All of a sudden
The stars have stopped shining
Blimming sadness in Heaven
Too many babies are maimed and hurt
Too many infants are starving and suffering
Too many women are crying and mourning
And too many men are being sought
For summary executions
Where countless elders of the sad nations
Have disappeared without a trace
The pain is excruciating. What a disgrace!
All of a sudden
The sky has become extremely dark
Bloody chaos in Heaven
The cemetery is in the park
The buildings are bombed and bulldozed
For heaven’s sake, too many soldiers are overdosed
Where ships, vessels, yachts, boats and canoes are sunk
Somewhere is buried a dead skunk
Where everything is comatose and decomposed
No one can honestly envision a bright future
Where nobody can dry the tears of Mother Nature.
The stars have stopped shining
The moon is visibly absent
The sun is on strike and fasting
And the weather is eerily aberrant.
Copyright © June 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
What is to be expected? Mr Trump finally was elected.'
Before was Biden.' Yet there were forces behind him
Holding gold? And other riches.' Influencing this world
By almost un-seen stiches.' Garnering power destroying
So much reveling and disporting.' Deploying much lust'
Of world the apperatus, the opperating machine just how
Much did they own? Seventy percent? Or thirty? Unknown
Or so it seems.' Yet they could give a racehorse as a gift
I would guess a dozen yachts, small armies of influence
You get my drift? On whats what? So would they go easy?
Into an unfriendly night.' Or would they hold onto their levers of might.? Might they not consider? We shall appear
To do less.? And any in power we'll hand some real stress
Along with an advisory' on just how much they can do.!
To instill a charade of difference.? Just a thought now mind
You!!)
Let the best of you hurt your pride
stop the contradictions it's too late
turn around smell that faith
lost in the city of gates hear the bells.
Falls of diamond rains cover
the city of greed and anguish.
Golden tears and painful dreams
no one eye sees poverty screams.
Take your beliefs your weapons
and your meals on wheels.
They think you are crazy and lazy
and your hard work does not
count or worth of any amount.
It is our time it's now or never
take their yachts golf clubs and
populate their private islands
with real hearts and blue collars.
Take back our stollen dollars
boycott oligarchy tesla cars
build back our smiles and
affordable lives save working class.
Send the rich to the mars.
Billionaires
flaunt a lifestyle
we can
only dream of;
luxurious yachts,
opulent
mansions,
solid gold
toilets,
decadent
precious stones,
and world-class cuisine;
all materialistic,
posh,
and ostentatious.
All the king's men
Looking at the photo of over-rich people they do look, quite normal except their lives are not
I think it is worse, long and boring days punctuated by the perches of another luxury
Objects like yachts go to sea and get bored and after days, birth the damn thing out of sight, buy a car that doesn’t need a driver and can fly as well
To be wealthy to the point one has nothing sensible to do is bad for the well-being of man Except Elon Musk who is manically busy with Everything and politics
When other oligarchs fall in line behind the new king, Elon Musk follows his own plan, perhaps dethrone the king, take the rain, and carry until
He goes too far and challenges God to a duel
On Mars
Are those just fireworks exploding in the sky ?
Or maybe real bombs detonating nearby ?
Because these days it's become much harder to tell,
Those that are ready to buy, and whoever wants to sell.
Since the days ahead seem to promise, only more division.
As those weakened try to avoid any such collision.
And between Donnie and Elon, who's really calling the shots ?
I guess from where, it doesn't matter, whether country club or super yachts.
So while the political tug-of-war will continue, not to end.
I'm going to pray for a miracle...and try not to spend.
eating an ice cream
telling oneself life is sweet
lying on the beach
looking at the yachts
believing they are in reach
lying on the beach
watching the seagulls
having little accidents
lying on the beach
see the stranded whales
assuming they missed the tide
lying on the beach
getting a suntan
thinking it comes at no cost
lying on the beach
By
David Kavanagh
In the twelth hour
We're pursuing generational wealth
From a generation who stole
Everything from us
The clock ticks closer to doom
But we're no closer to finding our own reality
When dreams are nightmares
Fueled by foreign wars
I thought it was all wack
But I held everything back
Taking the back seat
To let others drive the car
And as we fly off the bridge
I have to ask myself how I even got here
Because my hope is drowning
In a dead sea of blood and oil
I'm tired of sitting and crying
Listening to cowards who aren't fighting
But put our soldiers on the streets
As they parade their new yachts
You sold your children's future
For foreign investment that didn't manifest
And as infrastructure begins to break down
See the reality of a dying empire
This land was not made for you and me
And the melting pot is beginning to boil over
But sadly we're caught in the crossfire
Of a media fueled race war
Because to divide is to conquer
And maybe I'm a victim of the game
When I point fingers and attribute blame
Because I'm clearly guilty too
Steep, sharp, split, and, as an abandoned architecture, weak
How I managed to get to its top, I truly don't know.
Fear, frustration, angst, awe, and helplessness were at their peak.
Over the sea beneath the cliffs, worn-out yachts slowly row.
On whom should I put my faith at this hour of nullity?
What a fool am I who could go up and couldn't come down?
Amidst tensions and terrors, thrills find no utility.
In the circus of existence, have I become a clown?
A tinge of pain and despair mingles with my loneliness.
Avalanches of aches fill and drill my physique and psyche.
I pray to Neptune, Najm, and Xama; crawl down in coolness.
Though well-drowned and dead in dread, I touch the fringes of Nike.
Each precipice venture is one's inner soul's exploration.
Midst the loss of self, there's divine identification.
The mellow western sky darkened,
The sea was calm that night,
Yachts tacking across the bay
Towards their appointed piers.
Luminous moon rays shimmer
Over wavelets that bathed
The coloured pebbles
Strewn all over the long shore.
As night slowly fell
I began my walk along the promenade.
A soft breeze was a welcome to all
Especially to the sailors that plied the bay
In their sleek sailing boats
Now tinged in red by the dying sun.
Along the promenade, I met with friends
A few words of salutation
But I hurried on toward an ancient tower
That once stood guard against pirates
That invades the surroundings.
Plundering and taking slaves with them.
The Tower was now a restaurant,
And there sat my love waiting for me.
The breeze-blown brightness of her hair
Seem to invite me to our destined tryst.
She stood up and we embraced,
A soft kiss on her wet lips.
It was a promising beginning
Of our night of love.
Yachts
By Michelle Morris
11/04/2021
There are yachts on the ocean, and
They're sailing free from the harbour;
They go where the winds take them,
But choose their course away from shore.
Those yachts represent freedom,
From the ropes that bind them to earth;
For as long as they can take the adventure,
They can sail free and far and fearless.
I want to be like those yachts out on the ocean;
I want to be free and pure on my course;
I want to know where the horizon goes; and
Enjoy adventures around this beautiful world.
© Michelle Morris, 2021
I learned to fly
In a box
Zooming up
To my desk
In Tower Two.
And looking down
On planes
Cruising above
The Hudson.
Gazing at
The Statue
On its island
In the Harbor
Or the yachts
In the club
Marina
Down below.
My thoughts
Sailing off
To distant vistas
Never thinking
Of planes
Planning
A future flight
Toward my tower.
I can remember a springtime;
pink cherry blossoms filled the air.
And that image is locked in time;
a fond memory stored with care.
Sweet-scented dreams of yesterday;
let me recapture childhood thoughts.
And replay in my mind the day
Spring turned paper boats into yachts.
I recall them sailing downstream;
me racing along, having fun.
And Spring taught me how to daydream;
enjoying a romp in the sun.
Spring's the Goddess of renewal;
in Nature's crown; She's the jewel.
Fish flesh ceiling marinades evening in mandarin
Paprika streaks Alaskan sky, an exploded pumpkin
Garish stretch marks bruise tumid buttocks
Jack-o'-lantern flicker silhouettes summits
Door open draught steers me over masts, a compass
North chill Turmeric tingle bitterness burns sun jus
Snuffs frail wick candle into cavern skull sockets
Frigid fuselage discarded from flamboyant firey rocket
Hulls doubled on calm harbour curl fetal forget me not
Petal precious postcard sends rocking sleep to yachts
Resistant pristine peaks poke holes blood gush painful
Ski slid accident on apex restores pale flesh to angel
Pressed panes mist to witness her wings in awe, glory!
Nest of pick up sticks prickle, due dusk warns me
Crept shadows of chalets' thatched porches protect
Navy as battle ships torn apart, needle inks inject
There are many ways
to travel down the river.
Swimming, flowing,
diving, using: kayaks,
boats or yachts.
I have seen people
in stable boats, just relaxing and
from it time to time swimming
to enjoy the waters.
Some brave one’s dive in
the deepest and darkest places of the waters.
I've seen people in broken sinking boats,
yet refusing to let go of their boats.
Others are force by the current,
to leave their boats.
Many go against the current.
Some they get tired of swimming and drown;
not knowing that they could just flow and
enjoy the experience.
Many ways to travel the ever-changing river.
How are you traveling the river today?
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