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Oh what I would do
To see myself with your eyes
Am I beautiful to you?
Darling do you love me like I do?

Oh what I would do
To get a glimpse of your brain
Are you thinking of me?
Darling do I consume you like you do?
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.
Jack Groundhog Dec 2024
Will she, won’t she
buy my Christmas wares:
If I work to sell me
will she take my snare?

The practiced pitter-patter
of my seller’s pitch
hangs in crisp cold air
and hopes to scratch her itch.

Her eyes dart to and fro
from one stall to the next:
the jingling coins’ fickle flow,
Christmas bells that leave me vexed.

Will she, won’t she,
see this heart that beats?
What if I add it free
to the sale of these sweetmeats?

Each moment wisps of tinsel
a-flutter in icy gales:
I fear her dismissal
as I grasp at just one more sale.

A spark of insight melts the ice
in a tiny warming breeze:
It’s not my wares I price,
but what I’m truly selling’s me.
Inspired by observing sellers at Christmas markets in Potsdam this December while taking photos.
Cassandra Dec 2024
I thought I would text you

About the people who troubled you,

About the girl who called twice and texted
Just to gloat, made you feel rejected.

I thought I would text you

About how you are so much more

Than what they tell you or,

how they make you feel.
I thought I would text you
"You are so far above—

Your brilliance in surplus."

But I got lost.

In my own thoughts,

In my own insufficiency.
There was a violent pause.

I closed my eyes.
And 
all I remember is—I got lost.

In my own calculations,

of how I fall short

In everything I try.

I don’t try enough.

I never stretch my hands

For the stars or the sun.
I gritted my teeth;

Like ice, I got frozen
.
I tried to list my reasons,

make a report—

But I felt smaller than an ant,

And I got lost.

I nail my feet to the ground,

Afraid to think of the sky.

I don’t know how much

Of my fear is truth,
How much
a lie.

I was thinking about trying to save you.
With my words and small things I could do
But then I got lost—

in how everyone 
reaches higher heights,
While I just seem to be falling down.
Step by step

Thud, thud, thud.
Silence.
Thought abt trying to cheer up my sister but i got lost in my own feelings of insufficiency and self loathing
I'm sorry if I'm too easy
for a friend of a friend
but i get too queasy
trying to play pretend

see I've been playing this game
shove in the tape hit re-wind
enough to know nothing ain't the same
so come on over and tell me what to find

it starts out slow
enough to let you think
then right before you know
the world begins to sink

my laughs contagious when I laugh at everything
call me crazy or a pick me up too
he won't bring a diamond ring
but we smile and say boohoo
Jack Groundhog Oct 2024
Weathervane, weathervane,
whither does the wind blow?
Will you learn to point the way
or will you just go with the flow?
When the fox would rule the henhouse
as the wind twists all around
will the weathercock crow midnight
without making a sound?
Luca Scarrott Oct 2024
Pressed against you like paper and ink
through the rolls of a printer.
Stories read to children
to help them sleep at night.

The author’s prized creation:
solar systems of endless
chances repeated
with each bursting supernova.

We could have a sky:
habitable or raining diamonds
or the catalysts for life ready to procreate.
Chemical reactions fusing into flames.

We are a fragile anomaly
of lives and worlds colliding.
We are words printed
across this infinite universe.
The conflicting feelings of a relationship (romantic or platonic) being intentionally aligned by a creator and the coexisting feeling that your lives are part of an uncontrollable chemical reaction, and every moment is a game of chance.
My perfect face, my perfect form,
It’s been some time since you crossed my mind.
My perfect eyes roam, longing for features that will never be mine,
Yet I am not sad; I carry the essence of my kind.

I wish I didn’t dwell, though I was sailing well on this rocking ship.
My mirror lies beside me, a truth I yearn to eclipse.
I could seize it now, as effortless as dispersing a speck of dust.

My perfect face, my perfect form become what I wish,
I hate to love you and ache for your kiss, but...
G Vermeulen Oct 2024
They always say a relationship isn’t always 50/50
Sometimes it’s 20/80 or 70/30
But together it will always make up for 100%
Does that ring a bell?

I don’t feel like that 100% is there anymore
Don’t even know if it has ever been there
It feels like I’m charging an old phone whose battery isn’t at full capacity any longer
As if it’s 110 vs. -10

And I’m sure you feel the same way
I’m sure you feel like I am not bringing enough to the table either
As if, together-
we are overloading the battery

Each of us thinking we are charging with the right cable
Charging it for the right amount
Or in the assumption of the battery knowing when it is full
But the battery doesn’t know
We both don’t know

It’s a constant guesswork of where we are on that scale of zero to a hundred
The odds are so small of us both picking the right amount.
And yes, it has happened before-
but that only means the odds of it happening again are getting smaller

I am terribly afraid.
I don’t want to switch batteries.
But maybe, for you-
It’d be better.
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