They chant in cloisters of comfort:
“Wealth is fleeting, power corrupts.”
But I have walked the corridors of consequence, Where silence bows to sovereigns of coin and command.
Let them sip serenity from porcelain platitudes I drink from chalices forged in fire:
Currency, the golden marrow of movement;
Power, the storm that parts the sea of no.
In this epoch of veiled verdicts, Respect is not earned it is engineered.
And privilege is not gifted it is gripped
By those who wield both purse and pulse.
Give me dominion, not to dominate, But to dismantle the architecture of injustice.
Let my voice be velvet and volcanic—
Unjudged, unshackled, unafraid.
Let my family dwell beneath citadels of certainty, Not beneath the brittle breath of borrowed hope.
Let my past be a phantom, For the present wears a crown.
One decree, and doors unfold.
One gesture, and gravity bends.
No garment mocked, no gaze policed, When power walks beside wealth, cloaked in reverence.
I do not seek applause I seek immunity.
Not from truth, but from tyranny.
For in this realm, freedom is not a birthright
It is a transaction, sealed in gold and grit.
So I rise, not as a monarch, But as a myth reborn.
To wear my privilege like prophecy, And my power like poetry.

Slavery is hell. Hell is back. Slavery is worse than hell
No freedom of speech! And democracy is neither cheap nor for sale
Hell is here again. Please listen to the first resounding bell
Hell is as terrible as slavery, a source of shame, pain, suffering and misery
For poor hardworking migrants who have crossed under infernal sunny
Days, hot and thunderous rainy nights, and dark cloudy sky
Many uninvited borders in order to reach potholes full of ice
And snow, where the weather is hostile, racist and deadly
God did not create our world to be so sinister and unfriendly.

Slavery is here again, where children are summarily killed
Where gentlemen are sissified and humiliated, where unskilled
Goons and henchmen are trained to be worse than wild animals
Where women are beaten and trampled like rags in shopping malls
Where rumors of inhuman atrocities are widely spread
To sow fear, fear which is as bad as living in real hell
And where young men and women’s futures are for sale
To the harshest and meanest detention centers or gallows
This sorry world has no future for people with so many lows.

Exploitation is hell. Hell is back, again. Corruption is hell for the masses in the crasse
For the victims of countless wars and for the desperate migrants who hide en masse
Rich countries wage major wars and let their proxies drop heavy bombs and cans
To destroy the fragile homes of the impoverished, unarmed and starved citizens
One wonders why some countries have a military budget so high and wasteful
Maybe only Satan knows why human beings cannot be too cordial or fraternal
And why factual rumors and actual animosities are so widely spread
Telling the truth always hurts bullies, tyrants, executioners and hideous perpetrators
While the uneducated victims behave like hiding zombies in the wicked corridors.

Copyright © September 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.

I am going to scream
Until you can hear my voice
Coming out of the slick screen.
Stop the odious violence!
There is too much violence and injustice,
In our lives and in our streets.
The authorities and the Police,
These days, are not there for Justice,
For all citizens in our counties and cities.
I am going to scream
That there is too much mayhem on the screen,
Too much unbearable pain for the spleen,
And too much chaos and violence in our dreams.
Stop the killings,
Stop the bombings,
Stop the evil drones,
Stop destroying the zones.
I can hear the cries of the young babies,
I can feel the pain of the innocent children,
I can see the tears of the poor women,
I can understand the weakness of strong men,
I can fully comprehend the fear of the elderlies.
Yes, I sympathize with them and their tragedies.
Yes, I can feel their emotions and maladies.
I can hear the screams
Coming from the streets.
I can hear the cries of our sisters,
I can see the blood of our brothers
All over the streets.
I can smell, feel the pain,
This is insane.
Look at the video tape,
There is a white cloth, a drape,
On a dying body.
This is sad, awful and crazy.
I can hear our people saying:
Hands up, don't shoot!
I can see other victims lying
In the streets, crying
And yelling: Do not shoot!
Nowadays, violence is everywhere.
We are soaked in a ****** terror.
This is hell on earth. It is hard to figure
Out this nonsense. There is too much violence,
And that makes no sense.
The cries of hell can pierce the eardrums.
The Police now have military stuff, bombs
Sub-machine guns, drones, tents
And they can drop atomic crumbs.
There is too much bloodshed in the neighborhood.
Stop the killings, hand out books and food,
To the people, instead of tear gas, and injustice.
Our people's lives matter.
We all had a father and a mother.
We all want to live happily in one piece,
In Peace.

Copyright© July, 2015, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.

My pen is mourning the agonies and the sufferings
Of my people, who are drowning in the sea of misery.
My keyboard' strokes are shadowing the slow rhythms
Of the wandering beggar, who's lost in the sanctuary.

My voice denounces the filthy cholera and the injustices,
Which are punishing the weakest souls of the valley.
A tiny oligarchy is meagerly being rewarded;
What a shame for a man-made world corrupted with vices!

My daring pen defaces the inequality and the imbalance,
Which fool the image of a so called free world.
My laser beams burn the iris of the blind peasants,
Who can now see clearly the mini-sketch of my people.

I am the brother-in law of the cowardly executed poet
And the great-grandson of the poorest assassinated emperor.
I abhor the vanity and the lowliness of mankind in horror,
Oh! Lord, I'm going to read aloud twelve psalms, from my seat.

My pen is mourning my beloved people,
Who are innocently digesting the giant toxic apple.
My voice is seduced by the wind of liberty,
Which echoes the piercing screams of the hungry babies of Haiti.

P.S. Translation of 'Ma Plume Pleure Du Sang' by Hebert Logerie.

Copyright© November 2010, Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of four books of poems:

Un nuevo Papa
Una nueva esperanza
Adiós al Papa Francisco
Quien hizo un maravilloso trabajo como Alto Clero
Como sabemos, la edad no cree en dinastías
Venimos, vamos y nos vamos como un beso
De vez en cuando se necesita sangre nueva
Y por supuesto, es natural; No es un crimen, una ofensa
Nuevo papam habemus
Nuevo spem habemus
Tenemos una nueva esperanza
Tenemos un nuevo Papa
Un nuevo líder para la Iglesia Católica
Se acabó la investigación, se acabó la elección y la polémica
Desde hace varias décadas, ningún hombre ni mujer es eterno
Los últimos Papas han sido amables, humildes, sinceros y universales
Ojalá este pontífice sea mejor que el anterior
(No es cosa de risa) Quién se sienta en el cielo
Para archivar y firmar sus documentos
Donde innumerables Ángeles cantan bajo las tiendas divinas
El mundo de hoy está sumido en una situación desastrosa y maligna:
Mentiras, crímenes, corrupción, expulsiones, discriminación e impunidad
Maldita sea, eso es quedarse corto
Sin embargo, el mundo entero anhela:
La paz, la paz y la paz
Queremos que todas las pesadillas terminen:
Injusticia, guerras, hipocresía, racismo, intolerancia y pobreza
Habemus novum spem
Habemus novum papam
Tenemos una nueva esperanza
Tenemos un nuevo Papa
¡Que Dios bendiga al nuevo Pontífice, a la naturaleza y a la humanidad!

Copyright © 8 de mayo de 2025, Hébert Logerie, Todos los derechos reservados.
Hébert Logerie es autor de varias colecciones de poemas.