A Pope
Brings forth hope
But a kaiser
Spews hate and horror
A Pope
Spreads peace
In the north, south, west and east
But a prideful mope like a squalid dope
Spits horrors and terrors
And starts fights and wars
A peaceful person de-escalates
But a belligerent bully booms, inflates
And explodes like a lost missile
Which acts like a cussed imbecile
A real leader
Never follows an oppressor
Yet a follower is a master loser
Who lies about everything
Even when the sun is shining
A Pope
Offers love and hope
But a loser displays no compassion
No sympathy and no comprehension.
Copyright © April 2016 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
These spray-can scrawls on public walls
Express my psychic rage with rude intent.
My tags provoke a thoughtful pause
In much the same way Banksy does,
With cold irony and unrepentant guile.
My way of bombing bubble style
Might even tease a tourist’s smile.
But my darker themes paint silent screams:
Is it public?
Is it street?
Is it urban?
Is it commercial?
And then let’s consider my masterwork mural,
A brutally honest and life-like self-portrait,
A glimpse of me in all my squalid bohemian splendor,
Nothing but pavement crack and tenement dysfunction.
Too hard-edge for primetime, you say?
Well, I didn’t get a face like this
By staying out of trouble.
So there!
Reflection in a Phial
I look at my hands, they are as brown as a farmer`s, this pleases me,
although I have no land to plough, a tractor or a mule, or
a workman`s sturdy hand; all socialists should have hands that
have harvested potatoes or carrots.
I flex the muscles in my upper arms and see a faint movement
like a mouse moving under thawing spring snow.
Glorious vanity, I used to do a hundred press-ups a day in the hope
of looking intense and furious. I think of sex sadly. I wasn`t any good
at it. After the act, I looked for a book to read.
The squalid side of life has always mystified me. Why does
a person choose a path that leads to moral disgrace and ruin?
I have always been lazy; strenuous effort will not touch me,
but I would like to pull up a few more carrots.
My life feels like an undetached magnet.
I do run, yet I recoil and reset.
It's like addiction with no use of drugs,
Or a trap made by the users' warm hugs.
My dear Owner! Release me from this cage.
For I am sealed inside my own bondage.
Deliver me! Lift me up from this place
Of squalid magnets that do not efface.
In God’s own humane world time often comes
when life is mutilated by despicable instincts,
people plunge in cesspool of vice and sin.
Dislodged empathy finds its way astray in chaos
as morality is defaced by harsh intolerance
and kinship disintegrates within abhorrence.
In the cramped squalid suffocating state
the system of severe supremacy emerges,
holds the reins of rigid governance
when even the thoughts are imprisoned.
Enwrapped within collapsed wings of caged birds,
the confined hearts crumble quietly
in the abyss of controlled isolation.
For the helpless captured by dreamless darkness
where even the moon must be permitted to shine,
thin streaks of self-respect get smothered
like the rays of hope entwined with sparks of dissent,
extinguished by the strict surveillance of fear
in the situation of silent submission.
Deprived of the draft of ethical air,
destroying the tenets of human values,
people with blank faces under watchful eyes
walk as shadows of nonentity with muted souls,
trying to train their minds what not to believe,
when even the thoughts are imprisoned
as freedom becomes a memory.
The wheels of the chaotic times churn for them
the sands of crushed dreams in the desert of desiccated life,
settling frenzied on the unstratified fragile structure
of the disorganized dunes of desolate existence.
The sequestered moments of distressed awareness,
drift the dust of disarray to the foyer of failed being.
The truth of trustful conviction sinks under suffering
made with mirage on the ruffled ripples of disorder.
In homeless languished life’s impoverished landscape,
sorrow-paved avenue contours convoluted uncertainty,
winds to nowhere at the fading fringe of the time future,
beyond the befuddled perception of toiling time present.
With the faceless faces smeared by the shadows of scorn
they walk on slimy Kensington Avenue of cardinal crime.
Life trampled by insolent wavering footsteps in journey
under the stupor of opoids that never ends their pain.
They seek the benevolence of the society to help them
in their search for the lighted path away from squalid environs
for their suffering souls to discern the abode of empathy,
as they strive to find the way out of the dead end avenue.
Cantankerous cancers found my blood letting from the slit,
Is it avarice of me to desire the love begetting of Lazarus?
Enjoying life cadaverous like forgetting the want to live,
Is it glamorous for me to die while God desires I live?
Forgo the solid ground,
My feet dangled off the edge of a jagged cliff.
I fought the howl of squalid sin,
I caught the wind sending back the fire of my padded spliff.
Below I spotted a town,
My feet angled to squish what I saw down to the earth’s crusty skin.
Got calls asking where I’ve been.
Like,
“Just,
Just been wondering.”
Yeah yeah.
Yeah,
I guess you’ve just been wondering?
Could’ve made it better before I made it end,
Would’ve,
Should’ve,
But I wouldn’t have liked to make amends.
A couple foot of rope set up to further suspend,
Just to be an easy way out for whoever he is?
I misunderstood a friend on what is perpetuity,
I just want to live forever,
Instead I pretend to breathe on incongruity.
And as I descend upon,
I felt alive again when I grew dizzy.
I felt alive,
In my life,
I felt alive as I grew dizzy.
Weary Is My Mind
I promise, I swear, I will never, I will always
That blaring sentiment of a pattering ghost that I detest
Among the empty hollowing of her mouth and eyelids
There lies darkness deep and unending that I fell into once,
never again.
Baffled and naked, afraid and convinced I was nearing my hearse
She runs screaming, yelping in madness as her body falls dead
Once I thought I knew, but as fate would incline
The truth would be only a weapon and shield–vulnerable. . .
never again.
The prating sound squawks as death marks before her squalid breathy voice
Her pupils' contract like a viper’s hint at prey, pouncing, and then devouring
The blood is left spattering and spurting among my grey, hollow walls
Only her wedded can clean out the muck as I have given up,
never again.
Coiling around me with her slippery scales, the precipice of my demise
The sword and the shield once though best, were only cardboard copies
My soul is shattered, and my will is blank, giving into her sweet, nectary venom
The forefront of my being is gone. . . crushed under a blanket of rue
For Weary Is My Mind
Past, Present, Future
By: Miracle Man
9/29/2024
I cast an eye at his squalid plate called past,
recalling that his same plate was previously called present.
I mused if gourmet meals might grace this plates future?
pretension
i feel out of my depth
i see your eyes
yet i am deluded
I thought I were the mast
but now I lay squalid
Yet I am a witness
to your elective behaviour
will you ever change
I tried to ask myself
but you slandered me
Written: September 07, 2023
______________________________________________________________
I can't sleep at night, so I stay alive.
I am awake, and I search and strive.
I'm no warrior, just a bumbling scrambler.
Restless nights render me a rambler.
I crave a paladin, a light to guide my way.
Yet, gloom reigns, and all hope wanes away.
Into a cloud of tedium and torpor of a tongue.
I long for silence, for optimism to be wrung.
Capsized in an abyss of frustration,
For solace, a catalyst in this desolation.
My gloom clings to such a symbiote spawn.
Snarled metastatic root quotum-dot drawn.
Hush, my tired soul, and let illusions fade.
In this darkness, all that is a masquerade.
Seek not the light, for it is only a gleam.
Rather, apply the recess to deem it a dream.
In the gloom, where shadows dance and play.
It is a quiet oasis where anxiety withers away.
I need faith, resilience, and perseverance.
To explore this squalid earth sans inherence.
“Fathomless faith gets divine blessings to rise from the entrapping evil marsh” – Quote by Poet
On squalid quicksand you walked obsessed and weary,
gripped by the demons of sin as vicious as they could be,
sank in the destined depth of abhorrent abyss of bane,
wrapped within the despicable layers of livid disdain.
The lancet of immorality lacerated the ethical essence,
you had long tried in vain to protect within sane sense.
The grave for the soul slain by the stab of sordid sin,
you had dug contrite in the ground of anguish within.
As divine awareness ignited the candle of hope in you,
you perceived revived the conscience got kindled anew,
and lighted up the dark alley of introspection inherent,
you reached the self-illumined horizon of discernment.
With your being cleansed of the depraved turpitude slime
by the allusion of self-absorbed sense of sagacity prime,
at the lit fringe of life you see the shadow of the time still
when you were entrapped within the quagmire of evil.
The sun sank on the transit by and by
Took away the colors of the chameleon sky,
The masked face of clever craft on display
Enticed me to walk on the dark garden pathway.
The fluid dreams the sinister night sips
I didn’t hear the footfall of evil as it creeps
The devious intent prowled to devour
As the facade dissolved in the dark hour.
In the desolate domain of fright feral
On the gloomy ground under the sky dismal
You crept as the creature of sordid night
The haunting me you stalked out of sight.
You slithered from wilderness as nightrider
Unmasked, you morphed into a brute creature
On the hunt the unsuspecting predator keen
You lurked as the sinister sly animal of sin.
With the arcane acumen of the trickster devil
You crawled as squalid silhouette of menace evil
Stealthily into my being ingesting the essence prime
Consumed from my soul the ambrosia sublime.
_____________
March 29, 2023
For A Brian Strand Premiere No 1204
We, the creatures, fused from stardust
soldered with the fires of hell,
crawling on our squalid bellies
from the froth of ocean's swell—
We, who wield supreme dominion
over land and sea and sky,
creatures with the wings of angels,
unaware that we can fly—
From the gutter in an alley
to the noblest castle wall,
every creature holds the secret,
though we have forgotten all.
Strains of music, soft, exquisite,
shimmer from the creature's hand,
drifting over cries of anguish,
centuries of lash and brand.
Stinking skins, the creatures' bodies,
base and mortal, house the beast.
Yet, within, the spark of heaven
kindles flames among the least.
Nature rules the creatures' habit,
spinning cosmos feeds the heart.
Which will navigate the journey
every creature's course must chart?
Time awaits the final verdict,
earth and oceans hold their breath
as the creatures swirl and stumble
toward the light or to their death.
We are grand, sublime, inspired,
hateful, foul, depraved and flawed—
still, the eyes of We the creatures
glimmer from the face of God.
Midsummer vehemence stows heat for later
Solar film ominously watch hot arc
Tilt tracks trajectory, power cater
Stashes post sizzle to supply light dark
Socket slit subservient incubates
Arrow of assurance inserts cable
Voltage their pairing impressive creates
Self derived to electric capable
Autonomy admonished with a switch
Loins bearing in luxury breed evil
Informed about squalid impoverished
Ignore affluent vantage for reprieval
Overloaded homes groan under panels
Tainted rich roads tune rigid channels
16th January
Wealth rotten wattage
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