Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
On the fifth of April 2024, about 10: 23 a.m., we all felt a shake
It wasn't the midnight train; it wasn't a jack hammer
It wasn't children hopping; it wasn't the roaring of a tiger
It wasn't a 747 emergency landing; it was an earthquake
It was God smiling at us to see how we would have reacted
People had panicked miserably; it was the talk of the town
Imagine how we would behave on the eventual day of the frown
We'd probably be crying, grimacing and feeling deserted
No, that wasn't a plane
No, that wasn't a train
No, that wasn't the lake
Yes, that was a 4.8 Earthquake
In the Northeast
Disturbing our peace
Everybody is now scared, talking about it
Everybody is now stressed, having a fit.

Copyright © April 2024, Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Kenshō Dec 2024
We met once again,
In an instance
Outside of time.

You reminded me
You hadn't gone.
And, we caught up
On moments lost.

You explained,
It was just
A misunderstanding.

You had hid away,
To make us all
Realize
How much we loved you
When you were
Here.

The solace I felt
At your return
Filled me up.
Just like old times.

Until, you needed to go
Again;
Leaving me wondering,
When I'll see you again.

For, you had many
Loved ones to visit
That night;

And you were the
Shared connection
Between us all.

As I wiped the
Sleep from my eye,
I got ready for the day
Without you.

~

Yes, my friend, my heart has enough space to carry you a thousand times, back and forth from here to there. And, I know there will be a space for me in yours when I see you then.
I love you forever!
neth jones Oct 2024
.
you're at the front door                                    
you're in through the front door   my door 
  without knocking
face flushed with malice and ****** visions  
"uh-huh" i say
there's a cotten shopping bag                          
                    of who-fears-what   in one mitt
and you throw yourself                    
                   on my sunken couch
you unzip those mad pricy leather boots
with flames down the sides
and clutch your bag to your chest  
with meaning and taunt
        leaning toward
                  a smile  crocodiles your face
          your clock ; three forty seven
your mind ; immersed in some midnight woo
a witching verse and a fortune boastful and blue
am i to be involved in your clockwork mockery ?
(i have been your collaborator                          
              and coal mine canary in the past)
  do i even want to be invited ?
i don't know any better   i am  as always  excited
"alright, i'll bite .. what's in the bag ?" i say
Zywa Aug 2024
When I visit them

I look to see what has changed --


To be home again.
Autobiographical account "De harde kern" - 1 ("The *******" - 1, 1992, Frida Vogels) and "Diary 1966-1967" (2009), April 1st, 1967 in Amsterdam

Collection "Trench Walking"
Zywa Aug 2023
I ring the door with

my handbell and I'm welcome --


because it's mý bell.
Novel "The PowerBook" (2000, Jeanette Winterson), chapter "EMPTY TRASH"

Collection "Truder"
Zywa Jun 2023
The sitting room makes

me feel like I have to walk --


in a gliding way.
Novel "de beker van de min - De geschiedenis van een eerste jaar" ("the cup of love - The history of a first year", 1956, Simon Vestdijk), chapter 2-3

Collection "Inmost"
Zywa Dec 2022
Come and visit us,

or do you prefer to wait --


until I am sick?
"Het Bureau - Plankton" ("The Office - Plankton", 1997, Han Voskuil), page 117

Collection "Not too bad [1947-1973]"
Zywa Dec 2022
Visitors are briefed

of how they should say thank you --


for the reception.
"Het Bureau - Plankton" ("The Office - Plankton", 1997, Han Voskuil)

Collection "Not too bad [1947-1973]"
Zywa Nov 2022
She visits my house,

and I am a guide who learns --


what things are special.
"Farah Mills" (2017, Ivo Victoria)

Collection "(Loves Tricks Gains Pains in the 0s and 10s"
Zoe Mae Dec 2021
Born beautiful, dies the same
She's too free to be bound by the shackles of time
She follows the sunshine
She's too ambiguous to have a name
And she'll certainly never ask for mine
****! There she goes with the wind
Leaving me with nothing but a melancholy grin
Next page