#dreamers
My favorite time is between 2 and 5am,
it's the hours of poets and dreamers,
scholars and believers,
artists and muses,
the inspired and the insomniacs,
the readers and the writers,
the overthinkers and their thoughts.
Everything is different between those hours,
Everyone is different.
Vulnerable,
honest,
real.
What I'd give to live my whole life
In the limbo of night.
Where the moon is hidden behind a blanket of clouds,
the streetlights are on,
and the highways are empty.
Everything is so quiet,
Between the hours of 2 and 5.
Apr 1
Apr 1, 2026 at 2:39 PM UTC
Long after its death where dipsomaniacs and dreamers
Have gormandized its spicy meat, its shell still breathes
Emitting a monotonous sound to wake-up babies, toddlers
Mothers, fathers, cousins and soldiers carrying wreathes.
The lambis exhales a sound of patience and resilience
It is a symbol (for Haiti) of hope, pride and perseverance
Haitians are born fighters. Haitians fall and get-up
To fight daily. Haitians with a smile will never give up.
The long monotonous squall of the almighty lambis
Can traverse the craters of the mountains and appease
The giant waves of the raging rivers. Listen to the sound
Listen to the bells of freedom, wit and liberty abound.
Copyright © December 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry collections.
Dec 19, 2025
Dec 19, 2025 at 12:37 PM UTC
Dreamers like you
Dreamers like me
What a life line on to be
It was made for people like me.
I dreamed in branches and in leaves
I saw myself in all those trees
When I watched it be
I nearly fell to my knees.
In a world anew with you
It all felt like a deja vu
Like something I already knew
Something to have myself go through.
But it all turned blue
When the leaves no longer seemed pleased
And the cold blurred the view
I could no longer see you.
And I can't deny the mystery
The misery and treachery
How I lied through my teeth
Just so I could make ends meet.
On the highway of life events
At least a few things make sense
You can't always make amends
Maybe we should let it rest...
Oct 17, 2025
Oct 17, 2025 at 5:27 PM UTC
I’ve dreamed of many things
of queens and kings
I've seen within
how soon it takes
for moons to break
and stars to burst
but which came first
the dream or the dreamer
I’ve already been here
a million times
lived a thousand lives
so watch me die
a supernova
still a ******
the sun, my lover
I’ve tasted warmth
and burnt my tongue
I’ve cried through fear
but didn’t run
so still I’m here
lost in dreams
fighting giants
without the means
I’ve been the hero
and the villain
of the same story
so I keep killing
as nobody’s caught me
death to the dream and the dreamer of things
let us see what reality brings.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 4:21 PM UTC
Your words arrive like echoes deep,
A whisper soft, a vow to keep.
"Be the best," you gently write,
A spark, a hope, a guiding light.
"Kind, caring, considerate"—
Each line a warmth deliberate.
To listen well, to hug, to see,
A kindness shaped in poetry.
You walk with thoughts and music near,
Till swans arrive, serene and clear.
"Spring is on her way," you say,
With nature’s touch in verse’s sway.
And when the world turns cold and gray,
You pen the truths none dare to say.
"Enough," you cry, "of power's reign,"
While hunger weeps in silent pain.
Yet still, in words, you find a way,
To turn the night into the day.
"Ideas awaken you softly,"
With whispers bold yet never costly.
So, poet bold, let verses flow,
For in your ink, the bright flames grow.
The world may waver, doubt, or bend,
But words like yours will never end.
At 5 a.m., the words arise,
like dawn-lit waves in endless skies.
Similes, whispers, metaphors bright,
Ideas stir before the light.
"For the youngest, for those to come,"
For dreamers crafting songs unsung.
"For today, for now, for peace,"
For kindness' touch that will not cease.
Boundaries drawn, firm and wise,
"Set them, hold them, let them rise."
Not all will stay, some will go,
But the poet knows—so it must flow.
Swans at sunset, drifting free,
Rodgers and Astaire upon the sea.
A melody hums, a chorus sings,
Does it hold truth? Does it have wings?
We once were blind, now we see,
Through lyric, verse, eternity.
The poet’s heart beats strong and fast,
A voice, a beacon—built to last.
Mar 9, 2025
Mar 9, 2025 at 3:26 PM UTC
Late night poem in bed
For the late-night dreamers and criers.
I know
This will probably get lost,
Lost in translation or tangled up in your thoughts,
But I hope when you find it,
It also finds you back.
This is my virtual hug but also a reminder
To allow yourself to dream,
Allow your mind to wander.
That’s what keeps your spark lit;
And be your guide forever,
Through the ups and the downs,
Wherever life takes you
Don’t you ever forget, that Gods always with you.
Truly,
With every word written,
Big or small,
I hope it fuels your imagination
And ignites your soul.
I know it feel heavy
Carrying the weight of the world
It can get so lonely
But know you’re not alone
So dare to dream, gentle soul
Hold on to them real tight
Let the midnight mooon reaffirm your existence,
And lift you toward the light,
Even for a moment,
Or only just for the night,
Until you finally break free, and everything feels Alright. ✨
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 3:06 PM UTC
Our destined calm–
rusted wings of the butterfly
and freezing, slow passage of time.
You are the envelope in which lies my heart– a city of myth and ink.
You’re holding the pen.
There are dreamers like me,
for dreams like you.
Dec 2, 2024
Dec 2, 2024 at 2:48 AM UTC
Today, the church celebrates the feast of St. Joseph, Jesus' foster father and the spouse of the Blessed ****** Mary. Precious little is known or mentioned about Joseph in the Bible. He was a carpenter, and he was a good man: righteous and honorable. He doesn't say a single word, has a few angelic visits in his sleep with instructions and promptly obeys, and dies quietly sometime between finding Jesus in the temple and when Jesus begins his public ministry. There are a number of times throughout the Bible where God speaks to people in or through dreams.
For The Dreamers
For all the dreamers and the ones who dare to dream
For all the times reality is more than what it seems
For all who listen patiently for the call to something more
Those who take the chance and walk through the open door
To find a piece of paradise where dreams become realized
A Heaven where our lives and selves are idealized
To those who want a better world and find a lasting peace
To those who quest for answers and those, for truth, that seek
For all the ones that doubted said "No. It can't be won!"
For the ones who still believed there was work yet to be done
For all who triumphed. The overcomers and the unsung heroes
For all the refugees who are more than ones and zeroes
From the Martin Luther Kings to the kid on the streets
The homeless and the hungry with no shoes on their feets
They too, have dreams, they have futures and a hope
The one who sings the one who paints so they can cope
Could be just the inspiration that someone so desperately needs
To dream, to grow, to rise up and do great deeds
Sometimes we wake up with a vision
An image or thought clear as day
Something inspired and amazing
Finding answers and solutions to things that previously vexed
The clarity when pieces fall into context
If you hear his quiet voice while you sleep
Answer: "Your servant is listening. Lord, please speak"
Trust that he will lead you and you will not go astray
Have faith in the Lord, take heart, listen and obey
Nov 18, 2024
Nov 18, 2024 at 8:26 PM UTC
Oh! No, they should never talk about Borinquén
Puerto Rico, Porto Rico in such an evil fashion
PR swims in the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea
With other exquisite islands like Cuba, Jamaica, and Haiti
Puerto Rico is a gorgeous Caribbean Archipelago
With high mountains. Oh! Yes, wonderful Puerto Rico
Has perfect blue and white sky, tropical rainforests
Crystal clear water beaches, and she’s one of the best
Puerto Rico can never be ‘a floating island of garbage’
She’s lovely with a lot of potential. In this day and age
Some crazy clowns or comedians must have a lot of nerves
To insult such a sweet Boricua with friendly peoples
I’ll be going to Puerto Rico soon to search for my stunning Saint
My Santa, my Queen. I’m going to become an artist to paint
The smile of this paradise island. Borinquén dear, my love
Javier Solis is right. You are the land of dreams, my love
No one can tarnish your unique image. I will visit you soon
With lovely dreams in my heart and with a silver spoon
So I can enjoy your cuisine and seep up your tropical cocktail
While diving deep into the eyes of my dazzling and **** angel
Our Puerto Rico is a mythological Island for dreamers
Our Puerto Rico is a tropical Archipelago for lovers.
Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Nov 5, 2024
Nov 5, 2024 at 5:47 PM UTC
before she was death I
often saw her in the orchard with
her pet ducks and fluttery dress
when ancient pear trees abandoned their leaves
she’d pick the weakest and tie them to her hat
collect the newest, give them to the river
the longest, she’d knit into baskets and matts
gift them to old maidens and lonely men
and the rest, she fed to the flowers
and I know that before she was death
she loved flowers but she
never plucked them
she waited for their mothers to let go,
then she’d take the cadavers home
and make beauty out of them
before she was death, she liked
to talk to the graveyard at night
dark wasn’t ugly to her,
and silence was only the trees talking
now, night lives in her obsolete house
when sun goes down, he likes to come out and
pluck stars off skinny bushes
her brightly painted walls are old lattice leaves
behind, the mountains laugh
and beneath them, a kingdom flourishes
not like corn fields near the bank,
a dust-storm, or a mistletoe
and no one talks of where she went though
the talk goes everywhere—
but I know she too feared lone woods
and moonless skies
she saw beauty in all, but nothing
sweet in the softness of flesh
and I know she despised the old cave
behind her house, for it was where she went
her crown is beautified with scared salvias,
petunias tremble at her name, and
daffodils don't even speak, and I
know I don’t want to take her place
so don’t offer me these pretty tiaras
and silence is so much more than trees talking
and some plants like to crawl up on others
**** the life and spit it out on the dirt but I’d
rather be towed down by those furious winds
and meddle not with me or my blood
I could show a softer way in—
like how her blades cut through grey grass
and how her fingers twisted to tie them strands to sheets
and meddle not with me or my blood
I could show a faster way out—
how the leaves bid goodbye as they glided
away with the waters; how her paintbrushes
emerged, soaking, out those liquids
and how she painted poetry out of dust
meddle not with me or my blood
she, who moulded the ground
into toys and pots, taught me
to befriend the daggers, and trust them
taught me how stinking corpses were better
than scentless lilies—and fanged
wolves were often what willed the sheep to live
before she was death she
used to sing a ballad unusual,
'I do not wish to take your place on that
throne, dear death,
I’d rather rot in your prison cells'
but death has not time for pleas.
Feb 13, 2021
Feb 13, 2021 at 3:28 PM UTC
air is growing thin
as I float off the ground
the dreamers finally awake
now nothing holds me down
wandering into space
passing the atmosphere
seems my perspective
is too cavalier
running out of oxygen,
breathing goes slow
my dewy eyes reflect the stars,
like a canvas of Van Gogh's
I hear vibrations
this is my castle past the sky
where no-one asks how,
and I never wonder why
my body grows numb
as I float past stars
through my veins,
flows my liquid heart
peace like a wave
rushes over me
laying on this cosmic foam
it gets hard to breathe
I shed a tear
and then another arose
soon I was surrounded with these crystals
as each drop froze
with no gravity,
my walls collapsed
loosing all feeling,
I couldn't react
a syrupy smile spread
across my softened face
so do not be concerned
if you see a girl floating in space
Dec 2, 2020
Dec 2, 2020 at 10:00 AM UTC
the only tattoo I still have
and that I will never erase
it's my mother's face
left on my right arm
since then
every baby I take to my chest
calmes down and falls asleep immediately
cheek on cheek
forehead on forehead
all four eyes closed
dreamers
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 6:06 AM UTC
I saw you
In a pale blue
Familiar face, but confused
Translucent heart
And dried tears
I could count, all your fears
.
.
.
Strange that you already knew
Vaguely what we had to do
In a search to find the truth
It scared me, more than you
.
.
.
You held my hand
We count to ten
I was wary
We jumped over the crooked bend
.
.
.
Suddenly, the fear washed over
And we fell in love again.
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 4:17 PM UTC
There exists a special type of insanity,
Only known to poets
And those who adore poetry.
It is something that cannot be explained
Or described, only experienced.
And those who experience it
Are never the same. They know
The burning need to write and read
And the comfort of finding yourself
In someone else's words.
This madness holds a hidden truth:
No one chooses this insanity.
Instead, it reaches out to those
Broken, disillusioned, embittered
And held captive, by life itself.
I do not ask you to pity the poets,
Or those captivated by poetry,
But the next time you see one
Ask them: Why do you love poetry?
And watch as their eyes light up.
Sep 22, 2020
Sep 22, 2020 at 3:14 AM UTC
You are a poets dream,
If I am to be a poet.
Hair as light and fluffy as a cloud.
Yet dense and woven like,
Vines in a forest of trees.
You are a poets dream.
If I am to put words on paper.
Smile as wide as the horizon.
Yet devious and charming like,
the demons that are biblical.
You are a poets dream.
If I am to believe in the word.
Eyes as deep as the ocean.
Yet changing and searching like,
a lighthouse in the storm.
You are a poets dream.
If I am to keep the beat.
Hands as strong as stone.
Yet guiding and scarred like,
the seasoned boat captian.
You are a poets dream.
If I am to patch the scene.
Heart as heavy as an anchor.
Yet beating and living like,
Mine.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 12:46 PM UTC
the foundations we built without knowing
but
i cant let you in
theres things i need to say to you
but i cant
and i cant keep you out
so i wait
and we keep building
and we dance in silence
to the music
and let the world burn
from the fires of our silence
watched by the moonlight
the ashes are our scars
i just wanted to dance
in our usual trance
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 12:13 PM UTC
If I were a world dictator,
I would make peace now, not later,
I would ban bombs and guns,
A new way on Earth begun,
Big dreamers start with dreams,
We could change the world, it seems,
We need peace now, not later,
If I were a kind dictator.........
Oct 7, 2019
Oct 7, 2019 at 9:36 PM UTC
The dreams i just dream
Are enough to change everybody in the world.
Just now i had a funny one,
I luckily won 1000000 dollars in a casino,
And i am busy buying and selling,
No wonder i havent wrote today.
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 3:03 PM UTC