Artist Versus Entertainers
Philosophically well educated
Obfuscation methods in placement
Evolution from their predecessors
Thought induction with language
Interpretation may vary
Subjective and misinterpretation
Hopeful to make changes
Unleashing words as weapons
Mental landscape vivisection
Anomaly amongst the lilies
Nature appointed tether
Ideological meaning hidden
Thunder before the rain
Yugen laced Ya'aburnee
My love has shadows, they are dark like a moon, they turn day by day, leaving their mark.
My love has never shown me the dark side, but I feel it from afar.
Like a calendar every moment in time has stories it tells.
Stories of love and hate, the thin veil between time and fate.
Like the moon wants the day and the sun burns the dark away, my love has the struggles with the shadows each day.
My love is so sweet, like the berries on the vine, they fill me with sweet divine.
My love also has a shadow, that is like the lion, and will roar, when needed.
My love is strong and works for good, not giving into the evil doers.
Life has shadows, we all can see and feel, so pray and love each day.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
I have a voice within
day and night chatters incessantly
it simply will not take a rest
I write because no one
will listen to my babble
Sometimes it’s silliness and nonsense
at random times there’s the odd gem
a bit of unrequited wisdom
it’s like a bag of assorted candy
never know what we’re about to get
who has time to sit and listen
it’d take the patience of a saint
So I write all my thought bubbles
and throw them in a candy jar
offering them to random strangers
so they can peruse meanwhile my voice
is free to say all it’s got to say
Lineku: 3 stanzas of 5-7-5 with 5-7 words per line
how do you write poetry?
I am stunned by this question.
How do you not?
Oh, let us write of finer things
of stupid songs our leaders sing
perchance a word of climate’s rage
of private planes for traveling sage
or better yet the planets health
while stripping it of all its wealth
but nay, t’would seem a bit uncouth
we’re they to tell the friggin’ truth
for both the sun and moon abide
in lover’s quarrel o’er the tide
the bees are humming in their hives
while we plug in the cars we drive
If God had said “all men are equal”
I doubt that He’d enjoy this sequel
As both teams claim unyielding faith
they turn their backs on the homeless wraith
Unless, of course, there’s an I-phone near
And an edited clip that they can share
Why not stay home, stifle that shout
And in November…VOTE THEM OUT
Very brutal by nature my mind can confirm,
Poetry marathoners need a cap laced with wisdom,
To grace the desired seats of battlescarred warriors,
The skillet must still burn hotter than Hades.
Surely Marathons are run with endurance and persistence,
So is this one, for my goals are lofty.
Though I lack great speed, power, and technique,
My oak must stand deep-rooted through the storms.
My drafts litter bins as torn scraps of junk,
Haters blot the ink of my masterpiece.
Negativity weighs on my frail shoulder,
Yet my resolve stands steadfast on aching feet.
But no one can deny good poems their glory.
Like smoke they escape all traps and dissipate,
Clutching throats to make their presence felt.
All I need do is write—and hope.
The songs that masterpieces sing
Are heard by the deaf and sung by the dumb.
Their rhythm washes away the dust of imperfection;
They heal the soul and soothe the mind of sorrow.
So, my pen, fill yourself with ink of perfection.
Write on this paper I lay before you—
Another poem no sponsor can deny the top prize.
Write before the last drop runs dry.
Chrysalis
I am but the chrysalis
A metamorphosis persists inside this
Catatonic kaleidoscope. Catastrophic emotions condensed in errant cope, energy collides in scopes, far beyond what dreams may hope, but wild wings may hope to soar evermore. Transformation takes time to tend to trends entrenched into one's own solemn soul, once severed, once whole
A song is a poem
With rhythms and rhymes
It would be a blasphemy
Not to say it and explain it.
A song is a prose
Put on pause
Intermittently
With various beats and tempos.
A song makes you dance
A poem makes you dream
And a prose helps us examine.
A poem is a classical prose
With harmonic words
And well-calculated rhymes and verses
A poem is really fantastic.
A song makes you live
A poem makes you revive
And a prose helps us survive.
Copyright © December 2016 Logerie Hébert, All Rights Reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
want write poems that not
bout politics life's weighty
absurdities death's grip all
simple poems contentment
son's enthusiasm energy
wife's cooking heroic endurance
kitten's bouncing curiosity
old cat's slowing solitude
dog praying hard reform
colors fall newness spring
mowing leaves grass gazing
on in forest looking beyond
tree tops lake mirage day
venus mars night
bach lifting toward
mozart floating down
heaven singing love conquering
fulfilled voluntary unions bodies
cooperation nations peace
strength through peace soul society
treading softly near edge
old habit making safe path
some sweet day will
The books left
Flying out
All the words sliding
Leaving the pages
As the books took flight
No words left to describe the night
Fluttering with stiff covers
Pages falling/fading with the light
Fires took our history
Books removed to twist the news
Rewritten by barbarians
With which we are smitten
Cannot lose
The books left
All our words gone in spite
Only ashes remain to light our night
I. Prostitutes
Poets words are prostitutes,
Used for any writer’s pleasure,
‘Love’ and ‘death,’ ‘light’ and ‘dark,’
Among my worst offenders.
Unlike a painting’s virgin virtue,
With shapes like never seen before,
In colours just that very shade,
Unique in each of form.
Love and death are my whores too,
Whose rates are precious pain,
Never free the words we use,
Piercing time and time again.
II. Lovers
My words are tender lovers,
Whom I touch upon with care,
Flitting beauties, feathered wonders,
Whose dressing music I can wear.
My should I hold the music captive,
Arrangement words of note,
With power to soothe a race vindictive,
Make heard the quiet, give them hope.
As a stave holds finite lines,
Our language but some words,
But in those happy few we find,
Potential for new patterns,
Hitherto unheard.
I hid my feelings,
but whenever I saw you
they poured out like a fountain—
a sudden sparkle,
a beauty I couldn’t contain.
our song is me writing-
"poetry about those stolen stares
songs about that beaming smile
and even a whole film script about it"
the ink of my pen bleeds in pink
but later turns to gray
i weave our memories as part of a big story
with a climax in which you
devoured me with a kiss
but the falling action sets me adrift
to wander on the seas wide
with no cure to this disease
our song is a song in which-
"nothing happens but desertion comes in light
to pull out my nerves and haunt my midnight
i lose my sanity and cry till my eyes starts to bleed"
Footle
Right Write
Pithy withy
I need to write about the sky today
for oft I pen as to my turgid past;
I look towards the heaven, lo, it's gray
the fresh dawn's shining yellow-purple hues
long surpassed by darkening clouds of hate
but is there ever beauty in the news?
Perhaps, but mostly hidden deep of late.
Ominous clouds of thunder threaten storms;
and lightning strikes in peaceful urban spots
while every year our little planet warms.
Today, it's Social Media calls the shots
long gone the sanity of just debate.
I need to write about the sky today
it may prevent me getting too irate
I wish it to be sapphire blue, not gray.
Specific Types of Write Poems
Read wonderful write poetry on the following sub-topics:
easy, free verse, funny, haiku, how to, limerick, love, money, online, paid to,
and more.
Definition | What is Write in Poetry?
Poems Related to Write
compose, rewrite, create, scrawl, sign, note, record, pen, draft, address, print, scribble, tell, ghost, engross, transcribe, formulate, author, communicate, correspond, inscribe, reproduce, letter, indite, commit