Vents Poems

rising

we rise
although gravity and time 
may hold us in the cupping 
of their hands
we rise in a plethora of dreams
escaping above the vents
of circumstance
we rise into the tent
of all embracing;
and as if, and but, and still 
we rise into each contemplation
new as the reckoning
of togetherness
draws us to the breath
of our existence;
rising, always rising
to meet the air of every day
to stay through every 
active play and to meet
what will become.
the beauty of this world so much, 
that I must blink with astonishment
to hold back tears.
If I could not blink I fear, 
sixty per cent of who I am, 
would leave me, in abject eagerness,
to kiss the earth.

Breath

Breath

For a taste of 
my active pond breath whisper 
anything up at 
your air vents.

Four years

I know you are sensitive,
not sentimental,
but it has been four years,
that's one thousand 
four hundred and sixty one days,
since enlightened tides kissed 
those island shores.

My soul was wrapped in worn ribbons,
mourning my misplaced muse
and you were a whispering rose,
wilting at the slightest touch.

Bleeding 3am vents,
with conflicting vowels and consonants,
the sirens of your ink screamed 
for a silent troubadour to
compose cathartic bloodstreams -
but life is not as pretty as petals and poetry.

A mistress to moonlight,
I found you crying at an apathetic moon,
so I cracked open your volcanic cocoon,
to open your eyes to cinnamon 
and persimmon horizons -
now you float like an empyrean butterfly.

I hope you soar forever and know
I could have written for you,
as many verses as you have seen stars,
but we cannot cultivate in fields of unfairness,
where only dead blooms now decompose,
as you keep ignoring Cupid's cries. 

Despite contradicting crossroads,
my heart is deep rooted 
in wayfarer's wisdom,
knowing when there are no more beats -
you will honour me with a 
requiem for an artist.

Simple Musings

Let’s Talk About The Picturesque Charm Of Autumn

Let's talk about the picturesque beauty of autumn
Of the chiming bells of the Angelus
Of the flowers once pretty and strong, on the lawn
Oh! Autumn, you are a very superb season!

Let's talk about the petals and sepals fallen from the sky
Where the trees are stunned and almost undressed
And the astonished birds which have fallen from the clouds
Oh! Autumn, I love your wondrous and natural smile.

The season of autumn has a sensational scene
A warm and comfortable freshness and a solemn tone
It is the gold of the evening that falls all day long.

It’s the multi-colored leaves and flowers on the vents
Oh! Autumn, you give us much to imagine
And show us how to mimic mystic and golden moments.

Copyright © October 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.

Fireplace

An edifice built in gray stone
by careful hands that are long dead,
the mortar gray from decades known,
insides soot-stained from blazes red.
Mantle stone broad across the top,
sporting nick-knacks and curios,
small nails stick out, from them will drop
the stockings, come the Christmas snow.
Long vents draw air the blaze will warm,
then force out to heat half the house,
to give respite when raging storms
knock the furnace’s power out.
The crackle inside beats back the gloom,
this fireplace makes the whole room.

Her taints

She is with some taints:
Her nose has some scents;
Coming from some paints,
Her neck has some dents;
Shown by hidden vents,
But she looks like saints.

A SAINT WITH A TAINT

For real love, she eagerly waits,
All she could get were several hates,
Her lips even have many open gates,
That deliberately close lates,
Her eyes have several inbuilt baits,
That still could not find her good mates.
She is actually hell-bent,
That it's true love she really meant,
Even if it's just for a rent,
At least love will be in her tent,
Her beauty needs no lick of paint,
But the voice of love is still faint.
For long she has remained a chaste,
Her face, with a nice beauty paste,
Yet real love, she still wait to taste,
And old age knocks her doors in haste,
She fears fallen for a love heist.
Since there's no true love near her sight.
She's one of the heavenly saints,
Tho' covered with several bad taints:
Her neck is with several tiny dents;
Many of 'em were seen thro' many vents,
And in her heart she has a pain,
That, she will have to forever feign.

Tele health hackers

1-934 on license plates 
Ciro Gargano 
obsession to my life 
actually hacking into 
tele health calls hidden 
cameras in ceiling fans 
ac vents smoke detectors 
sadly arson murder of 9 
people Ciro Gargano 
12-3-1934 unauthorised 
access to classified data 
documents being 
exploited over unseen 
mafia wire taps exploiting 
disabled Americans 
victimization discrimination 
terrorist threats back 
off scum blackmail 
returned to sender
America be vigilant 
when using tele health 
at home signal fail camera 
freeze you’re hack your 
conversation is being
played over mafia 
criminal groups 
hacking into disabled 
persons disabled families 
information cyberattack 
retrieving data exploited 
disabled veterans military 
service members and 
their families thanks for the 
veterans administration 
for alerting my family
this has caused emotional 
stress anyone in crisis 
please reach out awareness 
saves lives god bless America

The Empty Room

One may think the walls must be tired of staring
at one another in that empty room.
its total emptiness has a void unique,
like silent remains of a memory lost,
a love that once was but now gone,
voice of a child that called to mother,
that relationship now is photo in an album.
bright light fills it from glass vents all around,
bouncing from wall to wall on to the floor,
like it is searching the occupants of past.
That room reminds me of my own heart,
that still glows with love, beats of a fervour
of a distant vision, a smile, a gesture and 
a laugh receding into timeless vastness!
Please, leave this room empty.
Its own memories are its charms!
hang no pictures, or scribble a thought 
on the walls. The faded paints are imprints
of hearts that once touched them,
that smudge is a kiss that she once left
on my lips. 
Still so fresh!

Sewer drains

steam rises from vents 
the streets haze like fog machines 
at a rocket concert

Ice On Fire

As in crystal methamphetamine, the mind becomes cold.
Anxiety, paranoia, and schizophrenia
Creep in, like snakes and deathstalker scorpions, uncontrolled
Are bones, veins, flesh, and blood affected by asthenia?

The body begs for calm composure; the moody mind mulls.
Midst fires of optimism, the ice of pessimism melts.
Restlessness and rebelliousness resemble spineless skulls 
Vandalism of vindictiveness vitiates vague vents

The feeling of freedom to fly and fervently flutter
Fill and flow flawlessly, like fine floral fluorescence.
Mild melodies of memories musically mutter
Constant conscious conscience has come to be the quintessence.

When the ice of hateful, heinous, hideous hurdles heaps
May passions of compassion flare from the depths of the deeps!

The M - A - R - K

F
E
A
R
...  has a phantom voice
clinging flesh tethered bones
fumbling
 - yardage
uncatchable
losing ground
ephemeral scope
a leathered novelty
of jumbling alphabets
despairing formation
a semblance 
of hope
measured
a bit
a gram
a whiff of air 
... a seeker of the 
most desperate kind
?
... who is this mysterious 
forbidder of my s
                      o
                     u
                    l.
?
... who is this formidable monstrosity
that consistently [b][l][o][c][k][s]
? 
... who p>re=vents eventual re=solve and 
the gift of a PeAcEfUl m
                                 i
                                  n
                                   d!
?
W  H  O
?
W    H    O
?
W        H        O
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m
e
...

Komorebi Tourist in Paradise

Tradewinds strummed the cocoa nutter's palm fingers
the sun crept down to its packed trunk
overburdened routes tangled tunnels underground
the sun snuck below through the subtropic shaft 
a sunny chamber secrets rays gaping droplets 
friendly fronds fingering the sun's gaps as palms' breadth widen
cavernous collapses as sunlight escapes
shadows were the only victims that were claimed
the noontime sun dims over paradise
solar eclipse is a harbinger
light dims life ominously
the betrayed-winds cease
palms fronds dangling
eclipse ends the sun's suspend
eve befriends supine palms read
groves of palms with their trunks all packed
air express vents

An Embarrassing Moment

a neighbour takes umbrage
at his own narrowness 
then vents rage
on us who so witnessed 
momentary flicker of flame

there is no judgment and yet
the aspect that so clings
assumes ownership
quite delusional of course 
and therein lies the dilemma 

we opt to be still
fanning not the fire

In Our Image

Let us make man in Our Image
and God responded, then we must
make him strong and healthy, respectful
and kind, blind to color that is not
of the fields and sky, let not his
own varied pigments, be a mote in
his own multi dimensional eye -- 
not a jealousy of another need make
him sigh...love enough to keep him
high -- let us give him a mind to reason,
God said, mindful of all seasons
of glorious changes, textures and
temps – garments or lack of can be
his warmth and vents – make his
mind only pleasing – not a blossom
should cause his sneezing, nor dust
should phlegm and disgust – let us
give him Free Will, and God said,
Hmm...

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