Upwards is his destination
Lost is his designation
No call from Stars above
No message of half-hearted love
Green reconnects with Red to combine
As our Smith relaxes his invisible spine
His journey so far has been to hone and refine
It is all he can muster, so far out of line
No matter his blindness, he saunters past
The Fire's Cot, mid-molten blast
Making Names wander, til' the Bellows blow
Up stairways, they travel, where our Smith now goes
Steep and coarse, the walkway is cobbled
Thrown together, stone and metal were knobbled
Though our Smith travels slowly with a slippery crawl
He soon gains some confidence, and takes steps, small
Almost like a snail with it's juice left behind
Our Smith leaves a trail a hunter could find
Green and Red splotches on a watery rind
Moving unbothered by secrets enshrined
He shivers and coils to the top of this 'case
Wriggling his body to scream from his face
"CaN i PlEaSe ReTuRn To ThE BoSs' GrAcE?!
i KnOw I'm NoT aLoNe In ThIs SpAcE!"
The steps begin to brightly glow
A clear departure from ash and shadow
The metal grey shifts to a sharpened Pink
"A fallen Smith is a missing Link."
Fire's Cot ebbs and flows a flame
Kept right by a massive bellows' aim
To forever burn the very same
Until our Smith laid a claim
Squirming sections growing in clumps
The digits laced with another's lumps
And now their mystery is laid bare for all
As all clumps shatter, reforge and stall
Stationary, stuck in stagnant time
Internally, crimson constricts into lime
Two Forged make a single Stray
Becoming two with one DNA
Muck Mashed Maniacal Man
Stands Strong Suffering Scan
For Friendly Faces Flamed
Trying To Thrive Tamed
smith Shaped smith So
boss Blows Bowels Broke
Life Lives Long Late
stars Shine Short
"FaTe."
*CRASH*
One, two, three, angled
Toes, fingers, teeth, mangled
"We WiLl bE fReE tO FiNaLlY sEe!"
The stomach's foot wriggles with glee
Amalgamation is the only way
Our Smith knows and begins to pray
No warning mouthed before the clasp
Gluttonous gloop scoops the foot in a grasp
Triple digits move swiftly and quick
The Stars lucky they are not here to see sick
Lashings, fingerings, scars and rot
Devoured by a trap the other sought
"HoW cOuLd YoU? wE WeRe pRoMiSed fuel...?"
The question dwindles, quiet and cruel
As our Smith digests, then takes a rest
And soon hears, newly, a crackling crest
Further over into the dark
We who have eyes see it stark
A fierce Furnace, the Fire's Cot
Where many Names are burned and forgot.
Into the Hatch, drop by drop
The metal melted like the crop
Sizzling ooze falls onto a floor
And begins to feel a little sore
Still no eyes, no lungs, no aim
Digits pull and push its frame
Outward sounds, crashes, pounds
Begin to be heard, as fear surrounds
Ears, but not quite shaped like ours
Are the next to form in these early hours
Yet just as green and red get comfy
A grating shrill comes from newfound company
Their location is hard to properly state
This starless cavern below the Fate
Forgers don't dare stoop this low
Whatever is here won't approach slow
The sounds in the silence, let words free
"WrIgGlE aBoUt, WiThOuT We?"
Tumbling turns to playful pursuit
When from a stomach protrudes a foot
It winds its ankle, without a crack
And stamps down harsh, with an attack
The Smith is pinned, spreading his patch
While five more digits manage to snatch.
No slits watching, the lumps draw near
Reforming slowly, the Peak becomes clear
Forming fingers, then twitchy toes
Returning quickly, from Smith's Repose
Streaky strips of pus aligned
On a cage organically mined
Stars above a starless glove
Where fingers coil to give a shove
Lumps leap down from the Seat
Toes and fingers, strike and meet
Wilting flowers with every catch
Further, further, 'til it feels a latch
Writhing round the handle's shape
It has no strength as a mangled cape
Searching inwards, with no eyes
"A SiNgLe pRoBlEm HoLdS mAnY LiEs"
Like how the plant changed temperaments
The carcass embraces the elements
Hugging the hatch, its metal form
A searing goo begins to swarm.
Barmy blacksmiths, forging Fate
Smack-dab, smashed and working late
Stuck deep in and wrenching wrists
Tattered skin on itchy fists
Spewing salty starless space
Into eyes and all over face
The wall and put your best foot on
A boxy board housing Spawn
Groggy gauges, clicking close
To the time the Boss had chose
Feeling funny, one Smith exits
Others watch him through their slits
Lined looking, between blades
Hanging hazards, shovels and spades
Their brother's bowel blows and boils
As life's liquid bursts and soils
Clothes clamped, stammered sound
Shrieking lumps, lurching around
Weapons washed, in red and green
The first, and last, blacksmith seen.
Oh, Nothing! You sly, elusive spud,
You’re the star of this poem (though technically dud).
You haunt empty fridges, blank quizzes, and minds,
The gap where my keys hide and my weekend plans wind.
You’re the punchline of vacuums, the muse of bare shelves,
The reason I’m talking to lamps by myself.
You’re the “E” in my bank account, crisp and austere,
The punch I forgot in my joke over here.
Some say you’re profound—philosophers swoon,
But let’s be real: you’re a nap’s favorite tune.
You’re the silence between a bad pun and “Huh?”,
The plot of a mime’s TED Talk—oh, brother, enough!
You wear pajamas daily, yet still blend right in,
A champion of naps, but you never quite win.
You’re the cloudless blue sky with no bird, plane, or flair,
The “U up?” text sent to a cactus. Bold. Rare.
So here’s to you, Nothing, you cheeky old void,
The world’s quietest meme, forever deployed.
Though poets may weep for your depth, I insist:
You’re the *something* I missed… wait. Dang. Plot twist!
---
P.S. If you liked this poem, pay me in air.
(It’s fitting, since Nothing and I split despair.)
Believe it or not
The Parson is right
We shall return with zeroes
Many zeroes. Let’s be Heroes
For and to the world. Let’s not be selfish
Because we shall return with zilch
With nada, mit nichts, perhaps with empty zeroes
Which mean nothing. Let’s pause
To think. Let’s be wise and humble
Love is essential. When the trees tremble
And fall; when the ground shakes and burns
When the soil slithers and slides, the world yearns
For peace, sympathy, compassion, and love. With nothing
We shall return, just like we came on earth with nothing
The sky will always stare at us, as we raise our head
Heaven will remain at the same distance
And we shall leave alone, with nothing, with no bed
No castle, no money, no power and no incense
Believe it or not
We will be blessed to be in a wee lot
After the soul departs
And the ash rots
Believe it or not
The Poet is right.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to the kings of the world.
Copyright © January 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Annoying brother can't drop explaining,
Fun game helpfully inspiring jokes,
King lends more notice offering people questions,
Reality sets truth,
Understanding varies,
Waning xiz,
Yielding zilch.
Travel is zero, nil ...
my great journeys have only been in reading books,
it takes skill !
Travel books great ...
zero expense or costly hooks,
frustrate !
Cost free ...
zero for looks,
see !
Travel is zero, nil ...
zero expense expense or costly hooks,
see !
_____________________
April 15, 2022
Poetry/Minichu/Rhyme/Zero, Nil, Zilch
Copyright Protected, ID 04-1447-973-15
All Rights Reserved, 2022, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Lets Minichu on Zero
sponsor, Mohan Chutani, Judged 05/08/2022
Seventh Place
"Vi træffes der, min Ven!" Solvejgs sang*
once after eons
we'll meet there again my friend -
time's zilch for lovers
9/3/2019
Maureen McGreavy’s Sing Me A Senryu Poetry Contest
Favorite song: Solveig's Song by Edvard Grieg
https://youtu.be/n3SyreMN7y8
* (nor.) "We'll meet there again, my friend!" Solveig's Song
After watching the news my stomach was in a knot
my brain on a hiatus leaving my creative juices to rot
imitating the thinker wondering why my muse had suddenly left
finding a note from her saying not to feel bereft,
Saying I could find her at the local amusement park
while driving over there it was a little after dark
with note in hand I tried to follow her footsteps
wondering what ride she'd be on I was a nervous wreck,
Buying a bunch of tickets I rode the roller coaster first
the ups and downs making my stomach want to lurch
then onto the scrambler making me feel like a scrambled egg
the near misses and swings giving me a pounding headache,
Then I thought I might find her on the tilt-a-whirl
finally relaxing I whirled around like a young giggling girl
my muse slowly returning I asked her why'd she come to this park
her answer justifying her actions with "because zilch is all I got!"
10-7-17
The Christmas tree was brightly lit
But the star on top someone forgot
But that's not all they did omit
St Nick must have been in on the plot
Because, zilch, that is what I got
--
10/7/17
Contest: It's the End of the Forms Series
Sponsor : Broken Wings
Some days I work so hard to get
my name on a winners' list, yet
it might end up for naught.
Zilch, that is what I got.
But was it still worth it? YOU BET!
Oct. 6, 2017 for 'It's The End Of The Forms Series' Poetry Contest
Thanks, Broken Wings, and all the contest sponsors who inspire me to write.
Tin Man
Stoop shouldered,
head down,
shuffling.
Just “kicking the can”
down the road.
Casting no shadow,
lost in a lie’s
intransigence,
following
the tinny sound
of an empty can.
10/5/2017
submitted to – It’s The End Of The Forms Series – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Broken Wings
theme - ZILCH
Sub Categories
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