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There one was a man named Malvolio
(A fictional man in a folio)
     Who was played for a fool
     (By some rascals at Yule)
For acting like such an assholio.
Bardo Jan 20
It was another strange dream
Suddenly I found myself looking out an upstairs window at people arriving below
Then I thought "Wait a minute, where am I ? What house am I in ?
I don't have an upstairs, I live in a bungalow (only a ground floor)"

When I went downstairs there was this big Christmas tree up
I thought to myself "But I...I didn't put up my Christmas tree yet

And there were lots of people there and some familiar faces
And they all seemed to be smiling at me, as if accepting me there
As if there was nothing unusual, as if I belonged there.

It was like a party was going on
And then I seen my brother sitting amongst them all
One of his hands was bandaged
I didn't think it polite to ask him about it
Beside him was another younger relative
I was amazed astounded because this relative he had died a few years earlier, in an accident
Yet here... here he was right here before me

I thought to myself "This must be some kind of... some kind of Parallel Universe I'm in where things turned out differently"
It made me wonder was my own world  then just an illusion
It seemed so far away now... so distant

Suddenly I started to get a little afraid, I thought "But I don't know this world...this place
I don't... I don't belong here
How do I get out of here
How do I get back... back to my own world....  

Soon after this I awoke...again back in my own bed...back in my own world.
Trying to capture the strangeness and anxiety of this dream experience.
It won't be a silent
night this Christmas in
the Psych Ward.
There are some real
wack jobs in here.
One guy grabbed his crotch,
and said, 'I have hold of all my faculties.'
The nurse asked him what
drugs he was on,
He said, 'It's not the drugs that are
the problem, it's the women.'
Maybe he's not as crazy as I thought.
I shouldn't talk; I'm getting
ECTs (Electra Convulsive Therapy)
One of the side effects is
memory loss. I hope they make me
forget the last woman in my life.
Life is so odd.
I'm locked in the nuthouse,
getting shock treatments.
She's home in her apartment,
cooking and cleaning,
crazy and mean as a ****-house rat.
Here's a link to my you tube channel where I read my poetry.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ucOOifTukWQ
The bright death of a star
lights the black night from afar.

Astrologers walk from east to west
and follow the nova’s fiery arc.
The burst of white in heavens’ dark chest
gives sign of a birth, love’s new spark.

They walk on through sandy shards of this earth,
past broken glass of our days
to find the one whose heralded birth
gives hope that our world is reglazed.

Held in their hands are gifts replete
that tell what the child will become:
Gold for a king, sweet incense for a priest,
for a healer, myrrh that will scent his tomb.

And the lodestar that died
signals the birth of a child
whose death and rebirth
lit a new star on this earth.

Selah.

Each year I watch them travel in a snow globe
that hangs upon my Yuletide fir tree,
a glowing glass sphere where waters flow
’round these Magi walking magically free.
Happy Epiphany!
Papá Noel tenía miedo de pasar el día de Navidad
En las calles de Puerto Príncipe. Las balas se disparaban en masa
Esporádicamente, al azar. Mucha gente se escondía debajo de las camas
Los terroristas traviesos son como perros, hienas en bosques viles o desiertos mortales
Están por todas partes con grandes ametralladoras que no se fabrican en Haití
Los bandidos sin ley o demonios espantosos están matando y aterrorizando a todos
Incluso gatos viejos y ratas sucias que corren por los barrancos
Las cosas son muy serias, extremadamente peligrosas y terriblemente malas en Haití
Este año, el tío Noel tenía miedo, mucho miedo, por eso no visitó
Y no pasó por las pequeñas calles de Haití. Nadie sabe cuándo
Estas cosas feas e inusuales, el caos, los crímenes, la pesadilla cambiarán o terminarán
No hubo misas de medianoche; Todas las puertas de la iglesia estaban cerradas, cerradas
Los bandidos que calzan sandalias sucias llevan armas muy caras y modernas
Que sus tíos occidentales blancos y oligarcas sucios les dieron como regalos de Navidad
Para que puedan empujar a más civiles inocentes más profundamente en las llamas del Infierno
Es muy fascinante notar que los hombres lobos, los infames Loups Garous
También tenían miedo de ir a los cementerios para desenterrar a sus víctimas inocentes
En Haití, antiguamente la Perla de las Indias Occidentales, son perros que comen perros
Son gatos que comen gatos. Son perros que comen ratas
La gente está atrapada en este otrora paraíso, la Perla de las Antillas
Que ahora es el Infierno en la Tierra y mazmorras sangrientas para tantos
Son gatos que comen ratas. Son perros que comen ratas y gatos
Esta es una locura despreciable. Frankenstein habría sido feliz allí
La gente nunca antes había experimentado un desastre tan feo. ¿Cuándo cambiará esto?
¿Cuándo terminará esto? ¿Cuándo los colonos oligárquicos, occidentales y codiciosos
Dejarán en paz al pacífico y resistente pueblo de Haití? ¿Y cuándo, cuándo?
¿Cuándo se rebelará el valiente pueblo? ¿Cuándo, maldita sea, la diáspora
Se unirá para luchar y defender a Haití? Los Haitianos están cansados de perder vidas, dinero
Territorios y propiedades en Haití. ¿Cuándo desaparecerán de la faz del Universo
Todos estos terroristas rebeldes? Estoy gritando furioso
Maldita sea, te estoy hablando a ti. Te estoy hablando a ti, maldita sea
Te estoy hablando a ti, sí, sí, sí a ti, criminales violentos
Cucarachas, pájaros impíos, hipócritas malvados y tontos ignorantes
Deja de hablar de revolución. Usa el sentido común. Deja de soñar
Abre los ojos. Sí, porque en nombre de Iahvé, te estoy hablando a ti también
Papá Noel, Père Noël, Tonton Nowèl tenía miedo. No hay pobres ni gente pequeña
No recibieron regalos, nada, cero, chivatos, sólo los sórdidos perpetradores
Que matan y aterrorizan a los ciudadanos, estaban de fiesta. La débil Policía
El ejército y los indefensos vacacionistas de la ONU no pueden hacer más
Simplemente pueden hacer menos. Sabemos que Haití no es Ucrania
Pero Haití necesita ayuda. Los Haitianos están desesperados, los nefastos presidentes
Del CPT ganan mucho dinero, mucho dinero, mucho dinero, mucho dinero
Y mucho dinero, los infames que están en el poder, reciben mucho dinero
Estos traidores están defendiendo sus bolsillos, no la patria
No protegerán a la gente inocente, no defenderán a Haití
Los bandidos, terroristas, hipócritas y oligarcas codiciosos están al mando
Los grupos criminales están dispersos ubicuamente en los pasillos, por todas partes
El pequeño Jesús no fue a Haití, él también tenía miedo. Santa Claus no vino
Tenía miedo naturalmente. Pensemos, pensemos profundamente
Resistamos y soñemos hasta la primavera.

P.D. Este poema está dedicado a todos los que sufren en Haití.
El pueblo haitiano y la diáspora están cansados de ser humillados. Abajo la miseria,
La inseguridad, la corrupción, el crimen, la injusticia, la impunidad, la discriminación y la desigualdad.
Esta es una traducción de ‘Pè Nowèl Te Pè Pase Nan Pòtoprens, Ayiti’,
“Santa Claus Was Afraid to Pass Through Port-au-Prince, Haiti’.

Copyright © Diciembre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Todos los derechos reservados
Hébert Logerie es autor de varias colecciones de poemas.
Hebert Logerie Dec 2024
Papa Noël was afraid to pass through on Christmas Day
In the streets of Port-au-Prince. Bullets were being fired in droves
Sporadically, haphazardly. Many people were hiding under beds
Naughty terrorists are like dogs, hyenas in vile forests or deadly wilderness
They are everywhere with big machine guns which are not made in Haiti
The lawless bandits or God-awful devils are killing and terrorizing everyone
Even old cats and ***** rats that are running in the ravines
Things are very serious, extremely dangerous and awfully bad in Haiti
This year, Uncle Noël was scared, very afraid that's why he failed to visit
And to pass through the tiny streets of Haiti. Nobody knows when
These ugly and unusual things, chaos, crimes, nightmare will change or end
There were no holy midnight masses; all the church doors were shut, closed
The bandits who wear filthy sandals carry very expensive and modern weapons
That their white uncles and ***** oligarchs gave them as Christmas gifts
So that they can drive more innocent civilians deeper into the fires of Hell
It is very fascinating to notice that the werewolves, the infamous Loups Garous
Were also afraid to go to the cemeteries to unearth their innocent victims
In Haiti, formerly Pearl of the West Indies, It's dogs eating dogs
It's cats eating cats. It's dogs eating rats
People are stuck in this once paradise, Pearl of the Antilles
Which is presently Hell on Earth and ****** dungeons for so many
It's cats eating rats. It's dogs eating rats and cats
This is a despicable madness. Frankenstein would have been happy there
People have never experienced such ugly mess before. When will this change
When will this end? When will the oligarchic, western and greedy settlers
Leave the peaceful and resilient people of Haiti alone? And when, when
When will the brave people revolt? When, **** it, will the Diaspora
Unite to fight and defend Haiti? Haitians are tired of losing lives, money
Territories and properties in Haiti. When will all these unruly terrorists
Disappear, vanish on the face of the Universe. I'm shouting angrily
You, **** it, I'm talking to you. I'm freaking talking to you
I'm ******* talking to you, yes, yes, yes to you, violent criminals
Cockroaches, ungodly birds, wicked hypocrites and ignorant fools
Stop talking about revolution. Use common sense. Stop dreaming
Open your eyes. Yes, for in the name of Yahweh, I'm talking to you too
Santa Claus, Père Noël, Tonton Nowèl was afraid. No poor and little people
Received no gifts, nothing, zero, nitch, only the greedy perpetrators
Who **** and terrorize the citizens, were celebrating. The weak Police, the feeble
Army and the helpless UN vacationers can't do more; they can simply do less
We know that Haiti is not Ukraine, yet Haiti needs help. Haitians are desperate
The nefarious CPT presidents make big moollah, big dough, big gourds, big bucks
And big money, the infamous ones who are in power, receive a lot of money
These traitors are defending their pockets, not the homeland
They won't protect the innocent people, they won't defend Haiti
The bandits, terrorists, hypocrites and greedy oligarchs are in command
Criminal groups are scattered ubiquitously in the corridors, all over, everywhere
Little Jesus didn't go to Haiti, he was scared too. Santa Claus didn't come
He was scared naturally. Let's think, think deep, resist and dream until spring.

P.S. This poem is dedicated to all who are suffering in Haiti.
The Haitian people and the Diaspora are tired of being humiliated. Down with misery,
Insecurity, corruption, crime, injustice, impunity, discrimination, and inequality.
This is a translation of ‘Pè Nowèl Te Pè Pase Nan Pòtoprens, Ayiti’.

Copyright © December 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Hebert Logerie Dec 2024
December is the coolest month
Or the coldest month in some countries
Bring the toys, bring the candies
Grab a jacket, grab a coat and wear pajamas
At night. Stay away from the labyrinth
Get a Christmas tree to decorate
December is the jolliest month of the year
This is the winter month to go from fête to fête
Ride, ride the carousels
Ring, ring the bells
Beat the drums and blow the trumpets, cheer
Cheer and sing Christmas Carols to celebrate
The birth of Jesus Christ
Let it snow, let it snow
Smile and paint a rainbow
Be happy, be enticed
Have a very merry Christmas
Peace on Earth! Peace alas!

Copyright © December 2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Anais Vionet Dec 2024
yin
I see them in reflections - the orange juice glass at breakfast or my iPhone where they can pop-up, like notifications - I keep my phone face down.

They usually want to tell you something - how it was for them - their history. I discount these emotional messages - they come with the jester's assumption that I care - that I need the performance and will get involved.

“What are you doing?” My mom asks, as I’m taking all the shiny, mirror-like ornaments off the Christmas tree.
“The glare gives me a headache” I say, without stopping.
“Your Grandma does that too”, she says, wiping her hands on a Santa-themed dishtowel.
“Really?” I say, but I know that, and I know why.

I started having nightmares, when I was in first grade. My mom thought I had an overactive imagination but when she described it to my grandma, she soon showed up for a visit.

Over the next few weeks my Grandma told me about our “gift”. About how we were both born on the same day, under a waning third moon, in Autumn. That we're both “Yins,” doxies (sweethearts) of the dead and that we could, at times, see and hear people who were between stops on their way to their afterlives.

That’s why the dead parachute into my unused moments from reflective surfaces. They can be anxious or in despair - when their deaths were cruel or sudden - but I'm barely an adult - I'm in school - what can I do??

The presence of water discourages them - which is perfect - can you imagine seeing spirits in the reflections of your bath? EEUUUWWW!  
You’ll hardly ever see me without a water bottle or polarized sunglasses - which seem to break up the images. I'll not be smothered in other people's afterlives.
Growing up, I lived in China, my Huàn gōng (au pair) would entertain us with tales from Chinese folklore like wandering ghosts (You *** ye gui) and the Yins who could communicate with them.
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