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I have never seen an ugly flower
Flowers are always full of grandeur
Flowers are known to be beautiful
All the time, that's stupendously wonderful
All flowers speak a beautiful language
That we all fully comprehend. In this day and age
Everybody is yearning to hear the voice of love
The voice of a symphony coming from above
Yes, everybody loves the language of the flowers
It is a language, a sound of joy between lovers
And friends. Love is at the center of everything
Please keep on dreaming, please keep on speaking
The language of the flowers, the language of all colors
The dialect of the epicureans, the language of all lovers
I only see beautiful flowers in spring, fall, summer and winter
One flower has the power to improve the mood of a lover
Bring a flower to a lover, I guarantee you that you'll be happy
Keep on speaking the language of the flowers to spread unity
Love, respect, peace and the incredible fondness that we all need
Flowers do not discriminate or use foul words. Lead and feed
Inspire and incense the world with the perfume of the flowers
With the aroma of a stylish language and exquisite manners.

Copyright © August 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Hebert Logerie Nov 2024
No sonrías conmigo si no quieres
Porque no soy un espejo
No seas como un fanfarrón que me da una sonrisa negra
De un estilo extraño, nervioso y anormal
Porque no soy un bromista
Muéstrame tus emociones genuinas
Dame algo normal o natural
No pido nada especial
Solo sé tú mismo y lo apreciaré
No des algo inusual y vil
Muéstrame una sonrisa normal, dulce y hermosa
No me des mucho. Estaré satisfecho con un poquito
Porque no quiero ni una sonrisa negra ni una sonrisa vacía
De un estilo extraño, blanco, hipócrita e inusual
Pero sonríe, sonríe conmigo, si lo dices en serio
Y por favor no lo hagas, si tu sonrisa no encaja.

Copyright © Junio 2020, Hébert Logerie, Todos los derechos reservados
Hébert Logerie es autor de varios libros de poesía.
Translation of ' Blank Smile' in Spanish
Hebert Logerie Nov 2024
Don’t smile with me if you don’t want to
Because I am not a mirror
Don’t be like a bluffer who gives me a black smile
In a strange, nervous and abnormal style
Because I am not a josher
Show me the genuine emotions of you
Give me something normal or natural
I am not asking for anything special
Just be yourself and I will appreciate it
Don’t give something unusual and vile
Flash me a normal, sweet and beautiful smile
Don’t give me a lot. I’ll be satisfied with a small bit
Because I want neither a black nor a blank smile
In a strange, white, hypocritical and unusual style
But smile, smile with me, if you mean it
And please don’t, if your smile does not fit.

Copyright © June 2020, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Zywa Nov 2024
The dinner table

is stylishly set, spotless --


Sorry, except me.
Book "Parijs nu. Wereldstad in verandering" ("Paris now. Metropole in change", 2024, Simon Kuper)

Collection "Specialities"
MetaVerse Sep 2024
Emily shmemily,
Emily Dickinson,
Recluse and poetess,
Rendered her rhyme

Idiosyncrously,
Much of her poetry
Reading most cryptically
Much of the time.
idiosyncrously – like "idiosyncratically" but doubly dactyllic
Kiernan Norman Jul 2024
Cut to me: tempting his anger with my white-knuckled grip and words so honest they could make a saint scream.

Cut to him: choking on his own twisted tongue and front-door fear.

Cut to me: still holding the reins of the wreckage, still not letting go-

Cut to him: saying sort yourself out, saying he’s broken women far stronger, saying anything he can to turn me against him, saying he’d pay for my own heart to be sealed.

Cut to me: a daisy in my mouth, a blackbird in my hand, a shattered window in my chest. I have this feeling that I'm not supposed to be here, I have this feeling that I’m only half-way through this story.

Cut to him: six feet tall, and each one a cellblock of quiet anguish.

Cut to me: cutting my feet on breaking branches, scraping my fingers on the rough bark of a tree. The poems don’t say anything, the tears never come. The rain falls in the wrong places, the daffodils die for the wrong reasons.

Cut to him: new job, new state, new life. Starting from scratch but still scratching at the itch that looks like me, still licking wounds from the daggers aimed at my hope that ricocheted back to his own. What does he do with his hands when he thinks of me? How does he deal with his guilt when it claws up his throat and he’s afraid to spit it out?

Cut to me: dreaming him with long hair. I don’t know where to imagine him when I imagine him; a topographic map of unknowing in my mind- an uncured landscape and rough terrain. I see him as a question mark in the wilderness; forging his own labyrinth of twisted truths and hop-scotching the minefield he planted.

Cut to him: Not really in the wilderness, probably in a condo in a mid-sized city. I think if he meets a nice girl who tags him in her Facebook posts, I’d have to **** myself.

Cut to me: demolishing the both of us, casting his secrets like seeds in the dirt, watching scandal bloom, and his character rot in the high noon sun.

Cut to me: imagining annihilation, holding his hand while leading us to slaughter, destroying us both, and having a marvelous time doing it. I’d make sure they slit my throat first; he’d have to hold me while I bleed out, stroke my face as it loses color, and tell me it’s going to be okay as I fade away.

Cut to me: doing none of these things. I don’t have it in me; when I told him I’d never hate him, I meant it. Wading through summer defanging the snakes in my belly, hoping he’s declawing the tigers in his mind. I won’t admit that I’m waiting, but the story's just half-told. Our plot is paused, and I’m sitting alone, but what if it’s merely intermission, and he’s just at the bar, getting us drinks?
Anais Vionet Jun 2023
Get out your sponges, stippling brushes and pens,
It’s time for makeover-Monday-night to begin.
Think Winky Lux, L’Oréal, Urban Decay,
Maybelline, Armani and Fabergé

It’s a black magic realm where brushes are wands,
where a carnival of colors are carefully crayoned.
We have palettes aplenty, in kaleidoscope hues,
to create fashion looks, both bold and subdued.

In the realm of makeup fashion, where trends never end,
we remodel each other - for fun - when we can.
Tonight, our new friend Jammie has come to watch us play,
and he even brought two bottles of chardonnay.

Lisa has a ‘Miss Rose’ case, like she saw in Bernadette Peters’
dressing room, on a backstage tour of the Shubert Theatre.
Konjac, Kabuki, Doe foots, Spoolie, Lisa’s got legit tools to use.
“When it comes to makeup,” she says, “always avoid dupes.”

That night I was the chosen face, the excited living canvas.
Lisa’s a practiced artist, her process is brisk and never tedious.
She painted my lips a crimson cherry, alluring and brightly sensuous,
my brows were moonlit art, my cheeks a midnight adumbrated edifice.

Lisa created a special look, where rebellious edge met elegance.
We took some snaps, then I washed it off - but Jammie was impressed!
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Adumbrate: “to partially outline and obscure”

Slang: “dupes” are off-brand knock-offs of famous luxury brands
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