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Il Pleut
Et on tire
Ce n’est pas un jeu
On se retire
Tout le monde a peur
Les bébés et les enfants pleurent
Hommes et  femmes s’écœurent
Où tout le monde meurt
Dans les rues infestées d’idiots et de bandits
Ils sont nos ennemis
Ils ne sont pas nos amis
Ils tirent comme des fous
Les balles tombent comme des grains de pluie
Les gangsters ne sont pas doux
Ils sont des terroristes
Ils sont des mauvais touristes
Ils sont des robots criminels
Ils n’ont ni cœur, ni âme et ni esprit
Ils sont des damnés éternels
En destination des enfers
Leurs organes sont en fer
Ils ne sont pas des humains
Leurs mains sont imbibées de sang
Ils sont des malandrins
Ils sont des scélérats de Satan.

Il pleut
Et on tire
On se retire
Au milieu
De tout ce qui est mauvais
Le monde n’est pas en paix
C’est toute la terre en guerre
Au fond du cimetière
On ne fabrique pas d’armes
Chez nous
On n’a que des larmes
Chez nous
On pleure
Chez nous
On fabrique trop d’armes ailleurs
Trop de gens meurent
Tout le monde a peur
Il y a trop de misère et de malheur.

Copyright © Novembre 2024, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs livres de poésie.
It is raining
And they are shooting
This is not a game
This is a shame
Everyone is afraid
Babies and children are crying
Men and women are very mad
Where everyone is dying
The streets are infested with idiots and bandits
They are our enemies
They are not our friends
They shoot like crazy ants
Bullets fall like raindrops and rice
Gangsters are not nice
They are terrorists
They are bad tourists
They Are robot-criminals
They have no hearts, no minds and no souls
They are eternally ******
Bound for Hell, the infernal dam
Their organs are made of steel and iron
They are not human
Their hands are soaked with blood
They are scoundrels covered with mud
They are the spawns of Satan.

It's Raining
And they are killing
What a **** shame
Amidst all the madness
This is outright sickness
The universe is not at peace
The entire world is at war, in distress
Deep in the dungeon of the cemetery
We don't make deadly weapons
Here
We only have tears, rhymes and songs
At home
We cry everywhere
At home
They make too many weapons elsewhere
Too many people are dying in this madness
Everyone is afraid at home
There is too much misery and unhappiness.

Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Ken Pepiton Aug 28
In life stories form
all informed knowing, be it
beautiful adversity universally
re-co-known
acknowledged with smiles, and
nods, sense of yes, I know, I think,

I see you think, so, I know, I did
finish writing something meaningful;

or, be it in every way some other way.

I think you may imagine you agree.

In conscience used, we take science,
knowledge of beauty, chaotic clouds,
bending rays of sunshine, evening
the heave offering, leaving smooth
cool of the day
white sugar desert dunes, to an ant or bee.

{KJB, viable Bible archetype, declares phonetic
remenants of Eber's unconfused use of letters,
towb rah translate as good and evil, but better see
טוֹברַע good and bad, useful and useless to the point
of wasting effort, in a take it easy world, where we
know enough, drink, remember when it was,
plenty of water, no real enemies yet, and only
one barrier, over which those beautiful wild
seeds have been carried, by ravens, and doves
and rodents who surface only in the night.

Let's recall an old told tale, how folks
skinned in many colors we continue to be coated with,
all lost the knowledge that lying was used, to steal,
during lives times when we are parts in wholes,
until all things continuing, combine your will
to wonder what I imagined I am continuing,

with my own will to wander on, meandering
through the substance of hope, by my own

faith, fi, upright, balanced valence in chemical
terms, fit to fight for your right to think wrong,
confident my pride has been filed to a point,
not my right to be wrong, or do wrong, or lie.
To give good reason for cost of learning.
The faith that gives reason its point.

To tell the truth, sheriffs were good guys,
when I was a kid, a wild little goat, indeed,

I have seen myself in seven grandchildren
and their little heathen friends, so I know,

we get more like ourselves, my mother in law said.

And now, I keep the peace, wu wei easy knowing
towb ra' beautiful efforting life demands in return,

for freely eating from all the trees in the garden, thank you.
Insider's backstory, I met a friend of my youngest grand, who has a sister
in this friend's class, I am introduced as Grandpa, and the kid says,
I've heard of you, Noel talked about you all the time, last year. That's a good kind of pride, letting you see, as we expand with age, we need not puff up.
Start a line of thought, like a youngster
who had the chief insensitive;
Now I select my words wisely, with
silence—as no evil will be a cause of a weapon.
And of course, I start every prayer, by
coming with a confession.

As I’ve learnt the sharpest
dagger, is a jealous eye,
Worshiping all the things it lacks;
recalling those who refer to your
character only by its past—the ones to
stab you in the back.
Self custody your Bitcoin now
There’s nobody you can blame
When you take responsibility
Of holding your own claim

Avoid the risk of “Trust me, bro”
For trust is a dangerous game
And letting others hold your coins
Allows THEM to own your claim

Stake your claim with “Proof of Work”
For “Proof of Weapons” is a shame
Help build the world you want to see
By fostering freedom's flame

Twenty one million Bitcoin
No other project has the same...
Mission critical purpose
So get some and stake your claim
You can see this poem on a background here - https://www.bitcoinpoems.pro/delivery086StakeYourClaim.html
nick armbrister May 2023
Eventful War Part 2
It is simply ongoing
The war as you all call it
Continues and will never end
For those who control the world
And all of us are pulling the strings
To make more cash and power
From the war acts which don't stop
A new year a new war in a new place
Or an old place dusting off an old war
It's doesn't matter why who how when
What matters is power and a bit of cash
They lust for power have it all want more
Many will die nations will be wrecked
Weapons used in anger or for fun
You name it they'll use it and do it
Conflict is the normal for them
There is no profit in peace
The Eventful War Part 2 continues
Part 1 never actually stopped…
Eventful War Book 2
Nick Armbrister and other writers
Masha Yurkevich Apr 2022

I'd rather you use bombs and knives,
I'd rather you use guns and swords.
I'd rather that we would have fights;
that you'd leave me with open sores.

I'd rather you find a different weapon,
a different tool to use on me.
I wish you'd make me feel a pain;
I wish you'd leave me weak and ******.

Yet the sharpest tool is what you use;
you leave me dead inside.
I wish you'd tear my heart out;
I wish I would have died.

You open your mouth and the weapons spill out,
you're armed with words that you scream and shout.
The pain is unbearable, the torture indescribable.
I know there's no point in putting up a struggle.

You **** me, one by one,
your words an open ****.
They slice me up in pieces,
making me feel like trash.

All I can be is silent;
I know that is the best.
I try to block them out,
but they're already in my chest.

Your words are killing me;
a slow, antagonizing death.
Each word you say cuts me,
each wound raw and fresh.

I wish you'd let me be,
I wish you'd leave it unsaid.
I guess you just can't see
you can't bring someone back from the dead.


Only God can do that...
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