#anthology
Hellopoetry.com is a wonderful poetry site
Hello Eliot, this is excellent: this oasis is out of sight
Let’s keep it running and excelling
Let’s do a major fundraising or something
To keep it well, inspiring, exciting and alive
You all deserve a big high five.
We are willing to donate
Or to contribute. Please set up a date
We can also publish an anthology
Since there’s plenty of great poems
Published at this site, the very best in our country
Please smile : la crème de la crème
Let’s keep hellopoetry.com at the top of the summit
Hello hellopoetry.com. Hello Eliot.
Copyright © October 2025 Hébert Logerie, all rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Oct 9, 2025
Oct 9, 2025 at 2:01 PM UTC
It's all the same
Every decade,
They change the name
They call it a first
Put her forth
Till she bursts
Like the ones before
It’s nothing new
Not a new blue
Trust me when I say
They just changed her hue.
Stack and piles of women put upon the stand
Trying to see where they’ll land
One upon another, I’ll tell you now
Others turn a blind eye, I wonder how?
How come daisies and roses flood her garden
But once we tire, the land’s burning?
Then blame it on her wants,
Her wealth, her guilt, her flaunts
“But what about her needs?”
No, focus on her greed
She’s one cut from a cloth of kindness
Driven by the stars, she dreamt of flying
She’s paved people’s paths,
Held then discarded their pasts
Why can’t we simply let her be?
She’s simply driven, chasing a dream
Show her those stars, show her those pearls
Don’t replace her, hide her from the world
She won’t read this.
Hell, she won’t read me
But I think she should know
I thank her daily
Jul 28, 2025
Jul 28, 2025 at 7:02 PM UTC
Meleager translations
Meleager was a Greek poet who lived circa 140-70 BC. Meleager is most famous today for The Garland, an anthology he compiled from epigrammatic poems of his era and earlier. In his preface Meleager assigned each poet the name of a flower, shrub or herb (hence the term "anthology," which means "flower collection"). In his commentary on The Greek Anthology, editor and translator J. H. Merivale said that as a composer of epigrams Meleager was "very far superior" to the authors he included in The Garland.
If I am Syrian, what of it?
Stranger, we all dwell in one world, not its portals.
The same original Chaos gave birth to all mortals.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Love, how can I call on you;
does Desire dwell next to the dead?
Cupid, that bold boy, never bowed his head to wail.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Love, I swear,
your quiver holds only empty air,
for all your winged arrows, set free,
are now fixed in me.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Love, if you incinerate my soul, touché!
For like you she has wings and can fly away!
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
When I see Theron everything’s revealed.
When he’s gone all’s concealed.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
When I see Theron everything’s defined;
When he’s gone I’m blind.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
When I see Theron my eyes bug out;
When he’s gone even sight is in doubt.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Mother-Earth, to all men dear,
Aesigenes was never a burden to you,
thus rest lightly on him here.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Meleager dedicates this lamp to you, dear Cypris, as a plaything,
since it has been initiated into the mysteries of your nocturnal ceremonies.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
I know you lied, because these ringlets
still dripping scented essences
betray your wantonness.
These also betray you—
your eyes sagging with the lack of sleep,
stray tendrils of your unchaste hair escaping its garlands,
your limbs uncoordinated by the wine.
Away, trollop, they summon you—
the reveling lyre and the clattering castanets rattled by lewd fingers!
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Moon and Stars,
lighting the way for lovers,
and Night,
and you, my mournful Mandolin, my ***** companion ...
when will we see her, the little wanton one, lying awake and moaning to her lamp?
Or does she embrace some other companion?
Then let me hang conciliatory garlands on her door,
wilted by my tears,
and let me inscribe thereon these words:
"For you, Cypris,
the one to whom you revealed the mysteries of your revels,
Meleager,
offers these spoiled tokens of his love."
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Tears, the last gifts of my love,
I send drenching down to you, Heliodora.
Here on your puddling tomb I pour them out—
soul-wrenching tears
in memory of affliction,
in memory of affection.
Piteously, so piteously Meleager mourns you,
you still so precious, so dear to him in death,
paying vain tributes to Acheron.
Alas! Alas! Where is my beautiful one, my heart's desire?
Death has taken her from me, has robbed me of her,
and the lustrous blossom lies trampled in dust.
But Mother-Earth, nurturer of us all ...
Mother, I beseech you, hold her gently to your *****
the one we all bewail.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Cupid, the cuddly baby,
safe in his mother's lap,
chucking the dice one day,
gambled my heart away.
—Meleager, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Cupid/Eros, the god of love, was the son of the love goddess Venus/Aphrodite, so Meleager is humorously complaining, “Like mother, like cherubic son!”
I lie defeated. Set your foot on my neck. Checkmate.
I recognize you by your weight;
Yes, and by the gods, you’re a load to bear.
I am also well aware
of your fiery darts.
But if you seek to ignite human hearts,
**** off with your tinders;
mine’s already in cinders.
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Silence!
They must have carried her off!
Who could be so barbaric,
to act with such violence,
to wage war against Love himself?
Quick, prepare the torches!
But wait!
A footfall, Heliodora's!
Get back in my ***** heart!
—Meleager, loose translation by Michael R. Burch
Keywords/Tags: Meleager, translation, ancient Greek, epigram, Heliodora, garland, flower, anthology, Cupid, Eros
Apr 1, 2020
Apr 1, 2020 at 4:32 AM UTC
His name was Johnny. His close friends and family liked to call him, little johnny.
This story is about little johnny, with his report card nearing, he wanted to throw one last Hail Mary.
He tried his best and paid attention. He did all but one math question.
On the night before the big day, he knew that this was it. He fell asleep from fatigue, before everything he learned could even hit...
Next morning, little johnny feeling proud of his effort, went off to school feeling great from his rest.
Unfortunately for little johnny, the results show...that in the end he still failed his math test.
This is a story of little johnny, and his mediocre report card.
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 3:15 AM UTC
The next
Anthology
Will be dedicated to
No one
But
Some how
The concerned knows
Who
No one is
Jun 22, 2019
Jun 22, 2019 at 10:15 AM UTC
Why can’t I write anything?
Why I need to write something?
Between those two questions, I found my way to ink my thoughts being fascinated with words addressing a soul inside the human body. Being a part-time dreamer, full-time realist I tried to reflect human psyche, social-issues, clinical journey, and so forth with an interdisciplinary approach. White Words invariably explores the hidden depths of a human, set free by either circumstance or the truth. With every new day I felt writing is not just an art, It’s a social engineering with thought exploring the boundaries of our mind. Words could be a medium to achieve inner peace, sometime embraced with an autobiographic element. Nevertheless it needs to be visualized with holistic lens, being near and far off from the distance with curiosities to get the true meaning of it.
All forms of arts are work in progress, where artist tries to reflect the craftsman’s imaginations and emotions, other time control it with an armor and conceals things using words easy to say in the comfort of expressive outlet. Honestly, I never cared about getting it right, now the same thing is inspiring me in the form of catharsis to make a free verse of a poetic trail.
I feel blessed to be around the people I've come to admire. I remember mom for providing much needed optimism and endless devotion. There is always something new to learn and there is a constant effort to evolve with a better reflection. I want to thank all those who enjoy my writing, and open enough to hone honest criticism. I am accountable for all the errors in bringing this up.
Let the White Words be the life to live by. Until we are blind to foreseeable future, live until we die, laugh until we cry and write what can’t be said. Lastly for a moment just imagine, how good it is to have a voice and being heard, and heeded.
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 10:12 AM UTC
white world in wild winds
the one fair sun repelling
when Persephone rose
#dperez
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 11:19 AM UTC
#
Almost
found a hope that prevails
reaching for me under a starlit tent
Almost
built a boat that sails
across all oceans as they bend
Almost
filled my book with tales
an anthology of moments I didn't attend
Almost
what a terrible word
holding such a stinging truth
Almost
felt like it's all worth the hurt
while wasting years of restless youth
Almost
called out and haven't been unheard
found something I couldn't lose
Almost
thought any path would get me there
where wholesomeness is not just hearsay
Almost
kept a fire in sight that brought me to where
I would find the light of day
Almost
made them proud of me, made them care
made them listen to what I had to say
And now
from where I stand
a lyrical sadness
paper in my hand
I know this is true
I can almost see you
#
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 2:10 PM UTC
Anthology, yes, someday
positivity, trying to keep afloat
sometimes life feels just like
a sinking boat
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
An emergency macaroon
on a boulevard, in March,
Because my sugar levels dropping,
mind foggy, dopamine high crashing;
because legs aching; I can’t unknot
the multi-coloured tangles this evening;
because yesterday; because I said yes; because.
Because you never said in so many words.
You say there is cloud cover
with chance of rain, but you know there
will be rain because you have a headache.
You can tell but you can’t say.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
The known universe was split into two parts. They were almost completely separated by a thin membrane and had been for 55 years.
On the inner side there was room for one individual, secured behind a flimsy, somewhat porous and pliable divider. It had to be pliable as the individual concerned couldn't decide just how much space would be needed at any one time.
On the outer side the rest of the universe ebbed and flowed, only occasionally taking note of the activities that jostled relentlessly just a short distance away on the far side of the membrane. It was almost as if it was quite unaware of the inevitable collision that was to come once Steve finally published his poetry anthology.
Once he hit that button the two worlds would have to establish new terms for their coexistence.
Only time would tell if it would be a peaceful one.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 5:27 PM UTC
EVERYONE! Last February I took part in a gathering of visual, musical, and written artists with a wonderful collective called Err. This Twin Cities based collective gathers artists from all over and puts on shows showcasing every person in one night.
Over the past two years they have showcased 100 artists and now we, all together, are publishing an anthology of our work. Each artist has submitted one piece to be included in the book but now we need your help to make it a reality. We have started a campaign on Kickstarter to get our project off the ground.
We are at the half way point but we still need help. Everyone on this site has been amazingly supportive of my work and if you are at all able; anything you can give is beyond immensely appreciated.
Please check out our campaign page and, if you are moved by our efforts, consider donating.
https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/391424492/err-volume-i?ref=user_menu
Oct 13, 2016
Oct 13, 2016 at 2:19 AM UTC
On the moon
Out of bowl
At top of our roof
Under the moonlight
Honey, I was just homeless child
Looking for love and you
Your younger self with older soul
Saddened over what we were told of
Off the road, I saw you begging
"Bring me back the love I sold"
Selfish, I wasn't that fish
Out of bowl
You took my breaths away
In the first place
You breathed me in
Then out till I lost my chills
Jul 7, 2016
Jul 7, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
Inside, there are so much hidden
Hard times to get through them
There goes a part, I know
Numbing heart whilst being drunk on the floor
Who says that I'm whole
Wonder if i lose it all
Thrilled to announce about
what I've been holding onto
but darling I ain't whole anymore
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 11:28 PM UTC
With sant, build me up
Wishing, could get you out of me
Like fog goes out of my mouth when I breathe
Beating heart, bleeding fast
Healing your heart while seeking your cure
Condition of my madness, over your craziness
Oh your arms, I still remember their warmness
Wasn't aware of this separateness
Yet im left between your darkness
No light, no height but your shine still hides in my eyes
I still feel it, oh I know its out of my touch so is it still out of my reach?
Reckless yet so restless my soul been
Rip me off or recolour my dark soul
Call me an insane or call me sucker but whatever I'm now its just for love, oh my lover
that's the insanity of my love.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 2:12 AM UTC
Every song, she wrote
Each feeling, that faded
Every word, she bled
Each tear, showed how blue was she
On each paper, she screamed
****** sins, still remain with the pain she owned yet still singing out loud to let her veins speak of her heart, around this wall, she sat in front of this, numbing self whilst rhyming to the war
Between her mind and heart.
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
One of the many appellations
It is what I call the love of my life
A quite simple allusion
For these words cannot give justice
My sweet lover.
A moniker
For a champion who saved a damsel in distress
I wish to retire in your presence every night
and wake up in the morning
wrapped in your arms
You're the first and last of my
anthology
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 12:44 PM UTC
☺♥☺♥☺♥☺♥
The worst will be found toward the end of the book
When you’re scanning the lines of a weighty anthology.
Centuries have shaken what works can be shook,
and what’s old is refined – and I make no apology.
Angst-ridden ramblings, so fashionably bleak
Start appearing somewhere past the middle, I fear
With those modernist psyches, whose raggedly weak
and depressing confessions sling mud in the ear.
Like the scribblers of Suicide, brimming with bile
or the autodestructive self-pitying ******
whose quaint observations enshrining the vile
are a crime against life – and an art for the loser.
You ideologues, with your axes to grind,
propagandizing causes in militant styles
ought to stay in the hills, where the struggle is defined,
and spare us the old dialectical wiles.
The Feminist scribe, with her *** for a mouth,
Ever pressing her case, for fallopian reasons
Grows saggingly sterile. Her muses fly south
with the passing of harvests and goddessless seasons.
Absurdists, surrealists, and nihilist mystics
whose hymns to destruction make glory of chaos
should leave the black humor to God and ballistics.
Your poems, like Judas, are bound to betray us.
The Freudian flirt (whose neuroses abound),
And the Jungian shamans (their animas, too),
ought to rest on their couches. Why should they be found
By the wellsprings of Spirit, whose guidance is true.
The art-lover’s lines gild a frame around Knowledge.
Their poems are like an art history course.
As they flit past the idols they studied in college
their name-dropping odes are a grand tour-de–force.
Sixties drug-revelers, love beads a-jingle
And brothers dashiki-clad, howling at Nixon
no longer strike chords in my soul. Not a single sitar lick
nor visions of hippie-chick *****
You rhymers and rappers of rhythms in sample
Whose words like a kick-drum send shock through old Whitey
Now cease from your chanting. The genre is ample.
Your gangstering paeans are too fly-by-nighty.
Revived Roman legions, who relish things Latin;
Your martial convictions inspire the hero.
But while you are looking for cities to flatten,
remember – old Julius was nobler than Nero.
The theme of World Peace – this crops up near the ending:
a desperate hope for New-Agers and liberals,
who cherish a dream of reality-bending
Through networking, magic, and energized crystals…
But what can be shaken shall perish, forgotten.
Anthologies show us that truth is enduring.
All praises and laurels shall prove misbegotten.
The Word become flesh is the most reassuring.
So I leave the anthology, closing its cover.
Three-quarters at least seemed like nonsense to me.
Yet still, I admit, I’m a poetry lover.
Let time do its work and in future – we’ll see…
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:55 PM UTC
Dedicated to combat veterans and PTSD sufferers, wherever they may be...thank you for your service...
An Enemy That Haunts My Mind...
In the middle of the night I lie in bed,
Fighting an enemy that’s in my head.
An enemy that’s always there,
An enemy that won’t play fair.
An enemy that haunts my mind,
An enemy that is not kind.
The price paid for doing good,
Of doing like I’m told I should.
Serving my country in time of war,
Who could ever ask for more?
And now even in my deepest dreams,
All I hear is the sound of screams.
Why was I the one to survive?
Why was I the one left alive?
I ask myself every night,
As I relive every fight.
God, please call me home,
Don’t leave me here all alone.
For when I thought the fight was won,
I’m finding the battle’s just begun.
A soldier who was trained to ****
Finds a battle that’s harder still.
Fighting an enemy I cannot see,
And finding out the enemy is me.
An enemy that haunts my mind,
An enemy that is not kind.
07-11-11.
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
She turned on her speakers
And listened to her anthology
Of lovers sing through the air
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 6:11 PM UTC