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Awoke full rested,
In cozy bed nested,
And sudden awareness,
My heated heart,
Undulating,
Unnaturaly,
Rhythmically synchronicity with the gentle lapping
Of the genteel,
Well behaving, quieting waves,
Of Shelter Island Bay,
On the shores of
Silver Beach

7/21/25
8:22am
Olivia Jun 30
A poem and tribute to my Nana Lilly Murdoch Sokimi. After nearly six years, we’ve fulfilled her wish, laying her ashes to rest on her island home, a place I knew only through her stories but have now walked myself #kuria #kiribati

💕
For you my beloved Nana you are cherished ❤️🌴

I miss you so much, but my heart knows you’re at peace and no longer at fuss

You’re laid to rest on Kuria, the island you love. Home with your beloved ones, safe in the stars above.

I miss you nana but I know you’re home

I sit on the beach, the sand warms beneath me. Your tales of old times dance in the waves of the sea

I miss you nana but I know you’re home

I wish you were here, right by my side,
But I feel you watching, with love as my guide.

I miss you nana but I know you’re home

Riding on the back of a motorbike, wind in my face, I see you in the land, in every sacred place.

I miss you nana but I know you’re home

The coconut trees sway gently, I’ll never forget whispering your tales you told me as a child oh how I fret.

I miss you nana but I know you’re home

I walk on the beach where the sand holds your steps and I hear your laughter, your glories in depths.

I miss you Nana but I know you are here
Kuria, your home, your land holds you now, in its warm, endless way.

In the heart of this island, where families join you by your side and love will never fade away .

You are home, my dearest Nana, you are home, my heart aches to say, forever here and my heart you will always stay.

From Fiji to Kuria we have reached the shores, May you Rest in eternal peace my dearest Nana on this sacred island of yours.
MetaVerse Apr 5
Fifteen men on the dead man's chest—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!

Gold doubloons and pieces of eight—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Pockets of coin is the sailor's fate—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!

Gentlemen of fortune and fun—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Have the most money under the sun—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!

Got me a ******* every shore—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Love 'em and leave 'em and leave 'em sore—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!

Jolly Roger ***** in the breeze—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Life is a sport on seven seas—
     Yo-**-**, and a bottle of ***!
Take me home across the ocean
Too far away to bear
Feeling trapped, going through the motions
But I don't really care

I've grown weary of grayscale gloom
Of mainland and its toxic waste
Heart heavy, I sense impending doom
Sorrow etched across my face

Take me home across the water
Through perfect turquoise waves
Home to where the air is hotter
But the breeze brings solace I so crave

Home to where the beaches
Wrap the island in a hug
Where the forest earnestly reaches
Towards the crystal sky above

Take me where the birds wing playfully
Wild and beautiful and free
Where the sun dances gracefully
‘Cross mountain and sparkling sea

Take me home across the ocean
I can't take it anymore
My perfect home has my devotion
Won't stop 'till I reach its shores

I fantasize of my returning
Why must I be stranded here?
My heart hurts from my constant yearning
No breeze here to blow away my tears

To go back home is all I need
I've never grieved like this before
My soul enduring constant bleeding
I'm broken to my very core
Missing home a lot today, so I thought I'd write about it. Nothing I ever write will ever be able to truly encompass its beauty though
Kuda Bux Jan 13
I smoke my last stick
throughout the night, the smoke fades
Tomorrow, I'll starve.
The damp morning brings wet rice,
jaundiced eyes, and collapsed lungs

The brown water wanes—
Black-head buoys and a poem:
Birds sing elegies.
The sky absolves once again
Amnesia reverberates.
Hebert Logerie Nov 2024
Oh ! Non, ils ne devraient jamais parler de Porto Rico
Borinquén, Porto Rico de façon aussi diabolique
Porto Rico nage dans la mer des Caraïbes
Avec d'autres îles comme Cuba, Haïti et la Jamaïque
Puerto Rico est un magnifique archipel des Caraïbes
Avec de hautes montagnes. Oh ! Oui, la belle Porto Rico
A un ciel bleu et blanc parfait, des forêts tropicales de bonheur
Des plages d'eau cristalline, et elle est l'une des meilleures
Porto Rico ne peut jamais être « une île flottante de déchets »
Elle est superbe avec beaucoup de potentiel. De nos jours
Certains clowns ou comédiens fous doivent avoir beaucoup de nerfs
Pour insulter une Boricua aussi douce avec un peuple plein d’amour
J’irai bientôt à Porto Rico à la recherche de ma belle Sainte
De mon Âme, de ma reine. Je deviendrai un artiste pour peindre
Le sourire de cette île paradisiaque. Borinquén chérie, mon amour
Javier Solís a raison. Tu es le pays des rêves, mon amour
Personne ne peut ternir ton image. Je viendrai te rendre visite bientôt
Avec de beaux rêves dans mon cœur et avec une cuillère en argent
Pour que je puisse savourer ta cuisine et siroter ton cocktail tropical
En plongeant très fond dans les yeux de ta fleur si **** et belle
Notre Porto Rico est une île mythologique pour les rêveurs
Notre Porto Rico est un archipel tropical pour les amoureux.

Copyright © Novembre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés.
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de nombreux recueils de poésie.
Translation in French of ' Our Puerto Rico'.
Hebert Logerie Nov 2024
¡Oh! No, nunca deberían hablar de Puerto Rico
Borinquén, Porto Rico de una manera tan malvada
Puerto Rico nada en el mar Caribe y el Océano Atlántico
Con otras bellas islas como Cuba, Haití y Jamaica
Puerto Rico es un hermoso archipiélago caribeño
Con altas montañas. ¡Oh! Sí, maravilloso Puerto Rico
Tiene un cielo azul y blanco perfecto, bosques tropicales
Playas de agua cristalina, y es una de las mejores
Puerto Rico nunca puede ser 'una isla flotante de basura'
Es hermosa con mucho potencial. En esta época
Algunos payasos o comediantes locos deben tener muchos nervios
Para insultar a una Boricua tan dulce con una población amistosa
Iré a Puerto Rico pronto a buscar a mi bella Santa
Mi Alma, mi Reina. Voy a convertirme en artista para pintar
La sonrisa de esta isla paradisíaca. Borinquén querida, mi amor
Javier Solís tiene razón. Eres la tierra de los sueños, mi amor
Nadie puede empañar tu imagen. Te visitaré pronto
Con lindos sueños en mi corazón y con una cuchara de plata
Para poder disfrutar de tu cocina y empaparme de tu cóctel tropical
Mientras me sumerjo en los ojos de mi deslumbrante y **** ángel
Nuestro Puerto Rico es una isla mitológica para soñadores
Nuestro Puerto Rico es un archipiélago tropical para enamorados.

PD Traducción de ‘ Our Puerto Rico’ en español.

Copyright © Noviembre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Todos los derechos reservados.
Hébert Logerie es autor de numerosos poemarios.
Puerto Rico is not '' a floating island of garbage'.
Hebert Logerie Nov 2024
Oh! No, they should never talk about Borinquén
Puerto Rico, Porto Rico in such an evil fashion
PR swims in the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea
With other exquisite islands like Cuba, Jamaica, and Haiti
Puerto Rico is a gorgeous Caribbean Archipelago
With high mountains. Oh! Yes, wonderful Puerto Rico
Has perfect blue and white sky, tropical rainforests
Crystal clear water beaches, and she’s one of the best
Puerto Rico can never be ‘a floating island of garbage’
She’s lovely with a lot of potential. In this day and age
Some crazy clowns or comedians must have a lot of nerves
To insult such a sweet Boricua with friendly peoples
I’ll be going to Puerto Rico soon to search for my stunning Saint
My Santa, my Queen. I’m going to become an artist to paint
The smile of this paradise island. Borinquén dear, my love
Javier Solis is right. You are the land of dreams, my love
No one can tarnish your unique image. I will visit you soon
With lovely dreams in my heart and with a silver spoon
So I can enjoy your cuisine and seep up your tropical cocktail
While diving deep into the eyes of my dazzling and **** angel
Our Puerto Rico is a mythological Island for dreamers
Our Puerto Rico is a tropical Archipelago for lovers.

Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
This poem is my response to this crazy comedian.
If I can escape to my Utopia
Connect with my own bliss
Create my own Arcadia
A Wonderland of Happiness
A Tropical Island get away
Palm Trees, Coconuts and more
A Fantasy Island of my own
So, what am I waiting for!!
I so just want to Get Away and
Save my Troubles for another Day
No  more worries it would be so nice
To Get away to my Paradise
If I had the opportunity, I wouldn't think Twice
Of this being my Paradise
My, my, my, "What A Sight!!"
This would DEFINITELY be my Paradise!!!

By: B.R.
Date: 10/15/2022
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2024
after Alexandra Leaving, a song by Leonard Cohen

<>

to go where?

to a city self-consuming in madness,
giving every excuse to stay, and yet,
it came to me just now when the poet
must be leaving his redoubt, with doubt,
and return to the concrete and anomie
of a different kind of splendid isolation

when the last leaf meanders slow down
to the battlefield, and the falling terminado,
and the tree branches are stick figures, each
finger pointing skyward in an j’accusing manner,
accussing & conceding defeat, begging for mercy,
their pleadings too much for me to bare and bury

when green has been wiped clean, and deleted
from the dictionary of colors, my moth eaten soul,
can no longer be granted a stay of execution by
merely looking at the landscape and seascape
to admire their friendly contrasting schemes,
their installation in me of the awe of a visual
quietude, that was an astonishing injection
not truly appreciated till now, too late and
still early, the awe colorations of nature’s vibrancy

The gods have come, my soul hoisted upon their
broad shoulders, the dead-appearing tree branches
can no longer keep their poet safe, hold him back from
meeting his fate; now, he too is a leaving but
floating upward, unlike like the fallen crowds that have
come to rest upon the soil that born them, now to be buried,
all saying: Goodbye Island Poet leaving,

Island Poet
has no poem, no good understanding, no vision,
had no plan, no foresight, only a hope against hope,
that safety was/is not seasonal, Van Morrison reminds,
“These are the days of endless summer,”are memories,
to be held onto tightly, until when if I pass muster, angels
will return to my island abode, where my natural friends
will greet me again, with a flowering and new births,
and The Island Poet can once again revel in ideas in words like
future, sanity, when boarding the ferry with a one way ticket smile.
From a Labor Day  funereal so long ago,
yet forever permanent…nml
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