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Heidi Franke May 13
I find self in argument
With sons
Over money, over crypto
Which is a mysterious coin
Being chased by new generations

I am belittled
When giving advise on
Intangible wealth of this century
That my experience is seen as useless,
Described by them to me,
"My Boomer generation knows Nothing"

Told to feel unworthy as an argument builds
Put down as a mother as
My brain pain of their reckless youth
I had to pay attention to
As if the reciept of my womb
Was a wasted placenta
All because of a bit of coin searching for wealth

The riches these young men of mine
Will likely not find from the
Depth of their families legacy
Who will be written off in their own time
Is in their grandfather's wartime draft card, tied to the most important person
Asking,
"Name of Person Who Will Always Know Your Address",
Let that sink in.
"Relationship  of This Person" , "Mother"
It is happening just as it is written. I will have none of this.  I found their grandfather's draft card from WWII. The demographics included, as you see in the  prose, to name a person who will ALWAYS know your address. How much our youth take for granted. The struggle in each generation. Yet, as I volunteer with the homeless, most have no one one to lean on. Most have no contact with their family. Their family does not want them in their life. What a sorrow. Now we have a plethora of entitled citizens , the white privileged who will find themselves alone in their Bitcoin crypto future where they put more energy into nothing worth chasing and trashing the person that will always know their address. Someone to care about them when they could care less. It's a sorrow filled world in these dangerous times. Humanity is losing.
Y2K
At midnight
I will scare myself
into the new millennium

with dates
and charts
and graphs

about fractions
and formulas
and fundamental folly

all because
some genius thought
that in the grand scheme
of things

2 > 4
Hebert Logerie Dec 2024
An un-stopped new second
Something new to send
A baby, I am told
Who does not grow old
A new minute
A new suite is built
A new time
A new dime
A new hour
A new dollar
A new year is flatly
Fast approaching
A new dream
In the stream
A new century
Is crawling
Passing by
Good bye.

Hebert Logerie Friday, December 30, 2016
Hebert Logerie has written countless poetry books.
Bekah Halle Jan 2024
Man and men everywhere;
Silver-fox, gay, several-times divorced,
But not one without baggage to be seen.
Pimped up with ****,
Waged weary by work or
Isolated through layered losses,
The modern man: a peculiar specimen.
It seduces the obvious why we turn to women to fill the void;
Upside-down desires? Or love that truly inspires?
Randy Johnson Jul 2023
He was my papaw and he was my father's dad.
When he died in 1994, it was both tragic and sad.
If Papaw had survived, he would be celebrating his birthday.
If he hadn't died, he would've become 100 years old today.
He was born on July the 28th of 1923.
Today he would've lived for a century.
When Papaw took some medication, he became very sick.
He died six days after his birthday because he was allergic.
Dad was hurt by Papaw's death and so was I.
It's always painful to learn that a grandparent is going to die.
DEDICATED TO BURLEY R. JOHNSON (1923-1994) WHO DIED ON AUGUST 3, 1994
Deepali Dec 2020
Where only fields of mud i ever got to play in 90's,
the clock started ticking to the next phase;
20th Century-
Moving around,
i was spinning on the new MARIGO-ROUND
and when i jumped out i saw the crowd;
comming closer,
rushing on the same swing i was hunged on,
saw them spiral on the same game i was over from.
"NOW"
Iam spinning on the new dial of the century's game,
seeing everybody is going insane in doing everything to win their lane.
Its good afterall,
Its the 21st century and iam not licking it at all.
lets see what happen ahead in the next year 2021.
LOVE PEACE LIFE.
Essie okoli Nov 2020
A wild fire in her heart
Lightening in her eyes
Yet there's a gag over her mouth
And her arms are bound
Her legs in quick sand
Her steps uncertain and light




Dressed in black silk
And the most expensive perfume
Ginika bleeds
From her ears, nostrils and the corner of her lips.


Skin like honey and smooth like egg shell
Yet marked with traces of the heart's wound.
Upturned lips tinged with the colour of pain .
Paraded like the finest of masquerades.
Head held high but the whole world on her shoulders.
     Her picture on the magazine doesn't stop the whispers.
Cross Boundry Sep 2020
The world will empty
Eventually
You’ll find your way out
Be it space or death
Ultimately
The world will empty
then, when its empty, no one will hurt me anymore
Alaina Moore May 2020
Don't feel like a cog.


Don't feel like a bird either.
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