Mist is deliberate veil
Just to notice
If the eyes risk
Entering to meet
To greet and embrace
The face wearing
A dotted lace
Mulling to reveal
Knotted thoughts
Those plots
Of dense stories
Ivories of memory
Glory of the sun
We used to build up
From the point of
The startup
Until the plates and cups
Would get satiated
And the golden dust
of the pulverized sun
Would turn into
The moon of contentment
I know my dear
That won't happen
Because you're hesitant
At the very entrance
Of the mystery
Ignoring the filigree beyond
Waiting to dawn
______________
12 September 2025
quick as a molten drop of wax
running down a dying candle,
a single drop of salty tear
left her sunken eyes' boundary
making its way downwards and fell
without a sound, crashing in bits,
like pulverized shards of glassware.
no one heard her soul's silent scream!
I would have clobbered him, one said.
you should have smashed his face in said another
two violent women who have never wed
More advice for the young bride, Terry.
You should have pulverized him, I would have.
Expert advice from two women who would never marry.
sequestered in a
somber sepulchre
where I relinquish
dead memories
and iced nightmares
upon resting ivy,
twisted
with rotting thistle
I'm no longer
able to breathe
pulverized pain
as I shed this
stitched-on hollow skin
resuscitation under
Jupiter's moon
Oh, lovely snowflakes,
from billowy clouds,
plump with expectation,
you break free and come tip toeing lightly
on tiny feet, gliding and dancing,
through the air in crisp December.
You travel through ether
uncaged and free and drop down
littering the earth’s expanse.
you keep falling and collapsing
one on another, and lie huddled
as a white massive heap-
sometimes landing thick as round balls
sometimes as the light dusting
of talcum, soft and pulverized.
The earth wears your white mantle with pride.
Those of you come first,
get vanquished instantly.
but when the real exodus begins,
you accumulate and heap,
inch by inch and foot by foot,
becoming a formidable force,
covering the earth in a thick white blanket.
In day light, you wink like twinkling stars.
at night what delight it is to watch you,
gleaming in moonlight, with your white hair,
grizzled into grey and ivory.
Folded in your dazzling beauty,
and enjoying the silent lullaby,
the world wrapped in cold stillness,
goes to sweet slumber.
I make you tragic
Stir the dormant conscience in your gut
Until you're sick with how you hate yourself
And ashamed because you should
Even as your feet defy the exhortation
That if guilt could make you will
You would
I make you, the villain, victim
Same as me, of you
Your "swear-to-goodness" decent nature
Pulverized, despite your vying
By a temptation no man could be expected to resist
Unless he's lying
Like you
Thank you God
That I’m always a student
I abhor
The slaughters of the babies
Toddlers were killed dead
Young boys and girls were shot dead
Pregnant women were stabbed dead
That’s terror
Young men were executed
Young women were raped and killed
That’s horror
Women weren’t spared
Sick women were beat
Old men and women
Weren’t exempt
No error
Fuhrer is alive
Terrorism
Is not dead
Students have conscience
Leaders lie
The buildings are pulverized
Treaties ain’t for all
Blame a few
Murder is no joke
That’s death
True free speech
Is dead too
Students have conscience
They are always right
They make sense
They protest
No justice
Here on earth
No freedom
We wonder
We ponder
We differ
They conquer
Like wild beasts
There’s no peace
Terror, horror and revenge
I remain an alumnus.
Copyright © April 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
I am summer rain for whose arrival you eagerly await.
Sitting on your porch, you watch my descent.
As I mix and mingle the elements, kneading pulverized dust,
Petrichor rises, making you intoxicated.
Each of my droplets carries such grace.
How the starved earth sucks them in!
On asphalt roads how they glide and dance,
And how quickly disappear out of sight.
I am summer rain, I come and go as I like.
Like teenage romance, I won’t stay long.
Licking the rising flames of heat, I sink fast into the mud.
But I leave giving a facelift to the parched earth.
Earth once had a heartbeat.
Everything was sparkling-alive...
The sun and dirt.
A spec of pyrite
rainclouds teasing the earth.
All that man touches eventually dies.
Wars spring from iron hands.
From the malignant flavor of religion.
From love gone feral.
For the lust of petrol lands.
When God kneaded man.
He kicked a mustard seed...
igniting the bluest avalanche.
All things beautiful were crushed.
All that is good was despised-disfigured.
Unrecognizable is the devil's latest fad.
This is the age of the ogre.
The age of opaqueness.
The age of the sub-cultured.
Dark matter of the soul percolates to the surface.
Faith is pulverized into the skin of oblivion.
The meek will inherit the stain of a dead earth.
Stay steady and silently still,
Let me adore what your eyes do to my shivering quill,
I am led astray between my walls and your words,
Blinded by a cloud of these butterfly birds,
The weight of my vocabulary seem to have lost it’s gravity,
Relearning how to talk as I dream poetry,
Shall I be an ornament, anonymous to your broken heart?
As mine shifts in it’s grave hiding the pulverized parts,
I can glaze my skin in all the sonnets and balladry,
Let the sweetness of your tears drench me in melodious melancholy,
I do not deny the searing sea you long to purge,
Nor do I belong to the grief you submerge,
I am simply a fire set by your golden rays,
And we are but mere fools trying to outrun our own mazes.
Master Piece”
After my temple was pulverized I found myself weak
Sifting through my ruins
Salvaging the retrievable broken pieces
As I manage to stand to my feet
Placing them all in a stack
Collecting and putting them in a heavy sack
That Im attempting to carry relentlessly back up this slippery slope on my back
Now determined and ascending away from my darkest lowered levels
Im climbing into a brighter light
With revisions of greater sight
Avoiding all the hindering evil spirit devils that use to tempt me in my past life
Finally reaching the slippery slope peak
Through perseverance Ive ascended out of my grave into a new body and Im no longer weak
Death to life is what I speak
A greater daily intimate connection with GOD is what I greet
My main nourishment of assistance
That supports me to steadfastly stand firm on my feet
As I effortlessly assemble my broken pieces back together
Building from my past testimonial thesis
Equipt with the knowledge Ive obtained throughout my valley journey
Would also contribute to my display of my masterpiece completeness
I try to be humble
when it comes to evaluating poetry,
reminding myself, that my penned gems
may seem paste to others – addicted
to cuneiform glitter, my mining deeply within
our shared reality tunnels sometimes left mere holes
for better landscapers forced to fill in – the dirt
I scatter to the surface,
the rocks, thousands of years' old boulders
pulverized for dear expediency, justifying actions by
use of strong verbs and a lot of campie adjectives –
the new normal, I am told, nouns are fluid...
I guess, the rain piss, and the sun an insidious thirst
for those shunning government sanctioned kool-aid
to drink, like myself, finding shelter in the holes we
have dug for self and others, calling them natural
abodes, or bypass for an earth
desperately in need of new moral
arteries – Well...having belittled who
I am and what I do, for me, my pen yet lingers
a rod and staff of sorts, a pacifier habitually in search
of divine nipples....
Brittle and broken, the eucalyptus snaps loudest.
Pulverized by constant wear
of boots on dusty trails.
Debris of lifeless memories
detached from vital source,
scattered broken on apathetic earth,
pummeled by the passerby.
A lifetime of transforming sunlight obliterated
in the spiraling downward dance of fall,
to publicly mourn its own demise
at the foot of the future,
blooming green and leafy in the sun.
Life starts and bursts so young and eager.
And so the workhouse of servitude begins its tasks.
Fully ripened and heavy in the heat of maturity
then snapping, sailing in the autumnal chill.
Yet in death, oh my, the scent returns,
a citrusy, mint, rosemary-like eulogy.
Eucalyptus snaps the loudest in refrain
to a singular journey at its end.
A 55 gallon barrel
Full of pulverized
Oyster shells
Mixed with wood ash
And sawdust
And porklard
55 gallons of
Pulverized oyster
Shells.mixed
With basalt.
Alkalinity
Alkalinity
Mind the
Bushels bouiz
Mind the
Bushels!
As a molten drop of wax,
running down,
from a dying candle,
a single drop of tear,
left her eye’s boundary,
making its way down,
falling down without a sound,
and crashed!
The denouement of a sad life!
Like pulverized shards of glass,
it tore into the flesh,
causing deep haemorrhage,
somewhere inside the brain!
August.6.2022
Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
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