#eulogy
La morte è il passaggio dallo stato naturale a un altro
È il momento in cui il corpo sprofonda in un sonno
Dal quale il risveglio è impossibile. Non è come il sole
Che va e viene, né come i Vangeli degli Apostoli.
Il poeta senegalese Birago Diop direbbe che i morti sono nelle nostre pianure
All'ombra di palme, mapou e baobab. Il loro sangue scorre nelle nostre vene
I morti sono nello spazio che ci circonda, nell'aria che tutti respiriam
Nelle dolci correnti dei ruscelli e nelle scie di fumo lasciate dagli aerei.
Noi, che siamo ancora tra i vivi—svegliamoci e asciughiamo le nostre lacrime
I nostri morti sono quaggiù—proprio lì, presenti; possiamo percepirne la presenza
I nostri morti stanno sognando. Lasciamoli dormire nel loro ultimo luogo di riposo
I nostri antenati sono lì, presenti per la vita stessa e per la nostra difesa.
I nostri morti sono nella stanza, nelle strade. Sono felici. Sono onnipresenti
Mentre noi piangiamo, essi ci osservano a occhi chiusi—eppure con tristezza
La morte è il passaggio da uno stato all'altro. È con languore, con stanchezza
Che dobbiamo percorrere—anzi, attraversare—quel sentiero labirintico e insidioso.
P.S. Questa poesia è dedicata al Sig. Alphonse Romenus Aubourg e alla sua famiglia,
Al mio compianto padre, al Sig. Gustave Logerie, e alla sua famiglia, ai nostri Antenati, al grande
Poeta senegalese Birago Diop, e a Tutti Noi.
(Traduzione di "Death As A One-Way Passage Or Lane Of No Return".)
Requiescat In Pace! Riposi in Pace!
Copyright © Maggio 2026 Hébert Logerie. Tutti i diritti riservati.
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 11:48 PM UTC
Lanmò se pasaj de yon eta natirèl pou ale nan yon lòt
Se moman ke kò a plonje nan yon somey
Kote reveye enposib. Se pa tankou solèy la
Ki ale epi li tounen, ni tankou Levanjil Apòt yo.
Powèt Senegalè Birago Diop ta di ke mò yo nan plèn nou yo
Nan lonbray palmis e pye mapou. San yo ap koule nan venn nou
Mò yo nan espas ki antoure nou, nan lè ke nou tout ap respire
Nan kouran dou rivyè yo ak nan tras lafimen avyon.
Nou menm ki toujou vivan, ann reveye epi siye dlo nan je nou
Mò nou yo isiba, isit, yo prezan; nou ka santi prezans yo
Mò nou yo ap reve. Kite yo dòmi yap pran dènye repo yo
Zansèt nou yo la, prezan pou lavi e pou defand nou.
Mò nou yo nan sal la, nan lari yo. Yo kontan. Yo omniprezan
Pandan nap kriye, yap gade nou je fèmen, avèk tristès
Lanmò se pasaj de yon eta a yon lòt. Pran tan nou, se ak parès
Ke nou dwe travèse, franchi chimen labirentik e danjere sila.
P.S. Powèm sa a dedye a Mesye Alphonse Romenus Aubourg ak fanmi li,
Pou defen papam, Mesye Gustave Logerie, ak fanmi li, pou Zansèt nou yo, pou gran powèt Senegal Birago Diop, ak pou nou tout.
(Tradiksyon an Kreyòl de "Death As A One-Way Passage Or Lane Of No Return".)
Requiescat In Pace! Se Pou Mò Nou Yo Repoze Anpè!
Dwa rezève © Me 2026 Hébert Logerie. Tout dwa rezève.
Hébert Logerie se otè plizyè koleksyon liv pwezi.
May 14
May 14, 2026 at 11:43 PM UTC
Death is the passage from a natural state to another;
It is the moment when the body is plunged into a slumber
From which awakening is impossible. It is not like the sun,
Which comes and goes, nor like the Gospels of the Apostles.
The Senegalese poet, Birago Diop, would say that the dead dwell in our plains,
Beneath the shade of palm trees. Their blood flows in our veins;
The dead are in the space that surrounds us, in the air that we all breathe,
In the gentle currents of streams and in the trails of smoke left by airplanes.
We, who are still among the living must wake up, we must dry our tears;
Our dead are here below—right there—present; we can feel their presence.
Our dead are dreaming. Let them sleep in their final resting place;
Our ancestors are present here—for life itself, and for our defense.
Our dead are in the room, in the streets. They are happy. They are ubiquitous.
While we weep, they watch us with eyes closed—yet with sadness.
Death is the passage from one state to another. It is with slowness, with weariness,
That we must traverse, cross this labyrinthine and treacherous path.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to Mr. Alphonse Romenus Aubourg and his family,
To my late father, Gustave Logerie, and his family, to our Ancestors, to the great
Senegalese Poet Birago Diop, and to Us All. ’Translation Of “La Mort Comme Passage”.
Requiescat In Pace! Rest In Peace!
Copyright © May 2026 Hébert Logerie. All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several poetry books.
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 11:52 PM UTC
ECCE!
VIDE MIHI:
See my soul-star shine ideally.
ECCE!
AVDI MIHI:
Hear my clear voice ring out freely.
ECCE!
MECUM VENE:
Walk with me into a new day.
ECCE!
OCCIDE ME:
And plant an oak tree where I lay.
O', let the olive branch be cast aside;
No- oh no- there'll be no peace when I rest.
Place a pound of thermite where I reside,
And come Autumn, let me burn with the best!
Apr 16
Apr 16, 2026 at 2:17 PM UTC
the sad thing was
about the happy girl
and the hated and the loved one-
all the same;
their eulogies did not say
that they chose this, if
someone wrote a note
to read at my coffin,
they did not say
that she built this
or that perhaps
she was proud
they said it was
unfortunate
that such a dreamer
an artist,
that whimsy little girl
had become the one
with black hair and matching clothes;
something choking her neck,
lace perhaps;
the kind who wrote poetry
on the psychiatrist's waiting room
chair's arm;
they said
it was sad
that the one time i wore color
was to your funeral-
but wasn't that a happy
thing?
Feb 11
Feb 11, 2026 at 6:57 PM UTC
~
Sometimes, but rarely,
sometimes we fail to
rotate with the Earth.
Sometimes, but sadly,
people, places and things
then come around as
we stand in place.
Hence we can happen
to stumble upon
the stems of flowery death.
sometimes we even seem
to glimpse their demise:
From the queen
hidden in the forest,
her sanctuary, her grave,
to the king's cupbearer
poisoned by his own hand,
to the dock workers
erased by famine
in one bitter afternoon,
and to the other ghosts of history
that invisibly crowd the world
just to beautify this
intrepid rose garden.
~
Jan 2
Jan 2, 2026 at 10:55 AM UTC
The sky split open
and no god fell through.
Only silence.
The kind that presses on your chest,
like a boot,
and dares you to breath.
I wasn't there—
not when the ash fell like snowfall over rooftops
or when laughter cracked beneath the boots of men
who'd long buried their humanity
beneath orders and uniform
that reeked of rot.
But sometimes I swear, my soul
flinches like it was.
They say time is linear.
But what of this ache
that folds my teenage heart
into the pages of a burning diary
tucked beneath floorboards in Warsaw?
Why do I weep for a dog limping in the present
and somehow feel the shadow
of a boy limping through barbed wire,
hollow-eyed, hands empty?
Somewhere between the hush of a prayer
and the wail of a train whistle,
they vanished— leaving only their ghosts,
to sit beside me on bus rides,
as I pretend the cold air
is the reason my eyes sting.
She calls me a mistake.
The world calls me too sensitive.
But they don't see the wars I fight—
inside quiet moments.
How I want to hand lanterns to the lost,
wrap bandages around the broken,
even if they're shadows from 1942.
This is not poetry.
This is a eulogy I've been writing
since I first saw a black-and-white film
and something ancient in me wept
for strangers whose faces I somehow knew.
No, I wasn't there.
But maybe my soul was.
And maybe,
just maybe,
it's still trying to get someone home.
Dec 11, 2025
Dec 11, 2025 at 4:50 AM UTC
Death can alter
Death can change anything at the altar
Death can deter
Death can damage the liver and the motor
Death is powerful
Death is really awful
Death is painless for the deceased
Death can destroy mums and lilies
Death can change schedules
Death kills bookworms, nerds and fools
Death can. Death can change everything
Under the moon. Death can change anything
Death can
Death can easily kick the can.
Copyright © December, 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Dec 4, 2025
Dec 4, 2025 at 11:38 AM UTC
To once a world
Which sang beyond
Its lowly seas and its skies:
We love you
And we miss you
Your songs relieved our sighs.
But now you're no more
To keep singing your score
You have discovered your end.
We promise this so,
The universe shall know,
The beauty you did once send.
Our Ode to You, Blue Planet Two.
Nov 7, 2025
Nov 7, 2025 at 6:52 AM UTC
Look at him,
paper-mache angel wings
stapled on an empty
toilet paper tube,
preacher of the gospel
of selective misanthropy,
mourned by shredding
secular holy books in
tiki-torch candlelight.
If you must remember him,
and pray, you needn't,
do so in truth,
as a simpleton's martyr,
no more, no more.
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 1:30 PM UTC
Watching old Anthony Bourdain
and I hope the uneaten food gets donated to his staff
like how the great feasts of young King Henry VIII
got thrown to poor, after He had a bite or two
of foie gras done 12 ways
Never mind
After all that's happened
Tony should be beatified
I remember laying on the floor of my parent's room
when I couldn't get to sleep in middle school
and we'd watch a back to back block of No Reservations
on a 13 inch box TV on their nightstand
The next thing we knew, people grew more open for a time
Wegmans' got sushi, and Dad loves it
The parents weren't so ashamed of the city they fled to the 'burbs from, just for a second
Took them to a bespoke restaurant during pride month
and they thought it was a gay bar
just because they flew a rainbow flag out front
They grew to welcome it
for a few years at least
Thanks Tony
Wish you were here
and I had more to say about that
than a ******* postcard script
Your voice is still echoed in my house
on an endless nightmare streaming channel
kept on mostly for my chiweenie
You'd be horrified, but
still I know your take
could help reinvigorate our hope in a connected world today
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 4:35 PM UTC
Death, death, Oh! Old Death
Old death makes everybody dry and sad
Death even makes kings who are grumpy and mad
Absolutely powerless, helpless and useless
Death makes us mute, motionless, lifeless and deaf
In the darkest, hottest part of the crater
And deep within the brightest cell or cache of the chamber
Where too much light
Blinds the retinas and this is never right
Death makes everybody lifeless, powerless and useless
Death, death! Nobody can get used to you
Death, death! You are a fool too
For stealing life which is vitally precious
Death, death! You are backward and too ambitious
Nobody can get used to your ways
Because you make us part ways
Old death! You never show compassion and pity
You are wicked, greedy, sick and crazy
Old death, will you leave us alone?
Please use a different style and tone
Death, death, Oh! Old Death
Old death, you make everybody weak and mad
Old death, you make us worthless, lifeless and sad
Death, death, old death, please go away
Go, go away, please go, go find your way.
Copyright © April 25, 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Apr 25, 2025
Apr 25, 2025 at 1:37 PM UTC
(A repost from 2019)
My favorite aunt is dying.. cancer, quiet and consuming as a flame..
Seven short weeks ago she was easily doing an hour of step aerobics, unaware of this intruder, this murderer within. Now she's lifted from bed like a rag doll.
She is my mom, well, a near twin—only smaller, funnier, serpent sly, more heavenly childish, sapient with sweet attractive grace and modest pride.
I am in total awe of her. We're kindred spirits, two sillies among the dull and endlessly serious.
I feel her, see her, day by day, slipping away like the hastening angel of heaven foretold.
This is too big for me, too awful and too close.
I am struck helpless, nothing moves, I sit, hardly feeling, and watch her sleep. Death's cruel process suddenly made visible.
I silently rage at the loss of it—my loudest vehemence pointed to this ravenous, lurking enemy pursuing her inwardly like a swarm of deadly hornets accidentally composed.
40 and still stunningly beautiful, she lies surrounded by computers, iPads, phones, faxes, intercoms, notepads, friends and care-givers. Her life reduced to escaping pain and making arrangements for her soon to be orphaned children 4 and 6.
Fentanyl and other pain blockers are her nourishment and seem to work better in the daylight as lawyers garner powers of attorney, bankers conjure trusts and estate planners build foundations to protect small children from a mothers loss.
As if they could replace a single hug
.
.
Songs for this (Gospel music):
Order My Steps by The Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir
Angel by Sarah McLachlan
Jesus Loves Me by Whitney Houston
Apr 9, 2025
Apr 9, 2025 at 8:40 AM UTC
La nave arrivò come un cavallo volante, in un momento inesatto
Il nostro fratello marinaio, del Pantheon dei Poeti, era a bordo
Jean Pierre Basilic Dantor Frankétienne D’Argent
Chi ha scritto, in fretta, l'ultimo atto
Miracolosamente, finì in porto
Entrò e se ne andò senza dire una parola, senza soldi
Senza i suoi capolavori, senza una casetta
La vita è così: ce ne andiamo in qualsiasi momento dell'anno.
Kalfou te kindeng miwo, miba ye.
Frankétienne non se n'è andato
È da qualche parte, a Ravine-Sèche, Haiti, per le strade
La sua ispirazione è nello spettacolo "Le Point"
Non abbiamo altra scelta che prenderci cura di noi stessi
Dalla sua memoria, dalla sua invenzione e dalla sua immaginazione
Frankétienne era un genio haitiano, poeta, drammaturgo e spiralista
Ministro della cultura, paroliere, cantante, pittore e artista
Il suo nome era una frase molto, molto lunga
E le sue parole facevano ridere la gente fino all'estasi.
Kalfou te kindeng miwo, miba ye.
Mentre era in vita, non aveva ottenuto la sua piccola casa
Era un genio leggendario che sfidava l'immaginazione
Dittatori, l'ordinario, l'insolito e l'astratto
Diventare un mapou, un baobab. Wendell direbbe
Che potomitan! Che cattedrale! Che cittadella!
Parafrasando il figlio del direttore di McDonald's
"Se cadi, impara a rialzarti in fretta"
La tua caduta, lascia che la tua caduta diventi un cavallo, il tuo cavallo.
Per continuare il viaggio", l'escursione.
Kalfou te kindeng miwo, miba ye.
"Ogni minuto conta dopo i cinquanta"
Frankétienne una volta disse, dal momento che puoi andare
In qualsiasi momento, in qualsiasi momento
'Galaxy plomb gaillé', non lontano dal nadir
Una traccia invisibile sulla testa come Valentino o Tino Rossi
Frankétienne non c'è più, l'artista se n'è andato
Rimane più che mai un Essere nuovo
Il gigante, lo scrittore, l'attore, il paroliere
È vestito con le bretelle come un grosso ***** bianco
Non come un mostro alla Dr. Frankenstein. Come un mafioso
Come un ladro, la nave era come un cavallo volante. È la morte
Che ci minaccia come se avessimo torto
Piangiamo, piangiamo ora come una madre in lutto
Per questo ottantenne avanzato, per questo principe della luce.
Kalfou te kindeng miwo, miba ye.
P.S. Un omaggio a Frankétienne e alla sua famiglia, a Wendell Théodore
E compagnia, a Radio Métropole e a tutti i buoni Haitiani.
Le mie più sentite condoglianze a tutti! Siediti e lascia che la terra voli!
Questa è una traduzione di:
‘Le Navire Est Venu À Cheval Ou Hommage Au Fameux Poète Frankétienne’
‘The Ship Came Like A Flying Horse or Homage to the Famous Poet Frankétienne’
Copyright © Febbraio 2025, Hébert Logerie, Tutti i diritti riservati.
Hébert Logerie è autore di diverse raccolte di poesie.
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 11:30 AM UTC
Believe it or not
The Parson is right
We shall return with zeroes
Many zeroes. Let’s be Heroes
For and to the world. Let’s not be selfish
Because we shall return with zilch
With nada, mit nichts, perhaps with empty zeroes
Which mean nothing. Let’s pause
To think. Let’s be wise and humble
Love is essential. When the trees tremble
And fall; when the ground shakes and burns
When the soil slithers and slides, the world yearns
For peace, sympathy, compassion, and love. With nothing
We shall return, just like we came on earth with nothing
The sky will always stare at us, as we raise our head
Heaven will remain at the same distance
And we shall leave alone, with nothing, with no bed
No castle, no money, no power and no incense
Believe it or not
We will be blessed to be in a wee lot
After the soul departs
And the ash rots
Believe it or not
The Poet is right.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to the kings of the world.
Copyright © January 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Jan 23, 2025
Jan 23, 2025 at 3:31 PM UTC
Our heros keep exiting the stage,
Leaving us their music, art, film, and literature.
Their athletic accomplishments,
Their political discretions,
And hidden battlescars,
Their scientific and medical wonders.
Our ancestors left us the wheel and fire,
The family unit and our extended compatriots.
A good lineage always starts in the cave,
And helps us make it through the night.
Sep 30, 2024
Sep 30, 2024 at 8:30 AM UTC
The shell of the soul cracks under the weight of loss
That steals the light of love that hardens the heart
Against the weathering forces of time and tears
Whose water slowly erodes the stone surface
Revealing a modeled marble macabre facade
Trapped in a moment of excruciating emptiness
When faced with the forever truth that fate finds all
And none can escape the inevitable end of infinity
Which awaits every living being before we’re buried
Our memories memorialized in memorable eulogy
To heal the cracks the soul has suffered from loss
PERTINAX
May 10, 2024
May 10, 2024 at 2:07 PM UTC
I'm counting roses and the sun's rays
and the leaves on trees that love to sway.
The rings on the stump that have worn away
I'm counting the very days.
I think of lilacs and TV screens
and all the movies from the nineties.
A bug's life turns into an adventurer's dream
Puddles become lakes,
leaves become rafts that the storm drain takes.
Hunting for clovers with four leaves,
Videographer of childhood memories,
Trips to the diner and gumball machines
How lucky to have known the Kodak queen.
Maker of cards and lover of art
no matter the inexperience of the artist.
I never found a clover with four leaves,
but I know I'm so lucky
Dancing, swimming, and jumping on beds.
Dressing up like a princess.
Light of our lives is what you said to me.
You're the brightest star in my memories.
Is it easier in the morning
to talk of days of endless play?
Is it easier after mourning?
I guess it's never the same.
Is it easier in the morning
when the dawn breaks?
Is it easier after mourning
to see that nothing forever stays?
No it ain't.
Dec 27, 2023
Dec 27, 2023 at 8:59 PM UTC
He stumbled to
the edge of town
and fell into the
waters rough -
held all his breath
while going down
till there was none
to come back up
Oct 23, 2023
Oct 23, 2023 at 10:08 PM UTC
My mind drifts
To that night
You streaked down
Mainstreet shouting
To the late
Night world
That you
Were free
I manage to
Barely stifle
A little laugh
But they all
Knew it was
Me, their eyes
Surely said it
In that box
You're still as
Free as you
Were that night
And I'm just
The guy who
Laughs at his
Friend's funeral
Aug 4, 2023
Aug 4, 2023 at 10:31 PM UTC
Did you know Tony?
Yep.
Did you know his name was John?
Don't think so.
I get Anthony. But not John. I prefer Tony.
"Preferred."
What?
It's an excellent OB. Do ye think it does him Justice?
Justice! They never can. Not an entire life.
True enough.
Great picture, though. That's how I'll remember him.
True. And grinning wide. Nice, indeed.
Cheers.
Jan 19, 2023
Jan 19, 2023 at 6:23 PM UTC
Don't believe, for one second,
They'll hear nice things from me.
Were you dying for some kind of originality?
Well, let me just say,
It's still death by stupidity.
I'm telling you now,
I have nothing to say.
No one will hear of your generosity
(though we all benefitted);
Or your loyalty (of which I know firsthand);
Your discretion (none ever accused you of less).
I can't find the words. I'm speechless.
I warned you.
Stop smoking (both)
Stop drinking (especially every morning, afternoon and evening)
Stop being idle (and your posture *****
Stop being a lap dog (stop licking boots)
Stop this slippery slope of a lifestyle (there's ground below)
Stop taking bad advice.
You didn't Stop.
Now you're stopped.
That's all I have to say. Not much. Is it?
Jun 28, 2022
Jun 28, 2022 at 7:31 AM UTC
Today is my first day without you, like really without you.
Before, there was always a chance, always a hope that things would be okay and that we would work out.
But today is the start of a new chapter, where you and me don't exist, and there is no us, maybe, or one day.
I am free of the lies you told, the mistreatment, and the disdain.
I'm free of the inconsistency, callousness, and pain.
There are no more chances, no forgiveness, or apologies to accept.
There or no more talks, or possibilities, or "just want to catch up"s.
Your power is gone, the one you held over me like a grim reaper, waiting for me to falter.
The worst kind of monster... Welcoming me with open arms, only to lead me down the spiral of insanity.
I'm done, and I'm ready, but I'm not yet okay.
But I know that now I can work towards feeling that again one day.
And it hurts, but maybe that's the pain that I need.
Perhaps it's just that which will finally break the cycle of awful, maddening repetition.
I know some days I will move forward and some days I'll fall back, but at least you won't be there to remind me just how much.
I will never again hate myself for letting you in.
This is not the end, and I'm so ready to begin.
So today I will celebrate your absence, as a never-ending holiday.
I am so thankful that I chose not to let you stay.
Because none of this was worth it, and if I could I would change so many things, and wish all of it away.
So goodbye, my love, the one haunting my past.
The one who appears in my nightmares, including the one I live every day.
Who's there to remind me that I'm weak, and I'm broken, and that no truer words have ever been spoken, except...
I'm more whole than you'll ever be, especially now you have to live without me.
Jan 31, 2022
Jan 31, 2022 at 8:16 AM UTC
I love it whenever Cookie. . .
kneaded her cute paws on cushions. . .
slept on my bed. . .
slept near the TV. . .
slept on top of the furniture cabinet. . .
slept in between my legs. . .
gave us Norman, Zoe, Vincent and ****** (but he sadly left us so soon). . .
played with her kittens. . . and. . .
defended them whenever Buddy bullies them. . .
gave me gentle gazes. . .
gave me gentle meows. . .
looked at me with her big, innocent eyes. . .
played very energetically. . .
showed her the moments where sheʼs still a kitten at heart. . .
she comes whenever we call her. . .
she responds to calling her name. . .
was very affectionate. . .
melts my heart every time. . .
she rolled around whenever she was playful. . .
she told off Claudia sometimes. . .
comforted me without any effort. . .
I love her tri-colored coat, her beautiful innocent eyes, her cute face that I will dearly miss. I may have not shown you how much I love you, Cookie, but I will always remember you through your babies. I will protect them.
I love it whenever Oli. . .
knocked over things whenever he throwed a tantrum. . .
bit or scratch me gently when I irritate him. . .
whined when I hug him. . .
ignored me whenever I call him. . .
would give me a meow of warning before biting me. . .
followed me home the first time I saw him. . .
gave me that irritated gaze. . .
can be sweet when he want to be. . .
screams whenever he fights with some other cat. . .
doesnʼt want to fight other cats. . .
lightly bumps my hand or lean whenever I touch him. . .
slept beside me. . .
slept on top of the refrigerator. . .
doesnʼt care about pleasing me. . .
knew that I love him so much.
Oli knew how much I love him. I love the black spot on his lower lip, his orange eyes, his white and orange coat, the cute pattern of his front paws, his long orange tail, his innocent face, his gayness **** I love every single detail about you, baby.
I never thought that you impregnating Pola was a blessing in disguise, because I didnʼt know that you would leave us so soon.
You might be gone, pero lahat kayong mga dumaan sa buhay ko ay may kanya-kanyang espesyal na lugar sa puso ko. Miss na miss ko na kayo. Sobra. You guys are perfect. You didnʼt deserve any of what happened to you. Iʼm sorry I couldnʼt protect you guys from this cruel world. One day, you will get the justice you deserve. And the same goes for all of the animals they abused. Hindi natutulog ang Diyos. They will get what they deserve.
October 15, 2019 - July 22, 2021
October 14, 2019 - July 22, 2021
Jul 24, 2021
Jul 24, 2021 at 3:13 PM UTC