He bans MSNOW, CNN and Politico
Now even FOX shouts foul! No! No! No!
For our 1st Amendment right
we shall continue to fight,
King Trump, and Hegseth, and Rubio
—R.G
I march down the block with my neighborhood
Hold signs and picket all day as we should
It’s not a toast for Trump
But a roast of a rump
True patriots defend due process—understood?
—I Am Anaya
burn it.
Burn it.
BURN IT.
All of it,
Every single system,
Every single institution,
Every single building, built by the blood of Black hands.
Violence was a language they understood -
All too well,
So fire is the message we send back
Peace was never an option,
When war was a crime forged against us -
The very people who built their empire.
Blood shackled hands,
Tear stricken faces of the ancestors,
Each tear drop the glue of each cement brick,
Every building burnt - an act of justice,
Every building burnt - a form of reparations
Every system burnt, is justice served
Violence was the only answer -
To the oppressors acts of discrimination,
Of Black bodies strung, hung and burned,
Of every act of racism,
Of every Black person - murdered,
For the simple act of being Black in this world
The day before the storm
Protests fall on deaf ears
The master's voice rings
The rest is mere noise
Cars run helter skelter
Ready to park tomoro
Water cannons to stun
Neath the gas, tears
End game, bigger than us
Masks evil planners
Mere cogs in a wheel
Turned by hidden hands
Watchers and doers
Prepare for peace
Haters fund goons
To disrupt disonnance
Here we go again
Battling each other
From afar, elites watch
On TV and internet
Scramble for wealth
You will not last
The hands of time
Change your form
They say the news is a distraction
Yet anytime we see an issue and demand action
They call us a terrorist faction
We use our freedom of speech
Saying we wish to impeach
We all get singled out each by each
I slow danced with my scars,
tracing tiny specks of mourning stars,
as traumatized tissue
beneath a translucent sky translates
the skin of tortured twilight ~
the truth I hide behind
metaphors of melancholy,
like a heart carved from granite and grey.
Come and see,
for this poetic flame
keeps rising in sync with regrets
and timeworn memories,
where insomniac ink releases
3 a.m. sighs to heal in solitude,
amidst every scribbled sentence
that screams in desolate diction,
turning the page into a rage room
of storms and ghosts ~
a paper protest
against darkness and demons…
~ my reality, the push and pull,
of torment and tolerance,
of pain and patience ~
So allow my soul to sew silver linings
with half-stitched seams
in skeletal silence ~
unconcerned, unaffected
by snakes slithering through
the haze beneath the sun…
NO KINGS YESTERDAY
10 MILLION SOMETHING TO SAY
TRUMP JUST GO AWAY
SWEDES MAKE A BIG SQUAWK
THE CURLING WORLD IS IN SHOCK
CANADA SAYS CROCK
We March to the sound of the men on the ground
We March to the sight of the men who won't fight
We March to the smell of the women who have fell
We March to the feel of the men who won't kneel
We March to the taste of the freedom in our face
Wolves
Tell the sheep:
You don’t see us
Our teeth our hunger our own pain
You won’t see what we must do
To you
You see life and love through the lense
Of human beings
Oh how sweet
How touching
Friends and neighbors
We see you
Through what we want
Your wool your blurry vision
Your care for the Lamb
It’d be best if the world went dark
The last light
Doused
By us for you
Make you blind and bleating
Then what will you do
But worship us?
At one point in time, there's was one country
As there's one earth, one rainbow and one human race
The wind, rain, smoke, and snow don't recognize
Borders or tiny plots of land that greedy leaders
Think they possess. They will always make errors
Nobody owns a country, tower, a location or a place
As one can only palaver. We can scuttlebutt and dramatize
All we want. Earth or this land is owned by nobody
This land belongs to all. We are passing by as tourists
We are all migrants or immigrants, even the racists
Or the wannabes. We are wayfarers, passengers on a boat
We own nothing. We own no land, no wind and no float
We need to make room for each other. Today is your turn
Tomorrow belongs to no one. This is something we must learn.
Copyright © June 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
I.C.E.'s unhinged, unconstrained violence
killed a decent woman called Renée Good
It has evoked hot fury not silence
the fact that she had been misunderstood
Made Good look bad, glibbing he did what he had to do,
You see they’ve been given immunity
What is really sad, is he didn’t have to
Behold an assassin’s creed unity
This is a Force I cannot comprehend
Straight out of the fires of hell
The devil had us fooled, this Force NOT a godsend
Anyone can be taken; none safe from the ‘quota’ which makes my head swell
I look for answers and onto my faith
Yet nothing can fix an agent’s revenge
It’s all very cruel, his unkind heart‘ll force only his own wraith
Why must we be like this, I too look to avenge
Right of protest destroyed by violent emotion, becoming worse
There is no justice for Renée Good, only doubt
As her orphans ride off in a Hearse
Words kind and nice shall not suffice
From the depths of my soul, I shout
Kcuf I.C.E.!
Justice For Renée Nicole Good
1/10/26
I’m protesting ice,
And snow.
(1/9/26)
In savage streets it’s hand to hand
once shrapnel rips the air that’s damned,
no sin of ego in this land.
Baptismal bloodshed echoes
through rust and rebar ghettoes.
There’s bullet swarms and rocket rain
but infantry must hit terrain,
forget I’m sane and rupture veins
with melee-trench-knife flashing,
the bane of peace doves, slashing.
I wear their red of death and drive
my blade abuzz in hellish hive
to stay alive! Yes stay alive!
The apathy of killing,
and twisting morals willing.
My heartbeat kept, a victory,
it pounds just like artillery
but prized, despite the misery.
A witness to destruction
and holy soul’s corruption
and christened by the selfishness
of presidents with negligence,
we soldiers march with evilness.
The narcissistic leaders,
the preachers and the breeders
of rhythmic spates in drumbeat hate
unfurl their nation flags and fate
in bloodlust war… while heads of state
stay combat clean in bunkers.
I witness gurgling utters
your last and bloody gasp for “mama”.
I grasp with greed my breath in chest.
Thought ricochets inside my skull;
I’m still alive! I'm still alive! I'm still alive . . .
Windows blink.
Someone’s still awake,
counting what never adds up.
The billboard’s face glows through the haze,
selling hope to those who can’t afford it.
Clouds crawl like old memories,
stretching their shadows
across the quiet of the soup line.
Rain begins, soft as loose change.
It never reaches the roots.
The sky eats gold again,
and no one seems surprised.
~Brent R. Grimes
drowning ship flotsam
jetsam high cost of living =
leaden Thanksgiving
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