You bombed, bombed
Now you airdrop aids
You killed, killed
God’s children
Pregnant moms
Innocent women
Poor toddlers
Weak boys and sick men
No reason
You poisoned water
You robbed, robbed
Now you want
To give sweet ice cream
To children
You are crazy
You are sick
How naughty
What a shame
How nauseating
The world is at war
This is sickening
Hypocrites
You are, yes you are
You bombed, bombed
You killed, killed
The world is at war
Humanitarian
Food, bombs and missiles.
Copyright © March 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Categories:
tear gas, allusion, bullying, discrimination, emotions,
Form: Haiku
Demonstrators in all riots
Aren’t at all full or half idiots:
Any fellow on Rich Diet
Most likely will remain quiet…
Idiots don’t fear Police Canister,
Whose contents are damned sinister.
Cops begin to consult Tear Gas
And vanish would even a lass;
For man fancies not Helpless Tear;
Once its source sights, to The Rear...
With Betrayers they remonstrate,
Against The Bizarre demonstrate:
Idiots don’t know when Auditors
Are Arranged Phony Monitors…
Your So-Called Idiots know the risks
In one playing too long corrupt disks:
Just The Accidental Discharge
That make rioters not in-charge;
Yet, those that voice it keep quiet:
You don’t Idiots meet in Riot.
Categories:
tear gas, abuse, confidence, conflict, confusion,
Form: Rhyme
Tear gas in their faces
Malicious militia’s hunt,
The people we depend upon
To bear the work we shun
The caravan has reached our gates
Their faces full of sadness
wishing to work our fields of lettuce
They’re greeted with our madness
They leave a dying state to pick
Our fruit and grapes with gladness
Caring for our golf course lawns
Our children, if they let us.
Like the trans Atlantic ship
bearing Jews, called the St. Lewis
If we turn them back, the gods
who know our names, will eschew us..
Categories:
tear gas, discrimination, god, jewish, patriotic,
Form: Carpe Diem
TEAR GAS TICKET
Gotta get home.
Comin' on night.
Notta time to roam.
Air tastin' fight.
Me, jump on a ride--
toward my town.
Tout, he says with pride--
‘Best bus around’
Next guy says to me
‘Drivers start strike--
We just have to see
What this ride’s like.’
Strikers kiss their stones
To Throw them straight.
'God please get me home--
It's gettin' on late.'
white gal slinks down
covers her face
she's just like me
needs a hidin' place
Strikers kiss their rocks.
Wounded bus jolts.
Me, I worry clocks
While street revolts.
Army trucks here--
Green pour out.
Driver looks scared,
So does tout.
Pop and pop again--
Know that sound.
Tear gas kiss eye
Tanks rumble ground.
Safe inside the bus--
white gal and me,
Stink kills all the fuss
And home goes we!
NOTE: tout (rhymes with out) is the bus conductor--his job is to hawk until bus is full
PLACE: Nairobi, Kenya 11/28/2012 during political unrest before elections
Categories:
tear gas, history, introspection, life, philosophy,
Form: Rhyme Royal