#lynching
Witnessing the blood baths, the bombings, the massacre
Of God’s people, children’s bodies everywhere,
And octogenarians expire slowly and quietly in horror.
The undistorted and the vivid images of terror,
The ugly realities of life for millions; what a rancor!
The large plumes of gray phosphorus smoke! There is nowhere
To hide. Showers of shrapnel, unprecedented heavy shelling,
White clouds of death and discriminating lynching
Of everything that breathes, walks, runs and flies;
This is war, this is sheer terrorism! The God-flies;
Where are they when they are needed?
Our world should not be so muted,
So insensitive toward so many.
This is a shameful disaster, a pity…
To do nothing and hope for the awakening of the gods;
The worms, the flies, the rats and the tods
Must be happy. What an inhumane feast!
In this young century, we cannot find Peace.
The photos are real, and dying is not a joke.
The lenses of the camera recorded the blood soaked
Pregnant women, their babies shredded
By the wrecked fires of the big guns.
No one is spared: fathers, mothers, sons,
And even young girls are arrested,
Humiliated, stepped on and eventually annihilated.
This is the state of our human family.
Centuries old victims are now the perpetrated
Beasts that devour nymphs, angels and dignity.
The moon can only helplessly weep,
The gods and the geese are high by the burning bodies.
Terrorism is your vocation; falling asleep,
Amid this, is criminal, we should unequivocally denounce the bullies.
Big gun shipped helicopters can only destroy; they don’t make Peace,
H bombs only create more activists, more militants and more beasts.
Copyright © 2009, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Jun 7, 2025
Jun 7, 2025 at 9:43 PM UTC
the rise of your chest bellows and rest
the eyes of your investment in me
the falling mane we form together
drapes
into our milly pool
into our night attacks
we act out civil villainy and pranks
we didn't mean to but we were spilt
all the gutted sources of our majesty
bedroom headquarters and missions
abroad from there lead them to stare
our belly can hold all the resulting
birds of yellow vulgarity
they come to our door
with glowing phones raised
and we answer
leaking behind our death-masks
they've chosen
to take us far too seriously
and may strike us down
anti martyred
alabaster heretics
laughing
Apr 19, 2025
Apr 19, 2025 at 3:26 PM UTC
When I first met you, I cried.
Looking upon your silhouette, I wondered.
Reading your articles, I wanted to know you.
Searching for hours, I would find you.
A traveling boxer, just breaking into fame.
A husband, a father.
She moved from Pennsylvania to Oregon, and was your demise in 1902.
I moved from Pennsylvania to Oregon, and I will remember you.
A decade younger than her, but I feel the responsibility heavy on my shoulders. The resemblance to me, uncanny
She took you to your grave and I will celebrate your life.
Why did it have to take this long?
Jul 15, 2020
Jul 15, 2020 at 1:35 AM UTC
It's been two thousand years,
But here we are again.
An innocent dark-skinned man
Was lynched,
And it engages and enlightens our world.
Let's not make this a habit.
And Pilate's here too,
Cowering in Hitler's bunker,
Washing his tiny hands,
Blathering: I'm not Responsible.
That's what truth is.
Jun 4, 2020
Jun 4, 2020 at 12:28 PM UTC
Sorry, Momma,
I am not coming home tonight.
Not to my wife,
Not to my kids,
Not to the love of life that I hid
In my bedside drawer.
Sorry, Momma,
I am not coming home tonight.
Not to the sun,
Not to the moon,
Not to birds calling morning so soon.
Sorry, Momma,
I am not coming home tonight.
I was shot,
In the spot,
Where the sun meets the ground.
I was homeward bound.
But I am not returning to you,
Momma.
I am not returning home-
anymore.
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 4:44 PM UTC
I've been rolling since I was born, without anywhere to go
Traded shots with the devil himself, and handed him my soul
I've got a shotgun across my back and a six-shooter in my hand
You better get your shot out first, cause I'll **** you where you stand
They tell when that rope's pulled tight, you'll beg'em to set you free
But I'll stare'em down in the eye, till they cut me from that tree
And I won't go down without a fight, cause i know i'm gonna die...
Hang'em High
Feb 15, 2020
Feb 15, 2020 at 11:48 AM UTC
Hate was the darkness
tied in thick frayed ropes
smothered in kerosene
swung over the biggest branch
and wrapped around my throat
while strangers pulled and tightened it.
It was the match lit that **** fire.
Their rage burned my skin
while choking me out
like a sadistic wrestler.
It was branding
and dismemberment.
All those children remember it.
It was little trinkets of remembrance,
bits of flesh, and teeth
Any part they could take of me
before and after
I hung lifelessly
from the most convenient tree.
But if you think this is just
some case of dark skinned history
Then check the news
and you will see
they are still lynching me.
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC
*The winds whipped the trees
and a body swung,
bypass the scent of magnolia...
raining ash, flickering through the breeze....*
May 10, 2016
May 10, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
Beat the rhythm
empty hand,
Iron cast chains
rattles command.
Ol' Boss Hogg,
baton raised
Self righteous fool
has need of praise.
In order that
he gain acclaim,
thinks with hate,
acts with shame.
Human beings,
commodity,
ships hold stacked
with those once free.
Bodies piled
upon high
you will not see
the strong ones die.
Scars embedded
on their backs
chained and shackled
to the racks.
We deal in branded
breathing stock,
Unload black vassal
from our docks.
Beat the rhythm
empty hands.
Iron cast chains
in far off lands.
We keep our skivvy,
wired hair blacks.
We work them hard,
we score their backs.
They do for us,
they work the field.
Grow the cotton,
pick the yield.
Keep the body,
take the mind.
Labour whatever's
left behind.
And if demeanour
does ever flinch.
We'll introduce you
Willie Lynch.
Beat the rhythm.
Empty hands
Iron cast chains.
Unfair demands.
Beat the rhythm,
shackled feet.
We take their worst
but can't be beat.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 6:20 PM UTC
Struggling to catch my breath
as the corporate noose tightens
with every mundane task flung my way
Slowly losing my contentment
with this poor disguise of slavery
Suffering alone in silence
with a fake smile plastered on my face
I swear I've been here before...
living the same year on repeat
This can't be it
there has to be more to this boring game
“Money can't buy life”
realisation burns like a slap in the face
I'm smarter than this
I won't get caught in this web of numbness
that comes from only existing
Opening my eyes with a blade
it hurts... the truth always does
Opening my eyes to life
...that feels good though
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC