When I see the Haitian flag, tears rush into my eyes.
When I see the Haitian flag, my Haitian heart cries.
Our people have been ridiculed, yet our flag continues
To flow unimpeded. We will never die on our knees.
If we must die, we will die standing like brave soldiers.
We will not bow our head. We will stare at the racist liars,
Because our Heroes died for our freedom, honor and dignity.
Haiti is the most exploited country in the world. Haiti, Haiti
Will survive, and all the perpetrators will rot one day in Hell.
Haiti is the most betrayed country in the world. Haiti, Haiti
Is a beautiful country, in spite of the centuries of disrespect
Of over-exploiting, looting, stealing, and obvious neglect.
Haiti is patient. One day, all the fake and snake goons will rot in Hell.
When I see the images of Haiti, I shake and shake my head and I pray.
When I see the forced smiles of Haiti; speechless, I don't know what to say.
I become sad, angry and numb, because many of us LOVE Haiti,
Our Homeland, which Haiti has been governed by a lot of haters,
By a clan of shrewd kleptomaniacs, who know how to fool the voters,
Which are naïve, uninformed and illiterate. Haiti will survive their hypocrisy,
At the end of the day. When I see the bicolor, tears come to my eyes,
'Cause we have suffered enough and too much. Yes, my brave heart cries.

P.S. May 18 is Haitian Flag's Day (May 18,1803 - May 18,2018) . Happy Haitian Flag's Day!

Copyright © May 18,2018, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.

Ma plume pleure les agonies et les souffrances
De mon peuple qui se noie dans la misère.
Mon stylo stylise les lentes cadences
D’un mendiant qui s’égare au sein de la galère.

Ma voix dénonce la vaine guerre et l’injustice
Qui punissent les plus impotents de la vallée.
Un petit groupe se voit maigrement récompenser,
Quelle honte pour un monde infesté de vices!

Mon pinceau démasque l’inégalité et le déséquilibre
Qui bottinent tout un univers soi-disant libre.
Mes 'rayons laser' brûlent l’iris des aveugles
Qui voient très clair le mini-tableau de mon peuple.

Je suis le gendre du poète lâchement exécuté
Et le petit-fils du plus pauvre empereur assassiné.
J’abhorre la vanité et la mièvrerie de l’homme
Qui se croit supérieur à l’hérisson et à la pomme.

Ma plume pleure pour mon peuple
Qui boit l’absinthe comme un aveugle.
Ma voix emportée, par le vent de la liberté
Est pareille aux soupirs perçants des enfants affamés.

Copyright© 18 Mai 2010, Hebert Logerie, Tous Droits Réservés
Hébert Logerie est l’auteur de quatre recueils de poèmes.

Freedom is somewhat limited
In a so-called democratic society
At times, people cannot truly tell it like it is
People cannot vote freely
Without some restrictions or some stupidities
In order to weaken the disadvantaged
Even though the US first amendment guarantees
Freedom of speech, freedom of expression
To assemble peacefully, freedom of religion
Freedom is not what it is
It is not how it is articulated in the glossary
Freedom is relative, please
Do not say fire vociferously
Or yell gun in the theater
At church or in the street corner
You will be prosecuted
Freedom is not what it should be
It is not what the US Constitution intended
It to be
Freedom is somewhat controlled and limited.

Copyright © 2016 Logerie Hebert, all rights reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several books of poems.

i watch you counting yourself out                                         
                    courting little pets of body-parts
putting pennies on the trinket shelf            
talking with wending wordage            
                 about those gruff fellows
who've been pig-holing    about your dwelling

that day  you manage a back window  
                                           and escape                            
masquerade yourself  as a gentleman
but they sniff at your aromas       
              these men in crude season
they circle you hinge-hipping
as you fleet the roads and fields                        
and evade  into the dappling woods
"come on out  we have you surrounded"                              
(you say  they say)
you stay  crossed legged   a monk among trees
(these pleasing defenders)                                

you take off your dress  and string it
            from one of these trees
you dole yourself out                        
little pets for the undergrowth

           you offer a curled shrew
from the space   your kneecap once
                          occupied

you droop your warm left breast
and drop a beast from that cove
(a plump vole clambers  fresh and
                        disorientated)

you plug one arm into loose soil
                   and the fingers snake root
separation at the elbow                
              and branches sprig out

both your thighs   animate as fox cubs
your ***** leaves from between                  
                         and slinks under some ivy

your hair fiddles loose and travels off
in currents of breeze
before flitting into little finches

your back crumples with fungal looseness
your head weighs low                              
             and the jaw lumps off
shuffling   undecided on its form

your forehead bows  to kiss the earth
and your face scatters  a gaiety of insects  and spores

                  all arts patterned about
your pile continues   in this mattering manner
collapsing efficiently    
you've canonized in nature                    
now you’re abroad  mature and freed          
to tell your friend this story
a spirit  without brag of these neat powers
one with mother glory

~

Don’t grow up.

~

ITS A TRAP

~