#libraries
Poetry is not dead
Poetry will never die
Poets do not lie
Poetry is naturally well-fed
With vibrant poems every second
Of the day to make the soil more fecund
The brain is alert and strong
Nothing can possibly go wrong
Poetry is ubiquitous
Poetry is **** and serendipitous
Poetry is eternal
Poetry is sentimental
Poetry is empirical
Poetry is spiritual
Poetry will live forever
And Poets will never fear terror
Poets will chase away lies and put (to sleep) to bed
The truth every night for a better tomorrow
Poetry is not dead
But simply take notes to ease any sorrow
Poetry is not dead
Poetry is inordinately well-fed
Poetry is hot, super hot with Hip-Hop
Poetry is well, hot and alive
Smile, think, write, rap, read, dance and hop
And give high to all Poets: high five
Poetry is hot, alive and well at your nearest libraries
At literature conferences and at your closest universities.
Copyright © August, 2023, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Apr 18
Apr 18, 2026 at 3:36 PM UTC
Anyone can write a poem
I mean, they’ve never passed a law
and with the quick access to paper
and all.
Of course, the serial poet’s the danger
that keeps us up at night - someone lacking
the gene for rhyme control. Normal people can’t
imagine such wonton, naked promiscuity with words.
It’s best that we ignore them - to nip it in the bud.
A real collective effort is required - let us build
institutional archives - yes - we’ll call them libraries - to
lock such verse away - may it never again see the light of day.
If you catch a child with a pencil, slap it out of their little hand
because we cannot start too early in discouraging needless rhyme.
This public service announcement - pointing out this new “poetry”
trend - was made for the benefit of all.
Dec 4, 2021
Dec 4, 2021 at 10:38 AM UTC
A quiet, calm, serene place,
contrast with my heart's pace.
Gently slipping into silence,
just like plush, soft and dense.
The smell of books my spirit sedates,
new or old, they are the gates
of my comfort castle, made of words,
where pages fly instead of birds.
Safe and warm, paper and pen,
I can write, this is my zen.
For paper puts up with a lot,
every line, curve and dot;
with each word I lay on the page,
I'm one step outside the cage;
Outside myself, this prison of mine,
the chaos spills into written line.
Away from problems, light and free,
peace at last, in the library.
Aug 28, 2020
Aug 28, 2020 at 12:11 PM UTC
Lee was posted up in in usual spot
back by the stacks,
with his phone on life support.
Its umbilical cord was knotted up like a nest,
and held together by electrical tape.
It sat next to his vape
box and a stack of books
about the GED, twenty-fist century
side hustles and back issues of Ebony.
People come in and out of the library
and everyone says hi to Lee,
He is the man to see,
He asks about their lives and gives sage advice –
How you been, my man?
How’s the kids doin’, girl?
How’s married life treatin’ you, my dude?
My man, you gotta do this.
Babygirl, look into that.
Don’t wear your hat like that,
Boy, ya look silly.
Lee lives in a van
that he parks nearby
so he can job-hunt on the free wifi
even when the place is closed.
If you feel sorry for me, don’t
says Lee
I’m the freest now I’ll ever be,
so, don’t you dare take pity on me
I’m doing all I can do,
being all I can be.
Everything’s temporary.
Tomorrow I could be you,
you could be me
we’re just one bad day,
one scratch-off lottery ticket away
from swapping places, my man.
Yeah, I live in that van
parked outside the library
but if you think I’m sad,
you’re thinking wrong,
Won’t see me moping, or doping
floating along
you won’t see me frowning,
or drowning,
singing a sad song.
I’m happy with all that I got
who wouldn’t wanna be in my spot,
I’m The King
of the Library Parking Lot.
Aug 23, 2019
Aug 23, 2019 at 1:17 PM UTC
Books are like the sun’s rays,
Still giving off fingertip warmth,
Though long cut off from the source.
Books are sunlight and Greek silence
Captured in glass firefly jars.
May 21, 2019
May 21, 2019 at 7:08 PM UTC
I live in a nowhere town
Doing nowhere things
In my nowhere clothes
On nowhere days
With my nowhere friends
In our nowhere cars
We watch the nowhere sunsets
And sit in nowhere sands
We walk the nowhere preserves
And we read the nowhere magazines
But maybe one day I’ll crawl out of this nowhere hole
And I’ll be somewhere
Oct 31, 2018
Oct 31, 2018 at 12:31 PM UTC
ah! the title catches your eye
just enough Sun sneaking through
you have arrived
where few have ventured
take hold of these pages
and turn slowly
so as not to allow the dust
to choke you
yellow corners and broken binding
only serve to add
to the moment
alone here
discover the dreams
locked away
in this forgotten room
wipe your spectacles clean
for the light is dim
and the air is thick
pull up the chair that has awaited you
these many years
absorb these words
for here you can think
here you can feel the story
share with me your thoughts
my soul knows yours
my dormant heart reborn
the air stirs as you turn that first page
read for me my kindred spirit
let me hear your whisper
echo down these solemn halls
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 3:05 PM UTC
i touched the buttons
actually having to
erase needed time
reading instructions
as a child the card catalogue
an escape hatch
saturdays spent in dark corners
our local library a getaway
a reprieve
a sanctum
but now everything is online
and the single floor of books here
in the basement, confined, kept hidden
moving tombs their home
i started with the term feminism but landed elsewhere;
phenomenological studies of women
journals not older than i
but long outdated
historically sad
the library made me cry
i wanted to read everything
but also bring it home
a little girl in the patchogue library once again,
alone and crying.
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 3:46 PM UTC
I just read this article
on how to make people
love you instantly- look long into their eyes/ twitch less/ smile slowly so
they think you will only ever smile at
them thus
100%
We guarantee. That. Even though
people are now text
all text, all binary coding
-connected, yes- But numbers have always coexisted happily
the point is:
if by some chance
you meet a person/ smell their scent/ watch the light pooling
on their dusty skin
you now know how
to make them love you
(instantly and forever)
I've learnt only a few things
these past years (not instantly)
living people leave their ghosts everywhere (you know this)
Art is a good way to forget you're not special.
Along the way there are stories and putrefaction and sometimes both
at once
And libraries. So many libraries.
But with all of this, I still wish I'd known
back then
how to make you love me instantly,
forever
not a small wee bit that one
moment
that one
night
that long time ago.
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
Venice was a place for sudden ******
a stiletto plunged in velvet
vengeance tied in a knot of silk
piracy on any dark canal
robbery under quiet bridges.
Water laps the crumbling walls
salt hunger creeps up
seeps between stones
worms its way through cedar
settles in the sagging shelves
where old books bound in leather
edged in gold, embossed with crests
are best left well alone.
In these libraries of the lagoon
chapters and paragraphs
sentences and phrases fragment
nouns lay down with their verbs
creating images from metaphors
startling and sublime, but hidden
kept in these word-chambers
they slide away in time.
Each passing month, each day
restless and uneasy
festering in this state of decay
Venice is still
the place of death.
© M.L.Emmett
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
Why are librarians always mean?
They act like they are the queen
of the library scene
They are in charge, that is true
they make that clear when shushing you
if only they actually knew
people only go to the library to pass through
they ***** and fuss all day
and treat children like their prey
they all turn into a cliche
if only there was another way
they are lonely crotchety old ladies
who took their dreams and turned them into maybes
some of them had wished to write
or edit famous books into the night
but alas here they are in old schools
screamin' and yellin' all day about the rules
I think that's probably why
they take pleasure in making children cry
Forever they'll sit at their desk
growing in old age grotesque
when you see a librarian make sure to scurry
unless you want to feel her wrath and fury
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 9:08 AM UTC