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I’m talking about the beautiful country of Burkina Faso
Formally known as the Republic of Upper Volta, the newcomer on the plateau
The new country with a charismatic and highly competent young leader
Capt. Ibrahim Traoré, everybody is talking about this intelligent brother
Who is well articulated in French, English and other languages
Brother Traoré embodies what all young men and women aspire to be:
Heroes of his or her Homeland, to help and rid themselves of the vestiges
Of inferiority, servitude and slavery. Yet, I’m still learning about this great country
I love Capt. Traoré’s eloquent speeches and gestures. I’m awesomely inspired
By his words and deeds. This brave brother means business. He’s not tired
To tell the truth, as we know, most leaders lie like frogs trying to speak
He tells it like it is and he indeed does good for Burkina Faso. He’s at his peak
This courageous military man can only go higher, to be exemplary
In Africa. He’s the model leader that Africa (the world) needs. He’s too busy
To travel to countries that have mastered the art of insulting and belittling
Young and modern leaders. The world needs new leaders who’re capable of singing
The righteous songs of freedom, liberty, justice, fairness and equality for all citizens
Brothers and sisters, I’m still learning about B. Faso, Mali, Niger and other regions
Or countries that are fighting for the pride and the future of their inhabitants
My best wishes go to countries that are helping us accomplish our missions
We are living in a world of abundance. No countries should be treated as inferior
Or poor. "Haiti is not a ******* country". Yet, they failed to mention the exploitations
The rapes, the lies, the abuses and the lootings of our resources and the decapitations
They surely know how to manipulate, to neutralize, to explore and to divide to conquer
Oops, I had to exteriorate a bit. I want to wish our many countries a fruitful future
They’ll succeed because these new, incorruptible leaders care about us and they’re better.

P.S. This poem is dedicated to the late Pres.Thomas Sankara, our Haitian, African,
Black American Heroes, Poets and all our Brothers and Sisters.

Copyright © May 2025 Hébert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Nyxa Thorne May 14
In ages past, we lived in dark,
awaiting light to split the night,
for wisdom’s voice to pierce the gloom
and birth a world anew.

But these days may be the darkest yet,
as crowds embrace old fear and hate,
reviving chains long thought undone—
the past returned in present fate.

In days of old, the brave took arms
against a tyrant’s deadly charms,
who hunted those beyond his creed—
and now his age returns with speed.

Now comes a time of poisoned speech,
as lords above the poor still preach,
driving all to ruin and wrack
from castles drifting high and black.

Where are the heroes to lead us back—
to days when wisdom lit the track,
where all walked safely, hand in hand,
in freedom’s light across the land?

Where is the safety?
The freedom of the land?
Paul Hoefer Apr 25
Lou
Hey Lou—
so beautiful.
I love you.
The world forgets what that means sometimes,
but not me.
Not here.
Not now.
Lately, I sit back
and I wonder—
is there even such a thing
as good and evil?
Or are they just mirrors
for opinions dressed as truth?
People don’t fight for ideas anymore.
They fight because they can,
because someone else said don’t,
because silence feels like losing.
But I remember a different time—
a time of minds that opened galaxies.
Stephen Hawking dreamt in black holes,
Einstein listened for the whisper of atoms.
Our heroes once lit torches,
not screens.
They had questions bigger than their fame.
Now?
We chase faces.
Cases.
Shock over substance.
Talent’s in the back of the line,
waiting behind a viral clip.
We used to talk about evolution,
about meaning,
about everything unseen and still real.
Now we scroll.
Now we sell.
Now we perform.
It’s almost better to be bad
than to be brilliant.
At least bad gets views.
At least bad gets seen.
We move too fast.
Too fast to sit.
Too fast to feel.
Too fast to wonder.
Even to breathe feels like a distraction.
Reflection’s a luxury
this generation can't afford.
I come from a place
they used to call
the Empire State—
where people built dreams
out of steel,
sweat,
and belief.
where artists left proof—
expression etched on city walls
like the first handprints in the caves,
a visual history,
marking time,
influencing it.
I live in a country
where dreams were once possible.
Where greatness wasn’t just myth—
it was motivation.
But now the motive’s
a bank account.
And the dream?
It’s behind a paywall.
Nobody talks about the race,
the planet,
the soul.
They just talk about the numbers.
The hustle.
The next thing.
Always the next thing.
And yet—
in the silence between all that noise,
I still believe
someone out there remembers.
Maybe it's me.
Maybe it’s you.
Maybe it’s us.
Still here.
Still breathing.
Still choosing to care
I hope the words, thoughts, and life inspire a moment of interest and remind people of the human connection that is often overlooked.
Who are heroes?
What is heroism?
I'm not sure,

We're at a scary lack of that,
Missing the true selfless values,
Of what we know it to be.

Today it's easy to stumble upon the self proclaimed,
What do they do it for?
For the clout, to move the graph,

Exponential gain.

But I know it's impossible to be pure,
After all, I've purged my heart,
More times than I ought to,

Bright places go dark faster than they should.

It may be consequence,
Of shooting holes in the flood-lights.
Though the sparking is just so entertaining,

Another simple pleasure destroyed by conventional good.
Evil hunts itself.
Traveler Apr 7
I no longer use fantasy as a stimulus. Because pretend drama is but extra drama to experience and I’m unwilling.
Who do you think these rock stars are, whose lives are so glamorously appealing?

My heroes are few and far between, those who help the blind to see. Those who’ve survived life’s fatal wounds, still recognised beyond tomb.
You choose yours, I’ll choose mine. I won’t commemorate the sellouts or the killing kind.
Traveler 🧳 Tim
Edward Carnegie was once a normal man,
Steel monopolist extraordinaire.
Till a fateful dip in rail stock,
Lead to his discovery of time travel.
Confused, he landed just a few years from the modern day,
Where he was arrested by the Time Police.
"Edward, we'll set you free,
If you defeat public time enemy,
The Alien."
So off went Carnegie to the modern day,
To face off against fellow PTE.
But what was revealed,
Shocked even the Time Police.
His business partner, Henry Frick,
Was the real villain all along.
"Buckle up, we're going back in time!"
Back to the time of steel money,
Frick had almost bested Carnegie.
"The company is mine Edward, stand down!"
Though undenounced to Henry,
His advisory had pumped his veins full,
Of the Blood Of Steel.
Inspired by a home movie a friend made
The Black Knight of the Franks,
He feared no thing,
Except for the hand of God.

With his sword and cross,
He rode triumphant,
Through out the Holy Land.

But once he crossed a monk of opposing faith,
But spared his life,
So his story was erased from history.
The greatest heroes are felled by silly means.
Today there was rain,
It brought thunder,
Strokes of electric death.
Lightning ripped through the canopy,
Aiming for a defenseless flower field.
But alas, the elder oak reached its branches out,
To take the lightning's killer blow.
So when the rain passed,
We took our saws,
To finish the job.
A sudden storm tore through my town today
Reading the Odyssey,
By Greek poet Homer.
I finally realized,
Not all heroes are heroic.
And some aren't heroes at all,
Often the monsters in the story,
Aren't monstrous at all.
Most times they're simple farmers or townspeople,
Upon whom the hero welcomed themselves to.
And when they retaliated,
The author makes it look like the hero did nothing wrong.
Heroes aren't humble,
Not at all.
They waste the lives of their crewmates,
Trying to do the impossible.
And, Odious,
Really *****.
I was bored in English while the teacher was reading us Homer's Odyssey, so I wrote this.
Jesus Garcia,
Drive your train.
Be brave and drive the flames away,
Jesus saved his town, but couldn't save himself.
This poem is in honor of the late Jesus Garcia. His first name has an accent above the u but I couldn't figure out how to type it. Rest in peace, hero.
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