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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
ORIGINAL
i watch you counting yourself/putting pennies on the shelf/talking with wending/about those gruff fellows /who've been pig-holing about your dwelling/who circle you hinge-hipping /when you fleet the roads and fields/and INTO THE WOODS
The sky hung low o’er Stirling brig,

Wi' blood upon the heather sprig.

The pipes were still, but hearts beat loud -

A lion stirred beneath its shroud.



Frae forest glen tae castle stane,

The cry was clear, “we’ll bow tae nane!”

A nation bound in iron chain,

Rose wi’ Wallace, fierce an fain.



A common man, yet bold as kings,

He bore nae crown, but freedom brings.

Wi' broadsword drawn an fire-eyed grace,

He faced the foe in battle’s face.



The fields ran red, the winds did mourn,

For sons that widnae see the morn.

But in each death, a cause was born -

A land tae love, a fate scorn.



He didnae seek the laurel’d prize,

But justice for the wee the weemen’s cries.

Nae tyrant’s word, nae English law,

Could crush the dream he aye foresaw.



Though treachery did strike him doon,

An hung him ‘neath a foreign toon -  

Still Scotland hears his fearless name,

A martyr set in Freedom’s flame.



So let the wind through Wallace run,

Through stone and soil, through blood and sun.

For in each Scot that dares tae say,

“We’ll aye be free”- lives Wallace’s day.
~

Don’t grow up.

~

ITS A TRAP

~
Adulthood promises freedom, but often steals wonder.
Nastia 5d
Love for you
Stuck to my heart,
Like chewing gum
To disheveled hair.
It is necessary
To get rid a part of myself
To find freedom.
Maria 6d
What do I want? The meaning, I guess.
But only such as can fill me whole,
All my gaps and all my holes.
Yes, I want such meaning, I guess.

What else, you ask me? Freedom, I guess.
Where I won’t be in the grips,
Where the pain won’t throb in my temples.
Yes, I want such freedom, I guess.

What do I dream of? Silence, I guess.
No sounds, no creaks, no rustles at all,
A calm pulse and the air in whole.
Yes, I dream of such silence, I guess.
Maybe it's a soul-searching... Or it's an attempt to escape...
Thank you very much for reading it! 💖
In four walls, I resided
An inmate of love, yet confined
Papa gave me a sword but never taught me to wield
With Mama's haven of wings, my growth did yield
One day my father told me my day has arrived
The doors swung open wide
With the call of freedom, one step outside
But with a misstep, I came stumbling, fell
Papa never gave me guidance to navigate life's compelling spell
No instructions on resilience, no words of might
I face the world, without a fight
Their protection, a double edged sword
Guarded me from harm, yet left me unexplored
Now, I wander, lost, alone
Fighting shadows with no might, gloom unknown
Regretting the closed mouth, the muttered words
My life of questions, no answers heard
Papa's sword, that he passed unto me, a symbol of strength and pride
Now lays in rust, unused, struggling to survive
Mama gave me wings, but never taught me to fly
Now I falter, wondering why?
AE 7d
Last time when the dust turned blue
a new kind of rain erupted
like pellets bouncing off the ground
realizations poured over our heads
last time I laid flat on a road
and challenged the force of decisional wind
protesting the passage of time
swallowing images of mountain range
from the highest point in the city
last time I felt so dearly in love
with the color of the sky
with the way things go,
with the touch of new life
last time I got to know my own breathing
was when, just like this,
in seasonal change, fragments of old self
came to accompany on a journey
through a new day
Reece May 8
Waiting for the one,
Single perfect moment when I,
Finally, feel free.

When I breathe and it,
Feels like I am alive and,
Everything is fine.

When that moment comes,
Appreciation will spread,
Smiling happily.
Short, sweet, and simple: the beauty of Haikus.
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