity is wearing a cross
Which is very heavy. No more bread,
They shot the workers and the bakers.
We are all in the face of danger.
The wise clouds
Have seen the gruesome images;
Both countries are demolished
By ignorance and demagoguery.
Give a chance to diplomacy;
Give a blob of common sense to peace,
In order to nourish the giant tree of respect.
War will always be a senseless folly.
Copyright © November 2012, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
Scientific mission into outer space, Reed Richards his best friend
Ben Grimm,
Susan "Sue" Storm and her brother Johnny Storm
Upon leaving the earth in a rocket ship
Got caught up in a violent cosmic space storm
Rays bombarded their bodies
They became cosmically transformed
Coming back to earth, begin genetically rebirth into
Mister Fantastic / Reed Richards who can stretch his body into incredible lengths and shapes;
Stretch-Stretch-Stretch-Stretch
A monstrous Thing Ben Grimm who possesses tremendous superhuman strength, durability and endurance due to his stone-like flesh
It's clobbering time
the Invisible Woman Susan Storm body turned into rendering herself you can't see me invisible invisible invisible
also able project powerful invisible force fields blast projectiles;
the Human Torch Johnny Storm who can generate flames, surround himself with them and fly;
flame on- flame on-flame on
11/15/23
For Fantastic Four Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
the nuclear snakes
slither into disaster
warheads waiting
in the dithering wings
~~~!~~~X~~~#~~~>>>
light explodes
darkness erupts
fiery projectiles
obliterate without mercy
the reptilian warlords
fumble through flames
apocalypse waiting
amid withering declarations
It is the cruelest of hate
Creeping like an imposturous reptile
In the morning light of Eve’s Garden
Fangs dripping with malice
Searching for tender flesh to taste
Cruel hate clandestinely charging
Uncharged minds
Innocent ones
Too young to leave
Too old to hold on
Hissing rancorous lyrics
Like a street pusher pandering opiates
To abject addicts
Hate creates images of a fresh world
Socially acceptable to his guiltless prey
It is the cruelest of hate
Proffering empty promises of transcendent fame
Lying in the wake of the fallen ones
Dead on square tiled floors
As muted school bells forget to ring
From sandy grounds to tangled woods
To weeping waterfalls on a westbound highway
Counting the dead
Nineteen names prancing across digital screens
Held in hands too small to tremble
Hate authoring hallucinations
To guard against truth
It is the cruelest of hate
Peering through the eye of a grooved cylinder
Pushing calloused flesh against curved steel
Lead projectiles penetrating
Again, and again
Unblemished innocence
Teddy bears held against beating hearts
And the let go dreams of
Our children
It is the cruelest of hate
Deep purple passion, green garden glory, with a scent remarkably rich,
Like the haunting, full October moon, that hardly ever fails to bewitch!
Lilac lovely, violet and voluptuous, in gilt daytime, and evening's ease,
When soon cosmic skies are colored, like rubies, cardinals and cherries!
Admired like amethysts, or glistening grapes, or plump, plentiful plums,
Or like beauty marching down every lane, to a beating of festal drums!
Lilac like lavender, spreading redolent secrets, over scenic, sunlit miles,
Until sangria nights of fuchsia fervor, and fiery, shooting star projectiles.
Written on 6/1/2022
For: Purple Flowers Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron Flores
To death the inaccessible, the never-pleadable,
start whispering, like shepherds in the fog,
lost in their utter boundlessness.
Stand and talk about the night.
I know it can be done with a mutter, stand
and listen to the walls crumbling, the projectiles
detonating, windows shattering, showering you with
broken glass.
In all the cautions you were using, my friend, you
failed to run downstairs, a veritable fount of hope
undeserved. And now I must entertain your corpse
lying motionless for days, until the sirens stop and
the digging in the park begins.
You do not hear sighs and laments
of the people who suffer by virtue of
your slaughter? Sleep my friend, in your dark cozy shelter,
for the benefit of a nation.
Unimaginable day to day scenes through their eyes
Kremlin seeds of war raining down on the innocents
Roaring, whistling of projectiles lacerating their air
As their notes end, delivering devasting consequences
In the mind of the one, whom Russians can't count upon
Never should a peaceful nation endure a bully's ego
Ending such, please, someone stand up against, he!
The Ukraine
Miracle Man
3/3/2022
A line has been drawn faint in the sand,
because a world bully wants another’s land.
Bursting projectiles now highlight the sky,
bomb sheltered children are questioning why?
The world has condemned this bully’s stance,
yet daily his troops, continue their advance.
The stench of death now permeates the air,
and believers spend much time in prayer.
Today, a million people have fled their land,
many remain to fight and die at his hand.
What these people are seeing can’t be unseen,
burned in their memories is a war machine.
Already they long for the life once known,
before this bully’s war had become full-blown.
Today, our world is getting more uncertain,
pointing to the end when God pulls the curtain?
Shots fired drive by
Shots injected inoculations
Small consumption of alcohol
Shot glass
Projectiles
Tactical shots fired
9/6/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
Without fiery passion,
there is no poetry – Oh,
there are jingles of sorts!
jingles of naughts –
Limericks so on, and on
and on – Rhymes two
three and four, or as many
more; but, for a lyric to
soar, or heavily sink to
depths fond hearts dip
and taste-tally together
explore...there must be
great passion, smothering
smoking, burning passion
or nothing at all:
passion above, passion below
as well as within – to the core
of earth-center while breaching
sky tall...or the poet's words,
the vehicles of his being
the reasons for his feeling
the scopes of his seeing
without such divine-juice
his soul-output sputters
and stalls – spent projectiles
from
conforming
passionless
balls –
Six legs, two arms and often a tail
It greets its own kind with an expectant wail
They may well converse and they may form a pack
But what do they keep in that very small sack
There’s others that come bearing more heads and limbs
And some that appear when the light of day dims
Its plans for a peaceful encounter can fail
Often the culprit has foreshortened tail
Quite unlike what might occur on the X-files
It doesn't spit fire but does hurl projectiles
It then splits in two, it knows where each one lands
And rushes them back to its other halve’s hands
It’s salvo continues ’til someone cries ‘ouch!’
One half then watches the other half crouch
It scans its surroundings to feed the small sack
Wherever it’s from it’s then time to go back
But first it must visit the red hi-vis bin
The small sack, now loaded, deposited in
Its travels may take it up hill or down dale
Six legs, two arms and often a tail
*
If you don’t get this, your minds full of fog
Or your brain just went south on a train
It’s only the tale of one man and his dog
So why don’t you read it again?
Conflagration,
explosive jubilation,
catapulting projectiles,
colliding in motion;
meteors in party mode.
1/15/2020
STRAND SELECT 11,any form ,any theme Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
DISARRAY
Did I ever say that inside my eye;
That I’m not feeling well no not at all;
Behind my mind I see swirling colors flowing
Floating projectiles of reds, oranges, and grays glowing;
Which in no way should be behave, streams of Disarray;
Just a cluttered mess jumble, muddled got me upset;
So untidy this rendition blurs confusion condition, hey!
I’m disordered throw into dishevel mess;;
Such a untidy yet colorful blow groceries;
Upchuck heave spewing tango with the toilet;
This I commit as I vomit so surreal;
Sickly am I for in the archway of my brain yuk;
My mind preys way spray airway convey;
hearsay downplay Floating projectiles of reds, oranges, and grays;
Did I ever say...
That inside my eye my head and mouth are…Disarray
11/12/19
Disarray Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Nina Parmenter
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