If I had my own well-oiled yellow submarine
I would keep it virginal, completely pristine
Every year I would give it a fresh coat of paint
Touching it up each time it looked a teensy bit faint
I would sing Beatle’s songs and travel around
Saving shipwrecked people in the water who almost drowned
I would learn to play a banjo and a piano too
Traveling from Alaska to Timbuktu
Hop aboard the Magic School Bus,
There's no time to make a fuss!
Shrinking down to tiny size,
Right before our very own eyes.
Zooming through a drop of rain,
Riding on a hurricane!
Sailing through the ocean deep,
Where the giant squarks play hide-
seek.
Off to space to touch the moon,
We will all be back by noon!
Learning science, having fun,
Buckle up for everyone.
All inhabitants of the world are immigrants
We came with nothing and we will leave with nothing
We are all passing by for a few happy or sad moments
We don’t get it: we are nothing and we own nothing.
When the bells ring, tell me what are you taking with you
When the roosters sing, which flotilla will protect you
The streets are full of dirty snow and clear ice, and the residents
Are protesting against injustice, hatred and countless rodents.
Trash bags cans are served as barricades, the streets are dirty and filthy
The corners and boulevards are on fire, gas canisters are smoking hot
The crowds are cursing and running back and forth. The melting pot
Is on fire. We dream of more peaceful days and nights in the country.
We probably belong to the first, second or third generation of a country
Yet, we forget that we are all immigrants of this world which nobody
Owns. We still don’t get it: we are nothing and we own nothing
Yet, we can make something out of nothing to be somebody or something.
Copyright © January 2026 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
The search
The Focus
The game
Strategy
Encounter
Ammunition ready
Enemy sight
Preparing attack
Torpedo hits target being the enemy
The enemy must submerge
Spotting the challenger on radar
The enemy has some damage, they won’t get far
The enemy attempts to fire their torpedo but misses the challenger
The challenger scores big
While the enemy trying to be hid
Radar discovers from the challenger being the enemy
Challenger fires their torpedo at the enemy
Ever so close
Suddenly the enemy’s submarine blew to bits
The challenger winning the score of 100
The enemy loses to Zero
Play station aim
Precision of the game
Victorious win.
The Beatles joined me in my yellow submarine Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da.
Journeying through the unknown Let It Be.
Hey Jude do you remember Yesterday?
Settling on the flavour of ice-cream called Strawberry Fields Forever.
the three L's to live by are Love, Laughter, Light.
So Love Me to, Love Me Do, Love Me true.
Challenger A and Enemy B
The search
The Focus
The game
Strategy of both
Encounter
Ammunition ready
Enemy in sight
Preparing attack
Torpedo sent from Challenger A
Hits target being the enemy B
Enemy B tries to counter attack
But misses Challenger A
Enemy B must submerge because of damage
Challenger A has Enemy B on close radar
Because of Enemy B structural, they won’t get far
Challenger A scores big of 80 points
Enemy B is trying to play hid
Radar from Enemy B is trying to destroy Challenger A, but fails
Radar from Challenger A discovers the enemy’s B weakness
Challenger A torpedo fired at enemy B
Ever so close
Target in sight
Suddenly enemy B submarine is blown to bits
Challenger A winning victorious score of 100
Enemy B loses to 0
Play station aim
Precision in maneuvering in the game.
*WE ALL LIVE IN A ‘NUT SUBMARINE’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a park where the oaks stretch tall,
four bushy-tailed lads heed the call.
With acorn guitars and a nut-shaker beat,
the Liverpudlians scamper on stage
John Lemontail, sharp-eyed and sly,
scribbles lyrics that question the sky:
*“Imagine no birdfeeders… it isn’t hard to do…”
Paul McNutty, the crooner so smooth,
sings *“Yesterday, my walnuts were gone—
Now I need a new place to carry on!”
George Harristripes, mystic and lean,
chants *“Within You, Without You, Walnut Supreme.”
He meditates deep ‘neath a mushroom cap’s shade.
Ringtail Starr, on a hollow log drum,
thumps out a rhythm: “Boom-chicka-bum!”
His cheeks bulge with pecans, a percussive stash.
They thrill on the Ed Sullivan stage,
*“Twist and Shout!” they harmonize causing quite a rage
leaving female squirrels with nutty desire.
If I were a submarine
I would jump out of the water
Checking to see if other ships
Were doing what they ought-er
Jules Verne would come back
And write lively stories about me
I would be deemed the sheriff
Of the Mediterranean Sea
Could you please repeat the question? I ask the recruiter.
Would you rather live in a submarine or a cave?
Can I say neither?
He shakes his head no.
He is a Marine; they have rules.
Panic attack starts
Tiny heart in my throat is jumping
I could live under the stars
Or on the deck of a ship or under a tree
I choose neither, I tell him.
He glares at me and sends me away.
Without picking up my application.
It is okay. I might be too old for the Marines anyway.
I am seventy-two
Rock bottom is leagues above my head
I'm doing things I never thought I'd have to everyday
But I've painted the exterior of my sinking vessel yellow
Because the color reminds me that I should smile anyway
deep sea
would be
new bub
on sub
fall down
long frown
nerves shot
gut knot
crush depth
last breath
light red
hope fed
want live
may give
can’t bear
no air
2/13/2022
A Strand (1073) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
inspired by the movie Black Sea
What if you need to go on a submarine
You're isolated for two or three months at sea
Don't tell the fishies
Pretend it's delicious
And you'll grow up to be a hero like me
pink coconut flu
jelly gale
flip elephant toe
We were down further in the sea
Than any submarine should be
So now we sit on the bottom
As they drop depth charges to show we weren’t forgotten
Then there was a large explosion
Whilst it rocked own submarine on the bottom
And that seemed so long ago
As we wait for the final blow
On top bobbing around in the swell
Was the salvage vessel doing the job so well
Having found the long lost submarine sunk
Past 75 years ago in a Japanese attacking funk.
© Paul Warren Poetry
I feel like I am in a submarine diving deeper and deeper into my soul
Each time I write my poetry I hear this sound of dive, dive, dive
Ever time I look though my para scope I see your poetry
You bring me hope that some day my torpedo will hit the target
When I surface above the water I can see the clear blue sky's
Hopefully my poetry can bring light to your eyes
As you load my sub with supply’s I hear your harmony
When I get back home from my mission writing my poetry
I feel this calm and peace within me when I create my poetry
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