A dictionary of tragedies, My next step deeper in vain than my last.
Whats the point of running, if I run in a circle back to my past.
Every new path I take, a new mistake I cant unmake,
A demon in all past lives, so now I burn myself at your stake.
I'll stop breathing, because you said you loved the colour blue,
I paint on and on until my fingers fall apart, but the red blood still shows through.
Happiness doesn't repel me, I suffer to hunt it away,
Without pain who am I? In the burning fire I find my way.
My agony is art that I'd rather die than stop making,
Ill patch myself up, but not so much that id stop breaking.
I walk into a storm, board a boat already drowning
I rip the open the stitches, Trying to salvage the sting.
Beauty doesn't come from within, it stems from my veins torn,
Scarlet, wine, maroon, in blood my prophecy scorned
All I want is peace and peace
In the west, in the east
In the north and the south
To close your mouth
When you're happy
To stop the misery
During the passage
We only need one page
To express our feelings and pain
All we need is PEACE. We die in vain
Every single day
Yes, we need to pray
More and more often
So we can go to heaven
When we die
This is no lie
We can smell a new year
Let's start a new prayer
All we want is to have PEACE
On top of the list
All we need is Universal World Peace
And to leave this earth in one piece
While having a glitzy feast
No drones, no bullets, no wars, no lies, no tragedies
No guns, no deadly bombs, no cannons and no bullies.
Copyright © December 2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
I have a friend who can take any and every story
Turn it into a scenario about her tragedies
If you mention lemonade, she has been poisoned by lemonade
Gripe about your mother? Hers made Mommy Dearest look kind.
Willow tree? One fell on her neck and she nearly died.
Lightning bugs? She was attacked by a swarm of them.
Hearts and flowers? No one ever sent her any.
No one cares about her.
No one takes care of her. No one loves her.
Even her own parents did not like her.
Her brother? He was cow dung.
Her sister? She stole from the family.
I am beginning to see a little pattern.
She lived in a castle, isolated,
Time flew slow, gruelling and full of hatred,
The crown lay broken on the floor,
Shattered, scattered, one piece no more.
Royal duties thrown away, Pirates life, plundering, stealing,
But not knowing the tight, suppressed feeling,
Of hatred to themselves,
Sadness, madness hidden on the shelves.
As they drown there worries in the sea,
Emotions revealed after tremendous tragedies,
Ship sunk at sea, forgotten princess lost again,
Unstable, betrayal, no strong knight to save them.
They drown in their guilt,
Mistakes from their pasts rebuilt,
No army to pull her out of the water,
Unknown memories sown; their love slaughtered.
Ravens,
A touch of black,
A deep voice it’s using,
It appears when there’s misfortune,
Lurking.
(Cinquain)
04,26,2023
t really is a tragedy
Always disappointed in life
And life always disappointed in me
This is no way to live
It is no way to be
By the time the dream is real
The dreamer is already gone
He is usually on their way to a job
It really is a tragedy
We are destined to repeat history,
for wars are nonstop; the killing goes on.
And though little girls get raped and murdered,
in life's game of chess, they are but a pawn.
In the surreal arena of war:
bloodthirst and anger get drawn out with skill.
While generals get labeled patriots
and heroes: hailed for the numbers they kill.
Young soldiers are fueled by bravado
juxtaposed with devastating despair.
While politicians honor aggression
with posthumous medals, the dead don't care.
Orphaned children must prostitute themselves
and scavenge for food, or else starve to death.
And the defeated always seek revenge;
cursing the enemy with every breath.
Personal tragedies ignite the hate
that burns inside hearts like a righteous flame.
And it'll not be doused by tears spilled, walking
past rows of tombstones, searching for a name.
William Shakespeare's plays, as most people know
have been around for four hundred years or so.
The Bard wrote plays that were comedies.
He also composed works that are tragedies.
"Twelfth Night" and "As You Like It" are in the former category.
"Romeo and Juliet" would be considered a tragedy.
Both kinds of plays were written with great quality.
"Hamlet", "Julius Caesar", "Othello" and "King Lear"
are what most folks prefer, it would appear.
This makes me want to ask: "what's going on here?"
Preference for tragedies I cannot see;
especially with all the shootings in the news recently.
Over "Macbeth", I like "Much Ado About Nothing".
In the end, all the characters dance and sing.
Two couples get married, and wedding bells ring.
Oh how wonderful it is to have a happy ending!
Nobody gets killed, and everything turns out nice.
Doesn't anybody here like to throw rice?
Inspired by Shakespeare's works and the 1960 hit song "Let's Think About Living" by the late Bob Luman.
There are many tragedies in George Floyd’s death
They are interconnected…intertwined…
From the brutal way that he was murdered
to the daughter he left behind.
The daughter he would carry on his back
Where, perched on his shoulders way up high
She would stretch her arms out wide
and feel like an airplane in the sky.
The tragedy that makes us sad
that makes us frustrated…makes us mad
Is how 6 year old Gianna
will now grow up without her dad.
Her family will, no doubt, be there to help her
and she’ll smile when she says his name
but growing up without him
her life will never be the same…
Because they never had the opportunity
to grow together or even say goodbye…
and he never had the chance
to teach his daughter how to fly.
We need to change this now…today!
We must do more than try….
So Gianna’s children will have a father
who can teach them how to fly.
I'm angry
so angry
The testosterone is killing me
it has problems no-one wants to see
I love the dominance
I love the sex
I hate my emotions,
so I repress
I'm angry
so angry
I can't talk
without them laughing
Why am I angry?
so angry,
not sure why I'm dying
slowly
I finally realize why I'm angry
so angry
I tried to impress myself
while flying
Tragedy spoke
Faith! My divine spirit!
I am thankful for your presence in life
In my sleepless nights of prayers and tears
I admonish myself to liberate my spiritual soul in ecstasy!
Love! Immortal love!
An unquenchable thirst of life!
Tristan and Iseult, Dante and Beatrice,
Those stories of those impeccable lovers!
Tristan was never my hero, for some reason,
it never occurred in my mind about him, on a serious note
I was drawn to Oedipus in some way, as tragedy is the best tale of life.
I never felt the longing of pouring words,
To reach the beloved, in utmost purity and warmth
After a long time, I felt, I was gazing through
The struggle and misfortune of the tragic life of Tristan.
And this gloomy night is glowing strong and sure
With a coffer of those treasured tragedies of lives!
Shiny pink scar tissue reflecting in the mirror
As the memory knocks screaming I'm here, I'm here
Crawling up my spine is the creature named Fear
So was my tragic sad childhood
Tears cascade down in remembrance of the pain
Pouring over my adolescence like black rain
Nothing I can say will ever adequately explain
So I remain the child, silent
The visions are my nemesis but how to forget
Lying in a locked metal box having to drink my sweat
Like this emaciated 5 year old was ever a threat
So I keep him safe inside me now
Hiding away so many days but a game it was not
Covering sounds, hands over mouth waiting to be caught
Pink scars shining down painting my skin in bird shot
So was my tragic sad childhood
For Contest "Rhyme and Refrain" 05/12/18
Hosted by: Broken Wings
I put all those thick papers under my table,
I rolled myself on the bed of treble.
I was stupidly lazy to do something better.
Telling myself to do those tiring works later.
I sing songs while jumping on my bed,
I am trying to be serious and remember what they said.
I easily get tired to my ever stern work,
I opened a fine wine while pulling this cork.
I always have a long bored weekend,
It feels like my life is in the nearest freak end.
I can’t even do something better right now,
I always grab my pen and write my feelings down.
My poems are result of my strongest emotion,
Pen and paper always get my attention.
I write poems and not tragedies,
Flawlessly incredible like those serious comedies.
A tribal kill;
after a blood sucking
ritual.
Do you have a problem ?
*
Hovering wasps
will land at will, on
tardy syntax
and misspelt masks.
*
The clouds
have wit and intelligence.
Will drop rains
on venoms.
Satish Verma
Oh, how he loved you
How he took your wants
And made them his needs
How he wrestled with hunger
Before it fed on you
How he wiped your tears
To make trees grow
And you were love’s willing slave.
Before your moon turned to honey
His hands met your face
As you grew cold, bleeding
Blaming yourself for his bulge
For how could he be the same man
Who showed kindness
Be the one who gave you a shiner
It can’t be, it must be your fault.
Love has long became your tragedy
As this is will always be the last time
He gets angry and beats you,
Leaves you laying on the floor defeated,
And you have to tell us you run into a door .
My dearest friend If I can only say this :
That love will never be an excuse
That those apologies are empty
And meaningless as what you called love
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