The vestiges of slavery methodically remain.
Blacks are being killed in broad daylight daily.
Blacks are discriminating against systematically.
Systemic racism is a cancer with a behemothic pain.
The symbols of slavery refuse to evanesce like
A shameful cloud lazily hovering over our head.
There is too much hypocrisy around the sad bed,
And too many racist tail-waggers are ready to attack.
Too many unwell uncle toms are not emancipated.
This is still a highly peculiar world. People don't mean
What they mean and many impostors can't be trusted.
The struggle must continue. Fights are never clean.
Backstabbing is prevalent. The injustice is unbearable.
Life is precious and priceless and yet hope is inevitable.
Copyright © June 2020, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Cooled off to take a sip; two.
Greedily waking up; fading
of the whole cup - butterflies,
trees, flowers; drips touching
the final vestiges of Antigua.
Fear ascended into the canopy,
slid along the line; work gloves,
gripping. Incomplete instructions,
lack of common sense, slowed
me down, with my feet off
the ground. Grounds remind me,
in this creamy, courage cup
to not give up, keep going with
support. I had to leap, to land
but otherwise I had support.
She, too, had courage, sans
my tears, my heart-pounding,
insane fear of flying; her words fly;
she’s shorter than I. She lands
on her feet. I’m behind. My friend -
a curious word; we shared a towel,
kissed dolphins; I hit her in the head
with a pingpong paddle (playing
doubles). Too close, these icons
of finance (we sailed upon a -ship
with). Friendship ebbs and flows.
You sea, you don’t need to pay.
Breach causes a realization. Suck-
cession of time and space, happy
place, but I soak in the memories
of once upon a time. Sipping,
sliding, incomplete instructions,
gliding, gladdened by adventure;
and even the brevity of affection.
Justice has finally and ultimately prevailed.
The flag of justice and equality is unveiled.
Not only should the guilty commoners be jailed;
Rich, flamboyant, opulent and powerful people
Have their spots in jail also, if they violated,
The laws of the Land too. Guilty purple
Ones must, of course, be incarcerated.
Nobody is above the rules and the law.
Today, I’m giving it to you ‘raw’,
As red as the blood of beef meat.
Justice has finally taken a well-deserved seat,
At the table, on behalf of all to tell it, with ease,
With fairness and with impartiality, like it is,
Somewhere, at the bottom of the harbor, Lady Justice
Is watching divinely and quietly in peace.
Politics is often complicated, filthy and dirty,
And corrupt politicians are evil and naughty.
The dark days of America are rightfully so over.
My friends, slavery and systemic racism are like cancer.
We are still fighting the battles and the vestiges
Of the ugly days in America. The messages
Are loud and clear: nobody is above the law.
Always remember what we read and saw.
Copyright © May 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
Vestiges
We are the vestiges to our own destruction. You're the lock and I'm the key. We go well together. You set me off and I ignite hell. I think you're my karma.
Am I right or wrong?
Were we brought together to always fight or to live in harmony? Middle ground. This way we roll in the hay and get impaled upon the pitchfork.
Stick around and enjoy the show. We are the keys to our own destruction. It doesn't have to be that way but it always it.
Prove that saying wrong?
Wobbly knees wheeze and tease
Dark thoughts fumbling, tumbling and rumbling in the mind
Which can no longer squeeze proportion peas
From thought processes, procedures and systems gone blind
In the wake of the disaster
Determined to scupper efforts
I summon to master faster
Techniques and strategies to rescue ports and forts
In which hides the succor
With the potential to dismiss the blues
Whose rancor
Fed up with queues and incomplete clues
Threaten to overwhelm vestiges of peace and calm
My world once knew
As avalanches of harm
Primed to strike anew
Sweeping, wiping off from my soul
Traces of confidence
Whose sole goal stole
From my predicament the credence cadence
That slowly began to pave the way for hope
To return
My state of affairs to normalcy to prop
Up the urn
In which ashes of despair
Began to evaporate
To initiate by gradation the repair
Process and flair in which dark thoughts could neither elaborate harm nor collaborate.
Sunlit rays gild a filigree Moon;
while intensifying Luna's glow.
And She shimmers, like a gold doubloon;
in a creek, where rippled waters flow.
She adopts a halo over time:
highlighting Her celestial ascent.
And like a Goddess, She starts Her climb;
a starlet in this gala event.
An ebony curtain pierced by stars
ushers in the beauty of the Night.
And a red blush tints the planet Mars;
as Venus reveals Her virgin light.
Birds surrender the night skies to bats
playing hide and seek with skittish moths.
And along with silken welcome mats,
spiders spin intricate tablecloths.
Darkness swallows the remnants of Day,
imposing shadows upon the Night.
And color silently fades away;
amidst the last vestiges of light.
...for the Rev Eric Shirvell-Price
A blizzard of papers blanketed his desk.
His pipe rack stood like a chess piece,
mutely waiting to be shifted.
Sepia-toned photographs lined the mantlepiece
like soldiers standing at attention,
and there was a smell of stale tobacco.
Volumes and manuscripts burst from a bookshelf,
while origami figures lined another.
A coffee mug bore stains of sherry aperitifs
and port to accompany his after dinner cigar.
Crosswords and limericks were everywhere,
vestiges of his light and lively mind.
There were newspaper articles,
and empty fast food containers,
evidence of lonely, late night dietary indiscretions.
His vestments hung limply from a coat hook like wraiths,
belying his portly and prodigious frame.
the frame which now lay in a mahogany box,
a whisper of his former self,
scant measure of the man that he once was.
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