#bedside
It’s like an erosion.
It’s already waking up tired, bones heavy with yesterday, mind racing before your feet hit the floor.. as if danger might arrive if you pause too long.
It’s the way words betray you when you need the most – sentences slipping sideways, thoughts tangling, your mouth moving faster than your mind can follow or vice versa.
You sound wrong. You feel wrong. You wonder where you lost yourself.
It’s living in my body… in my clenched, jaw, in my shallow breaths, in the constant scan for what might go wrong next.
It’s taught me that stillness is unsafe, that rest must be earned. That silence is suspicious.
It’s turned my compassion into a weight I carry until my shoulders ache. Every alarm, every call light, every “just one more thing” presses deeper into me and now my days off feel like recovery rooms instead of living.
It has come to make me feel completely and utterly alone, even in a room full of people.
It’s knowing you are good at what you do while secretly fearing you are breaking beyond repair.
It’s loving what you do and resenting it at the same time. It’s wanting to escape not because you are weak, but because you have stayed strong long past what was humane.
And the most cruel part… It whispers that this is who you are now. That the fog is permanent. That the pieces you lost will never come back.
But that is a lie. I am not broken.
I am over exposed. Overstimulated. Overwhelmed. Over-sacrificed.
The clarity that I miss did not disappear. It is waiting for quiet, for safety, for mercy.
And within this feeling, I see my mind and body in a constant survival mode.
I don’t want to ask to escape this life I prayed for. I’m only begging, pleading to return back to it. <3
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 10:42 AM UTC
I stand where endings linger. Where beeping machines outlive the voices beside them. I carry stories that were never meant to be mine… Last breaths, unanswered prayers, souls fully broken, hands that grew cold in mine… this work takes without asking. It measures my worth by how much of myself I’m willing to leave behind. There is never enough time, never enough of me, only quiet accusation that I should have done more. I’ve learned to stay steady while something sacred breaks. How to swallow grief and call it professionalism. Somewhere along the way, I hardened; not from cruelty, but from survival. I fear this place is teaching me how to be numb faster than it ever taught me how to heal. </3
Mar 27
Mar 27, 2026 at 10:22 AM UTC
Muero por estar a tu lado, a tu lado
Amor mío, tengo sed de estar a tu flanco
Para calmar tu dolor, para darte buenos masajes
Para encantarte y enviarte dulces mensajes
A tu cuerpo, tu alma y tu corazón destrozado
De ahora en adelante, tú y yo no deberíamos separarnos nunca.
Muero por estar contigo, noche y día
Durante tu rehabilitación y tu estancia
En todas las facultades de medicina. Te extraño muchísimo
Tengo sed y hambre de verte. Estoy a la vez enojado y triste
Para no estar contigo hoy, en este momento
Anhelo estar a tu lado, ahora mismo, dulce madre.
Hasta pronto. Estaré contigo todo el tiempo
Seré la dulce sanadora que rimará con alegría
Solo para ti. He estado esperando la oportunidad perfecta
A tu lado. ¡Qué ganas tengo de verte sonreír y reír de nuevo!
Me muero por estar a tu lado
Te extraño como un pobre amante abandonado en el muelle.
P. D.: Traducción de “By Your Bedside” de Hébert Logerie.
Copyright © Septiembre de 2025 Hébert Logerie. Todos los derechos reservados.
Hébert Logerie es autor de varios poemarios.
Sep 8, 2025
Sep 8, 2025 at 1:59 PM UTC
Je meurs d'envie d'être à tes côtés, à ton biais
Mon amour, je suis assoiffé d'être à ton chevet
Pour éteindre ta douleur, pour t’administrer de bons massages
Pour t'envoûter et pour envoyer de doux messages
À ton corps, à ton âme et à ton cœur ébranlé
Chérie, dès lors toi et moi ne devrions plus jamais être séparés.
Je meurs d'envie d'être avec toi, nuit et jour
Pendant ta réhabilitation et ton séjour
Dans toutes les facultés médicales. Tu me manques terriblement
J’ai soif et faim de te voir. Je suis à la fois triste et en colère
De ne pas être avec toi aujourd'hui, en ce moment
Je suis chaud d'être à tes côtés, tout de suite, tendre mère.
À bientôt. Je serai avec toi tout le temps
Je serai le doux guérisseur qui rimera joyeusement
Juste pour toi. J'attendais l'occasion parfaite de venir
À tes cotés. J'ai hâte de te revoir sourire et rire
Je meurs d'envie de me tenir à ton chevet
Tu me manques comme un pauvre amant largué sur le quai.
P.S. Translation of “By Your Bedside” by Hébert Logerie.
Copyright © Septembre 2025 Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés.
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poésie.
Sep 6, 2025
Sep 6, 2025 at 11:17 PM UTC
I am dying to be by you, at your bedside
Mon amour, I yearn every second to be by your side
To soothe the pain, to give you a good massage
To mesmerize you and to send the right message
To your body, to your soul and to your enduring heart
Darling, going forward, you and I should never be apart.
I am dying to be with you at night and day
Throughout your rehabilitation and your stay
At any medical facilities. I miss you very bad
I miss you all the time. I am both sad and mad
That I am not with you right now and today
I’m craving and dying to be by your side right away.
I will see you soon. I will be with you all the time
I will be the sweet healer who will happily rhyme
For you. I had been waiting for the perfect occasion
To come. I am eager to see you smile and laugh again
I am dying to be sitting and standing at your bed side
Sweetheart, I miss you like a sad lover, like a poor child.
Copyright © September 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Sep 6, 2025
Sep 6, 2025 at 11:18 PM UTC
Happy roses on the parade, he was waiting for the 2 years to arrive
The album cover love the lover's wilting love in on Jesus' daughter in a tree, lovely sails it had
They fell when the autumn had arrived, **** your darling buds
Pygmies digging holes in the soil in their hearts of toil, falling prudently
Like leaves, the red justice, gold ***** in a curlicue of extra circulars
Touch on the washed-up Gurudeva, fixing holes in the faucets, the sunshine shines on our bad news, save us the supernatural darkness
The superstition of the Siamese cat, and the weeping lady
The flow is getting better, make love could we ever escape dark days and escape the midnight shines like good fillers on hydrogen delight, stars in the stare looking for the assets to darkness
Moonchild roses remembering the supermarket in America, that changed them, those who were pleased with the peaches incarnate in the cries of the last radio of the gold heads, buses of the sunflower tin cans
That cried an Eli book of poems, show me in the radiant illuminating blue eyes
I am walrus, I can make these songs okay touch tough but it was right to be alright
Ending a letter to Lennon on the twelfth night, the wrong from my lenience
My liege, my childhood here hath Earth omnipotent in areolar sprayed aerosol cans, we long these round holes and surmise of free prose in the inner moon
Light up the sadness
Album cover acrid as the midnight spoon, feeling sentimental
Tumescent buildings, my cheer, without imagination
You don't deserve possessions, you shot down dead weight
Carry the shine, in the confines of a painless razor of lacrosse, Billy shears brushing your head
I'm shaving my head, with the crowd in an instantaneous hung jury in the situation in the dalliance with the forgotten underwear, ******* my collegiate thumb
I want to write my own stuff with natural ecstasy and alliance of the hung jury in the psychotherapy, and the ******* ministerial preacher, saying please please me
You said you were
Struggling with the bugs, Pam
In your head, and hung bedbugs in your childish core, of faith as a person who loves the sibilant sounds
When I laugh as my head comes out of the plastic nation
Freed and staring into the distance, Ono here in the ballad hearin' sound laughter
Lead your path
To thine light ad thine veritas
There is thy will in every bright thought in
We thought up a bed, filled hat across the new man
We are not scared among the ranged beats, were dreaming style
Derailed from the tabula rasa, and waterfalls and lose our happiness in the morning
And search for the under in our childish souls
Hanging out in rainbows in cyclones swirling like idiot winds
And they call me dumb, a bad person in studied simplicity
Simplicity is the kind of loving, giving the kindness of taking it gently
Failure is simply the opportunity to begin again, this time more searchingly
Already finding the end of life's meaning in the puddles of love
Find yourself in mother nature, and you can apply yourself, my friend my water, my shapeshifting friend and left the flower
And leave someone's shadow as we grow fond of the light, we start wondering if the starry skies in patched blackberries
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 7:43 PM UTC
They say that the eyes are the window
to our souls.
If that were true, then you would
still be laying next to me at my
bedside.
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 12:20 PM UTC
10pm
knocked off the nightstand,
tonight it rains
cold coffee.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 7:30 PM UTC
In those days we kept a vigil
By his bed,
Holding his hand as he withered
On the vine, and we imagined his life
As something which, down the line, slithered
Inaudibly into the long grass, uncomplaining.
Outside, it was raining.
‘Just a few more days’, we said
‘Then there will be sunshine, no more rain.’
Was he in pain?
We never knew;
He lay still, quietly, there.
Perhaps we did not care?
But no, surely we did;
I’d like to think we did.
The ‘few more days’ turned to years,
Then decades, centuries,
And still he lay.
And still he lies
Today.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 12:30 PM UTC
This is my side of
the bed. I have
lain here my whole
life. I daren’t
cross the threshold
to the other
side, which remains
spotless, impressionless,
free of wrinkles
and other signs
of life.
I lie like the lifeguard
tells you to lie in
the waterslide:
feet crossed at the ankles,
arms across
the chest.
I lie in perfect
coffin etiquette,
shaping myself within
intangible confines,
cozy and secure.
I have lain here my whole life,
and in my dreams
you are next to me—
I have prepared this space
for you
my whole
life
and I am waiting
patiently
for a sign
of
life.
I am waiting
for the sheets
to wrinkle,
and a mass
to take shape,
and the mattress
to indent,
and the pillow
to sigh—
I am waiting
for cold feet
to shock mine,
I am waiting
for strong legs
to ensconce mine,
I am waiting
for a torso
to touch mine,
I am waiting
for an arm
beneath my neck,
a hand on my
cheek,
I am waiting for warm breath
on my face,
and the silhouette of a face
to taunt me in
the shadows—
I am patiently waiting
for the day
I cross
the threshold
into occupied
space.
Jan 18, 2017
Jan 18, 2017 at 11:35 PM UTC
At mine bedside,
Eastern surveyor's
Dancing across mine face,
Her pucker's move
In Tagalog groove;
Heaven at mine bedside
She awaiteth.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley dedication
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 5:10 PM UTC
I met a man who cried at a bar.
He told me he mourned, and travelled from far.
So I bought a bottle and he drank with me,
As he regailed me his memory.
"I'm waiting for you, Dear, alone in the dark.
You're dieing, they've told me,
It rips me apart.
You bravely are holding your fear at the start,
As I cry alone in the dark.
I've come to your bedside because you've been ill,
Since the cold winter morning you first felt the chill.
I'm waiting for Jesus to make you alright.
I plead for you not to die.
I ache for the sight of your watery eyes.
I hear you breathing, it sounds like good-bye.
This is a moment I'll relive and cry.
My beautiful songbord has died.
Wait for me, wait for me
on the other side wait for me
wait for me, wait for me
wait for me, wait for me."
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 4:51 PM UTC
In a place where the Saints go
To eternally lift their load
My own Saint had a ticket
For his own road
2:37 sharp
That Saturday afternoon
God made a plan
For you to leave soon
Bedside is where I'll be
Waiting for the moment you flee
Don't fly away my heavenly friend
Promise me you'll see me again?
I once heard a story
Where "Love is watching someone die"
Do you remember the moral?
Waiting for the fateful goodbye?
Plans put on hold
We had quite a few
How long to wait?
I don't know about you...
Bedside is where I'll be
Waiting for the moment you flee
Don't fly away yet my heavenly friend
Promise me you'll love me again?
Whatever god there is hasn't given me enough time
To be satisfied with all of our lustful crimes
But as the LCD tells me you're drifting away
Your second date will be for today
Don't go away
Tell me how you fight fight fight
Bedside is where I was
Dreading that awful moment it paused
I watched you fly away, my heavenly lover
You promised me, that we'd wait for each other
But your promises were as broken as you
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 11:34 AM UTC