The King of Terrors comes not with
a sudden roar, but as a quiet shadow falling across the final door.
He sits upon no mortal throne,
A quiet shadow, vast and lone,
On silent, unreturning wing.
The pulse grows slow, the candle
dims,
The noisy world begins to fade,
A quiet stilled through all the limbs,
A quiet peace within the shade.
They call him dread, they call him
night,
The final end of earthly tears,
Yet past the gloom there waits the
light,
Beyond the king of all our fears.
Unfortunately, the Haitian people have everything to lose
They are very fragile, humiliated, vilified, and abused
My people have been suffering for years, for centuries
On the pavement, in the streets, in the harbor and on the high seas.
Our people, our brothers and sisters!
Their wicked leaders once in power, the liars
Change all plans to the detriment of the poor
Who are quickly forgotten in the filthy cans
Their spleen, sweat and blood flow are floating in the sewers
They are despised by hens,
By guinea fowls, by roosters, and all types of demons
It was yesterday that they were applauding like dummies,
Cheering, hoping to be awarded with crumbs and pennies.
These zealous brothers are on fire, they are now deaf and crazy
at the end. Even patience has borders and boundaries
Where greedy, covetous and corrupt officials behave like evil yeasts.
Copyright © January 23, 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
The sun demands the waking world look back,
But silver doors slide open in the dark;
An uncracked stone, a vessel kept intact,
Reveals a void where hidden planets arc.
From salted depths, the ancient spirits rise,
A bridge of silver scales across the blue,
While silent strangers watch from foreign skies,
And cosmic chaos turns to order true.
Upon the sand I stand without alarm,
A quiet anchor in the shifting night,
Enfolded in a grand, celestial charm,
To watch the hidden world ascend to light:
We are not lonely keepers of the stone;
The myths are real, and we are not alone.
Candide Diderot. '26
visions and thoughts from a lucid dream - 11/08/26...
Shall I compare thy fretful mind to night,
Where shadows feast upon thy wasted flame?
Cease pouring gold on worry's endless spite,
And turn that fire to belief's bright claim.
Let not the thief of doubt devour thy days,
Nor fear's cold hand choke hope's ascending breath;
Instead , with courage's hand, direct thy rays
To grow, to heal, to conquer mortal death.
For energy, that swift and sacred stream,
Doth choose the path where life's true river runs;
If bent on grief, it breeds a barren dream,
But aimed at self, it births triumphant suns.
Thus , waste no more thy power on needless care--
Believe, and watch thy spirit's kingdom flare.
Minichu poem
Based off The Mirror and the Mist
Old
Shell,
Cold
Spell.
No
More,
Open
Door.
Wild
Gaze,
Deep
Maze.
Just
Soul,
Now
Whole.
Manchu poetry
In the silence of the firs, I gather what remains,
The fragments of a memory, the loosening of chains.
I look at the reflection, but the eyes are not my own,
A shadow in the mirror of a self I've outgrown.
The autumn air is cooling, the summer's green has fled,
A transition in the seasons for the words I haven't said.
The "female asterisk" is a weight I cannot bear,
A heavy skirt I carry, but no longer want to wear.
I am an unstoppable storm, a force of grace and fury,
Escaping from the prying eyes and the world's quiet jury.
I am not a project to fix, nor a role to be played,
But a traveler in the mist, where the old versions fade.
In the vast open sky, I find a different light,
Walking through the shadows to the dawn after night.
I am "both me and mystery," a truth I finally see,
Lost to the world I knew, but found in being me.
From a rotund sun-hued idol spill commands both warped and wild
And armies rise from echoes of a tantrum thrown by a child
From Makhaleng’s stone, from Thames’ steady beat,
A single rhythm stirs, a pulse grows strong—
O Sisters of the Soil and Sisters of the Street,
Your hour is come to dismantle ancient wrong.
We know the weight: the gourd, the grinding stone,
The quiet ledger balanced late alone,
The branded scars empires refuse to own.
Shall we be silent while the market’s hand
Sells childhood short and plunders every shore?
While truth is buried in the poisoned sand
And justice knocks upon a bolted door?
No. Let the kgotla’s wisdom find the air,
Let Parliament’s cold vault with echoes ring—
Two streams now rising in a single dare
To strip the armour from the faltering king.
So blend the strength—the sereto and the sonnet’s fire,
The drummer’s call, the bell from Tower’s height.
Weave from two strengths one unassailable choir
To drag this shivering century to light.
Let every cry for right, an anthem be,
A towering Baobab, a Sovereign Tree.
Stubborn skies submit;
since senses sensed space,
shines steadily strong.
Soft sparkles stray ~
sometimes slowly.
Still spread still—
so sovereign,
so special.
Whether the Indigenous People,
robed in leathers, head dressed in feathers,
who had their own sovereign nations,
wanted it or not,
June 2nd 1924,
U.S. President Calvin Coolidge
condescendingly signed the Snyder Act,
a.k.a., the Indian Citizenship Act, into law,
thereby conferring American citizenship
on American Indians.
He had it backwards,
it was no more than an affront
as, whether the Indigenous People
wanted them or not,
it was American Indians who,
altho' they made no claim to own Mother Earth,
should have conferred American citizenship
on the Paleface People,
who were mere trespassers on tribal territory.
And Woody Guthrie
(1912 – 1967),
another white man,
was not referring
to Native Americans
when he wrote,
'This land is your land.'
Thy grace I see of which I spurned
An awful merit I had earned
And my poor soul to thee unturned
And left behind frail bridges burned
Thy pardoning love to me have learned
My desolated heart sojourned
For I thy death have not discerned
My blinded eyes by tears unchurned
T'is then of sin that I had mourned
And found my heart of self dethroned
That which I had usurped, returned
And paid the price, by friends suborned
In want of such, my state I mourned
With darkened visage, they had scorned
Since I of late my faith reformed
Yet all my life this truth I yearned
To this divine ambition, I had sworn
May I thy sovereign grace adorn
Sovereign, spectral,
Edible for medicine,
Flower with power.
May 27 Praises to God Bible Meditations Based on Esther 1-3
Key Verse – Esther 1:4 When he shewed the riches of his glorious kingdom and the honour of his excellent majesty many days, even an hundred and fourscore days.
PRAISE BE TO GOD WHO IS SOVEREIGN
OVER ANY HUMAN RULER OF GLORIOUS KINGDOM
Praise be to God Who is sovereign over any human ruler
of glorious kingdom since He alone can:
Redeem souls eternally
Rejuvenate service earnestly
Refresh spirituality enthusiastically
Replenish sustenance everyday
Respond to supplications eagerly
Esther 2:3 Praise be to the Lord
for purifying us while we are:
Fighting for His godly cause
Following His governing call
Fulfilling His great charges
Focusing on His guiding commands
Feasting in His gracious compassion
Esther 3:1 Praise be to the Saviour
for promoting us toward:
Perfection of our behaviour
Protection along His Bible-brace
Praise for His blessings
Power in building-up
Presentation of our best. Amen!
May 27, 2024
Though she isn’t just a butterfly
She’s been a monarch of the sky
Wings, so gentle, often impress
Like love from above, she does bless
Like the ruler she’s always stood
Lovely and kind, reigning with good
She knows affection won’t repress
Like love from above, she does bless
Matriarch of hope, joy and peace
Just like the queen of scenic Greece
Her duties, much, I must confess
Like love from above, she does bless
Sovereign and sure, she is a light
Shining like the sun, kind and bright
Friendship is found in her caress
Like love from above, she does bless
Empress of her time, filled with grace
Sincere, her promise an embrace
She is known for her faithfulness
Like love from above, she does bless
Soaring sovereign, white-crowned bird,
Shanghaied silently without a word.
Strong feathers molted one-by-one.
Pinfeather plumed on bare skin.
Wet market ready.
3/19/2023
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