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Hebert Logerie Nov 2024
They reside on the other side of the city
They bathe in the quiet and still fertility
They own yard-keepers and docile servants
Dogs, cats, hyenas and precious plants.

They breathe the camphorated air like us
Swallow the transparent and abominable dust
Cross over and fall in the muddy rivers like saints
Like our siblings living under the tiny tents.

They reside on the other side of the old towns
Over the mountains, not too far from the plains
They bathe in tranquil fertility
Of the country-side, not too far from the city.

They ignore that we are the same, the same formulas
And that we live and endure daily the same dilemmas
And one day, them and us, all of us will answer
Present in the river, under the bridge of forever.


Copyright © September 1982, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Bekah Halle Oct 2024
The pain of life is everywhere,
Sitting below the surface.
It’s too simple to dichotomise here,
We feel it when we don't get the kudos,

And we feel it when love is lost,
So we pull back and hide.
We notice it when our ego’s bruised most
When money on the market slides.

And how about when we text an old friend
No reply comes back, an empty smack.
We apply for a new position, career or trend,
Someone else wins and you get all the flack.

We can't escape the pain, it hits us like rain,
Over and over again we face it.
Wounded, guilty and filled with shame.
despite the pain, we say f*#k it!  And keep going.
Ken Pepiton Oct 2024
Sire, indeed, I understand,
warden of my infancy, first to feed me
letters ready for my mouth to make words,

someday, today, we make wonder, whying
from a while ago, being made wondering why

If today there were 10 billion breathing thinkers,
all ones, alone, in meditation,
making breathed thinkings,

without the knowing used, tehkne, indeed, secret
NDA bound mental threadings
through mental awl holes,
and needless fretting
pin head limitations
of dancers,
ecstatic…
we may as well imagine
any life like mind, fitting
patterns accepted as true,
the grown ups teachings,
all proven when America, became
the idea nobody takes serious, Spirit of '76
the populist, mob, lot of all laborers
in touch with ra'knacks as a class.

The Smithy, and the Selvedge stitcher, and the spinners,
spinning tales to top the last one left laughing, yesterday,
status quo of the fat and happy,
that's what needs preservation

con-science, con-sequence of con-venience
con-served with all the honor due
Providential Wisdom Lord Mother of Mindforms

and every winter, we were warm, I remember,
Grandpa, thinks, we were warm, I remember,

but, still, with use of history in media conserved since
1910, landmark year in these stacks of idle words,
redeemed with one use, ready, read, done,
rich in mercy sown in local nearby kindness,

the effect of music and motion pictures,
we all have seen the movies of Solomon,

apples of gold in pitchers of silver, seen on screen,
since 1927, to entertain those long used as labor,
and in constant craving for fermented things
and circuses with death defying acts, to see.
as one might entertain a god's worshippers,

presenting drama to the masses, as messages
from the highest Academy of Arts and Sciences,

ever devised to hold the hearts desires of all,
in gnostalgic recognition of outcast pain and misery,

Industrial might, right, enough nukes to undo us all,
yet the debt due on funds borrowed for war remain,
no war, yet, but there is this global debt, due, indeed

to ignorance, but, we did warn you.

In the spirit, revived in 66, from a bit of old mold
discovered in a mine shaft northeast of Yuma,
cherished with a friendly McClelland, as a meme,
remember the effect of the acceptable fast, at last,
the pushing back,
of the iron curtains imposing

hope upon hopelessly invincible ignorance,
if a man does not sweat, he must not eat,
it is the only fair way, we swear, Aye, Indeed

we swore, and went and did the chore,
went through hell to prove it a lie,
lived to tell only those they made believe.

Indeed, those were good ideas we used,

we set the captives free,
we did, we did, we did, didn't we

well, not me, but my natural born wedom,
my native cultural heritage of knowledge,

which is a cultivar taken from the tree of life,
one may envision original intention to invent,
us, as assisting inquisitorial tools for thought,

conversational adversarial engines of ingenuity,
artificed tict tension at central most ache to know
how does a free spirit take weforming spirit form
first one thing makes another, and so on, and on

seed, soul, spirit, mind, point stretching into ever
and back, in time to seem as normal as now, squared

to stand stone straight, upright, grounded, upheld
custom for teaching good walking
in perpendicularity.

At tension, presencing being as ware, soft.
At the squared norm, upright, atop perpendicular toes,
tipping all
whys into the mill,

making up my mind
to make my self
known
to you, as an admirer, as a neighbor, next
galaxy on the left 2 pasecs
through the Hubble Deep Field
in mindsped godthought possible, see,
we become a gallactic blink,
as significant as the average star
in the heavens.

On earth, yes, you are so significant,
as it is in heaven.

Exceptional, yes, on the national level,
we are bits in the arms of the average galaxy,

God pays us all the attention we pay the reasons
for religious wars on specs of speculative ratiocination.
What do we do after we vote wrong, Ai, we have a plan, wait and see,
I said ten years ago, peace won, the justification for any war is voided, now.
You just never got the message, it was classified. War never does good.
Heavy Hearted Oct 2024
Oh, Genocide

A nation bathed in blood-
white flags now become
a leaf shaped body bag

With faded eyes, through  screams and cries-
we sift through falsehoods speech...
Colonial,
North
Holocaust:
Unatural Eulogy;

Ancient
Island
Soul,

Turtle's Mind-Spirit

The Land,
no slave to man

From far and wide, 
 oppress those left,
We sulk, in shame and greed.
To be read with the meter of the Canadian national Anthem- what a ******* international embarrassment.
blank Oct 2024
we talked for an hour over chicken alfredo
and my fork kept clinking ringing crashing
against the edge of my bowl
like every time i tried to speak my hand
(knowing it could or should not strangle me silent)
would drown me out with metal

my night was sleepless on purpose
my eyes and throat begging
to shut in shame and respite but
i forced myself awake with every sip
(red bulls and cheap whiskey and stale banana bread)
i swallowed into grimaces
i swallowed into laughter

and my soles ached and argued
against the not-quite salted sidewalks
and the decaying skeletons of autumn
against the freezing arterial
and they all knew i could never catch up
as i ran behind shouting to wait
just a second let me reach–

for what?

for who?

the words i wasted don’t exist anymore.
now i talk over myself and my lover
and the words don’t matter;
they flow between us,
herbal tea with cream and sugar
flows between us like
sunlight pouring in through the blushing leaves
the sunset trees
that only we and the woodpeckers can touch
this is the first actual poem i've written in some time. inspired after the tarot card "the star," which symbolizes recuperation and healing. i'd like to edit this to make it cleaner, but i was too impulsive and excited to have written something not to post it right away.
H AE MZ Sep 2024
When I look at you, I see your beauty.
And when I look deeper, I feel your pain.
Will the world, for once, truly see me?
Or will they only glance at me?
Reflection, how do you perceive me?
So Wrongly.
Self, how dishonestly you portray yourself.

You see me smiling-
But do you see the weight beneath my grin?
You see me standing tall-
But can you feel the cracks I've hidden in my skin?
Reflection, you're too kind, too naive,
Believing the face I show the world.

They've taken my words, my truths,
And turned them into weapons sharp as glass.
What I gave in trust, they twisted,
Used it to cut me where I'm most fragile.

So now I hide. I build these walls so high,
Even you, my reflection, can't climb inside.
I keep my pain locked tight behind my smile,
For fear of giving them the keys to destroy me again.

I wonder, reflection-
Are you a facade too?
Do I hide from you as much as the world,
Turning away from what's true?

Can I trust you?
Can you see past the armor I've forged,
Or are you just another wall I've built,
Keeping me from myself?

I'm afraid to look too closely-
What if you're just another lie?
What if I've buried the real me so deep,
That even my own eyes can't find me?

Until next time, reflection...
If I'm ever ready to face you again.
This poem portrays the most fearful conversation I have had, with my own reflection. It explores the tension between the version of me that the world sees and the vulnerable self I keep hidden. Fear of confronting my own buried truths, shaped by betrayal and the way trust has been used against me, has forced me to build emotional armor. As I look at my reflection, I wonder if I can even trust what I see. The conversation remains unfinished, as I'm not yet ready to fully face this scariest reflection of who I really am.
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