He sits at his stump-desk
as though the forest appointed him
keeper of its minor truths~
wire-rimmed glasses catching the low light,
plaid bowtie knotted with intention.
The wooden laptop waits,
open to whatever thought
the morning has not yet named.
Coffee steams beside the inkwell,
papers scattered like fallen leaves
he has already begun to translate.
Even the landline, absurd in its presence,
seems to understand
that calls here are rare
but always important.
The uncracked pecans rest beside his papers,
not symbolic, simply present~
a reminder that some work
starts with the smallest,
most ordinary labor of the hands.
He studies the papers strewn around him,
each marked with the faint trace
of earlier attempts at order.
For a moment he simply reads,
letting the work tell him
where to begin.
Cicadas drone their sun-drunk, tireless hymn
as July swelters, gold and overfull.
the driveway steams, the plastic buckets brim,
and heat, like dye, won't sit still or stay dull.
We cinch the cotton tight in twisted rings,
as if a knot could hold the blazing tide.
but sweat and color are unruly things:
both spread, both stain, both won't be denied.
Cerulean and crimson breach their line,
seep into one another, slow, unplanned,
and thicken into a hue with no design,
no name the rubber bands prepared it for.
The soda ash unlatches what was sealed;
the color doesn't sit, it moves in deep,
past cotton's threshold, till it's not revealed
but lived in, permanent as things we keep.
So heat unstitches winter's careful fold,
loosens what was buttoned, cinched, and pressed,
and turns the plain, repeated days to gold
the way a fever turns a body's rest.
Unwind the bands. Let August find the proof:
a swirl no ruler's hand could have designed,
the driveway's stain, the sun-bleached, faded roof
of summer, fixed now in the changed mind.
Come sit upon my deck, it is covered
with birdsong; bedecked in peace.
Come tarry; let me pour a warm beverage
of chocolate, tea or coffee. Listen
to the tweets, twitters, bird-sweets.
Come sit close, listen to nothing at all,
but the peace between two friends.
We will wait, we will watch for a.m. deer.
Quietly, we sit, side by side, as the sun
gives rise, reveling in God’s mercy -
day by day, with Summer bare feet,
sound mind, promise of newness.
Come sit, as friends do, then eventually,
their lips part with a passing remark.
Nothing cool or wise, just a soothing tone,
that lets the silent world know there’s life.
Quietude trains, it is painted with rain
and wildlife. Come, as the cool of morning,
touches a heart of flesh and pink pyjamas.
Come, as I sip my two-serving cup of peace
and quiet, whistles, hooting, no hollering.
There’s an occasional chirp, rarely a deer.
Here’s hoping. Yesterday, I spied one alone,
who hid behind a tree, momentarily, though
it did not see me. Come, I say, come. I watch.
We’d watch, or talk, or both. Perhaps, I’ve said
too much. Let’s listen, as my skin steams,
from my guzzled caffeine. Birds dance before me.
Sautéed psalms of silver strong
Believing in youth as maturity soothes
It is as it should be in my heart
No longer obsessed with less
Teal tears baptize and bless
Lust all that fuss dismissed
Creating a fuchsia foundation
For a clean heart of love so artistic
Kisses create passionate pulsing poetry
Amethyst heart fails to be imperfect
Yet victorious gloriously worth it
All the waiting praying forsaking
Of the wrong one’s led to
Love’s lavender ladder
Where superior intimacy awaits
Baking basking in indigo intimacy
Singing heart hymns
Turquoise touches melting them
From one note into one song
That dotes strokes sings steams
Hotter than July’s jade dreams
Purple passion new yet old fashion
Perfectly imperfect and ravishing
speaking so softly
he steams like cup green hot tea
big stick his haiku
Rain slips down the window quietly,
Morning unfurls in pale silver light.
Shadows stretch across the cool kitchen floor,
Coffee steams and memory stirs awake.
Birdsong drifts through the unopened blinds,
Dreams linger on the edge of thought.
Time tiptoes softly into the room,
Hope grows where silence breathes in peace.
A textbook opens, a blank page awaits,
The world outside begins its slow spin.
Warm ceramic rests between steady hands,
Guiding the focus to what lies ahead.
The rain slows down to a gentle mist,
As the day claims its quiet purpose.
Each hour unfolds like a promise kept,
A fresh beginning, ready to start.
the sky drapes itself in a quiet gray
Saturday’s plans soften at the window
shadows ripple on puddles, collecting secrets
each drop gathers on leaves and glass alike
children’s laughter muffled behind closed doors
the garden breathes deeper, earth awake
coffee steams beside an unread book
rain lingers, unhurried, inside and out
Morning light spills across the window pane,
Dust motes dance, swirling in silent golden air.
You rise with the urge to stretch beyond limits,
Each breath a reminder that time slips quietly.
The world waits for no one, its heartbeat relentless,
Footsteps echo in corridors of ease.
Clouds drift by, indifferent to ambitions,
The sun urges you forward, warms your resolve.
Yesterday’s worries dissolve in present focus,
Leaves shimmer, whispering to embrace change.
Coffee steams, scent filling the room with hope,
Conversations spark, laughter ripples like water.
Every moment is unwrapped, fragile and fleeting,
Paths diverge, beckoning with unknown promises.
Mist settles on grass, inviting contemplation,
You linger, the pulse of now vivid and wild.
Hands reach for meaning, sketching futures anew,
Faces glow with the courage to begin again.
The pulse of the city hums beneath your skin,
You step forward, alive to possibility.
I want to counter your offer with my Humm
Red wine kiss sweet twisted taste
In the rain Wave toward the booming thunder make me giggle
tasty treats are my way to plant the seeds
Under nights waves I crashed through the door
Life is my candy store
Lips grand heavy cream shakes lose my indigo steams
Hun I told you I am not without you bum bum
Lyrically I am soap for tasty eating
Make my home with sour candy
Live for this peace
Love Is my name I am the Game
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Boots crunch on gravel,
frost-kissed mesquite by the creek~
hot cider steams up.
Lone Star lights the oilfield towns;
Santa wears a bolo tie.
Nutty smells of processed beans
To bedchamber from cuisine
Awaken the sluggish veins
Enjoying the robust steams
With dawn's blush of healing beams
Start not your fresh day with loath
Relish the sips with its froth
Place: 1st
Don't be amazed by what I am about to say.
We all dream, like we all breathe. The day,
That we don't do so, is when we are no longer.
We're gone with the wind, done, and we are
Sunk, flunk in the quick sand; we died in the war.
We're nobody, deceased; and there's no future.
No more dreaming...
We all dream; nobody really knows where dreams
Come from. Dreams just happened, fled like steams,
Appeared and disappeared like the errant clouds.
We dream all night long, sometimes we remember
Them; most of the time we forget them. The crowds
Can't forget the star; like the chorus, and the master.
We all dream night and day, while standing or sitting.
We all dream while resting, but don't remember a thing.
We all dream of a better life, and a better spouse.
We all dream of a nicer car, and a bigger house.
We all dream of better days and a better tomorrow.
We dream of better health, more fun, joy, and less sorrow
And better everything and much better living.
Copyright © February 2016 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
SEPTEMBER WHISPERS
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
warmth retreats
rain taps the dry leaves
muddy boots
crisp air bites
school bus yellow bleeds through fog
cold coffee steams cold
On a Carnival Night
Maybe I mean to smoke
might not style and steams
legs of metal and four bearded
heart pumps blood and builds me
source code to see stomping grounds
stuff pulls me to an empty head
soul and chance to become realized
smart women on my ass about it
see stop is called never do I listen
cowboy faith and escaped memories turn
bulking brothers exit to drawn messages
door slams in heat meet true winners
body of smell and head tripped up or sideways
stand right in front but I don't see you
know I need to quit back goals and reality of for casted
fame to bridge together more good habits
now and then we repeat the same thoughts
to move to it or act housed and sad the grab
light up pull on the things and breath out again...
Winter storm.
Question marks
fall like snow
on shoulders bent
with seeking.
Hollow caverns
where certainty
once lived
echo chambers
of why.
Face pressed
against cold glass.
Fingertips trace
what cannot
be grasped.
Footsteps
soft on unseen paths.
Autumn leaves
crumble
in cupped palms.
Dreams, half-formed,
scatter
like dust
through fingers
that cannot hold.
Shell splits.
Light finds
the crack,
makes home
in broken space.
Seeds
in soil dark
with surrender.
Emptiness,
the deepest cup.
Time spirals.
Winter storm,
spring light
dancers
forever entwined.
Seasons turn.
Seeking becomes
soil.
Purpose
in the endless round.
Morning
breaks endless night.
Golden light
spills through spaces
carved by questions.
Rain-clear words
unfold.
Dark landscapes
reveal their faces.
Stumbling
was beauty.
Coffee steams
in morning cups.
Mystery
becomes
the ground we stand on.
Sacred spaces
hold golden light
poured by doubt's
careful carving.
We are
spiral dancers:
asking,
answered,
broken,
filled,
home.
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