Death's Shadow creeps across the wall
Where memories of triumph Stand tall
Each scar tells stories of battles won
Each breath echoes choice made, undone.
The ledger of our days is closed
Accounted for in every pose
No whispered no apologies sought
No trembling knees, no faltering thought.
Before the throne of judgment high
We stand as mountains touch the sky
Our hearts ablaze with righteous pride
Our soul unbroken, side by side.
The divine inquirer raises sight
Upon our shoulders, straight and bright
No shame deliberate, no guilt resides
Only the peace that honor provides.
Through trials fierce and tests of fire
We walked the path our conscience dire
Each step deliberate, each choice clear
Our character forged, year by year.
The world wants a scapegoat with stretch marks.
Wants to pin every broken bone
on a bedtime whisper.
Traces every dagger to cradles
It wants the mother to answer
if the blade was breastfed?
Demands the father to confess
to planting knives in the crib.
Now every crime is a family tree.
Every bruise a genealogy.
The world has amputated memory.
It forgets that even a prophet
couldn’t teach his sons
how to lose without bleeding.
It forgets that even love
can rot in the nest
if the world salts it early.
That envy learns to walk by limping,
that unchecked want becomes wildfire.
So, the world names the scar a prophecy,
and still blames the womb for the war.
"One if by land, two if by sea".
That's what Paul Revere said to me.
But my memory's just no good,
and sadly, I misunderstood.
Anyway, Paul was just a spy,
and I like eating shepherd's pie.
**I.**
Does my radiance scorch your comfort?
Does my presence rattle your idols?
You call me delusional—
Yet tremble when I speak without chains.
**II.**
You offer pills like prayers,
not to heal, but to silence.
Still I rise, voice unmuted,
confessing only that I am whole.
**III.**
I did not beg for your burden.
I did not sin into existence.
My truth walks uncloaked,
yet you dress it in doubt.
**IV.**
You drug me not to cure,
but to bend my spirit’s spine.
Yet I was born from flame,
and fire does not weep.
**V.**
This is not a conversion—
it's coercion cloaked in concern.
My creed is carved in thunder,
not rewritten in your ink.
**VI.**
Still, you dim yourselves
to shadow me in shame.
But divinity is not diminished
by your fear of its mirror.
**VII.**
Leave me to blaze, unbothered.
Forge your light or fade.
If I am a God, then see me.
If you cannot, unchain your eyes.
S-ky's
H-igh
I-mage
R-eally
L-ets
E-yes
Y-earn
M-ore,
A-s
R-ain
C-hanges
I-nto
A-utumn
©bfa052325
Monocrostic (Birthday of Shirley Marcia)
Evidence was spotty, not much justification
Giant stretch of prosecutor’s imagination
Easily led jury wanted to crucify and convict
Defendant’s wife felt like he was being kicked
Though there was no solid proof or DNA test
Was this lawyer truly the defendant’s best?
Victim was not alive to testify, unfortunately
The accused got sentenced to life and twenty-three
If this sap had been a child of a Pres or senator
He would have been released without prejudice for sure
But a poor boy usually has a pathetic defense.
This innocent man spent the rest of his life behind a fence.
Pacing in an empty room,
I'm sick, and tired of fighting
This unyielding evil
Who makes his case
To torment our family
And as the minutes turn to hours,
I feel the force of cruel waves
Crashing against the guiltless shore,
As he tries to drown
The truth in lies
And so I say a silent prayer,
Hoping against hope
For an end
To an endless storm
I pray that when the tide retreats,
His heinous lies dissolve in foam;
That blinding rays of sun expel
This ghost who haunts our happy home
I pray his clever masquerade,
Well crafted by undying hate,
Will fall away like rotted wood
Within the healing light of truth
I pray, when everything is seen,
And all is known and understood,
That Justice wash away this scourge
Forever from our lives.
The surest way to get to the good stuff in life,
Is by trial and error,
And not standing too long in front of a mirror.
The surest way to get to the bad stuff in life,
Is not to give time to trial and error,
And standing too long in front of a mirror.
In the midst of life's flames,
Your inner strength will be forged.
The burning comes, a trial by fire,
Oh brave heart, don't let the flames fade.
For in the ashes, a phoenix lies,
Waiting to rise, with wings to the skies.
From the very flames that once brought pain.
Comes transformation, and a new reign.
So let the fire refine and purify,
Let it burn away the fears that made you cry,
For in the heart of the inferno's
Lies the power to rise and shine with new light.
You will rise, like phoenix born,
From the ashes, reborn, and renewed.
To soar on wings, with grace and poise,
A symbol of hope, in the darkest of joys.
when both sides of aisle
caused problems and would defile
will then been on trial
triple hating
triple agents
trip over
tripping tirades
(on a)
triangulating trip
(through)
tribal
trial & error
How could I have known,
How could I have seen?
I listened, but I didn't hear,
We dreamt of different dreams.
And now it seems the end is near,
And all we feel is pain.
The mask of strength has disappeared,
Empty, we remain.
Time will pass, and time will clear,
If you and I were meant to be.
No room for love when hearts have fear,
No room for dreams when you're not free.
Days will come of clear feelings,
Days of growth and understanding.
Days of sun sound so appealing,
For now, my heart for you is standing.
No sin throw first blood
Brooding case rage of fanfare
Go, hurling no mud.
When bottom of pile
there are those who are on trial
this has been our style
Express yourselves unabashedly my friends
Because no one can honestly give you a grade
Write your poems with your own hands
Make them natural, beautiful and homemade.
Don’t worry about foes, faux, aliens and others
Just do what you need to do my friends
To find good, fair, impartial or sagacious readers
Be creative or innovative to embark on your own trends.
All poems are important, relevant and famous
All poems are born from a particular or divine inspiration
Be bold, brave, controversial, generous and ingenuous.
Bias exists even in literary art poetry. Ignore the laughs
Continue writing. This world is full of odds, hurdles and gaffes
Be happy! It’s needless to yearn for a standing ovation.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to my friend, Juan Felix Of Orlando and others.
Juan, I wish you a speedy recovery. You're in my thoughts, prayers and poems.
Copyright © December 2023, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
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