#rebels
The Poets are our quintessential rebellious, rebels
The Maroons, the Braves, and the Daredevils
There is a ton of biases even in simple poetry
The Poets are known to be born freedom fighters
The unafraidheroes of hell, the sweet bees
Which can sing and sting, and deliver honey
Even in Poetry, we encounter weird free-loaders
Sick unabashed orators and pusillanimous braggers.
The Poets are born to be different, legally liberal
Awkwardly conservative, strong ass-kickers
Blunt truth seekers, and not obedient ass-kissers
Call the generals, the Police, and bring the arsenal
Of bloated words, and epithets; dumb or foolish attributes
Write verses and elegiac poems to pay countless tributes
To the sorry plagiarists, and to the ill-polished writers
Nobody cares anymore about the well-versed truth tellers.
Copyright © November 2017, Hebert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Apr 9
Apr 9, 2026 at 10:33 AM UTC
“I used to be disgusted,
Now I just have to refuse
The allure of money and status.
Before, I could be happy just being me,
Saying “No” to anything that I didn’t need.
But now, she’s told me I’ve got to choose,
Between her and the life I want,
Must either be a corporate shill
A shallow, capitalist dilettante,
Or be myself, and lose her good will.
I am so close to saying “’goodbye’”
And testing her just to see,
If she really means what she says,
Or if she has fooled herself
As I did for so long.
Trying to be like big brother,
Upright, moral and honored (by some),
But something in him was lacking
“And as I saw through it,
I knew I did not have the nature
To pretend I was that grand
Or could sink that low
in hidden plots to undo those he envied.
I watched her in the dim light
Of a place where the punished toil
And I was consumed with hatred,
And a wish to set her free.
How can I save her from this charade,
This bourgeois masquerade?
When she notices my clumsy efforts,
she asks me what it is I want and I reply,
‘All I ask is to practice in my own style,
Colorful but honest, riding the edge”;
Her response is inscrutable but
She likes it when I con the corporate ******
And joins in with a new name and a sly smile,
We drink tequila and don’t pay,
Leave some loudmouth with the bill and
hedge our bets as we kiss in the evening breeze.
“Apparently, a kiss was more powerful
than me acting as an imitation drudge!
And a night in bed together satisfying enough
to draw her into my world.
I would show her little ways of breaking rules,
the cheat with no one noticing,
building up our own little universe,
rebelling against the system in subtle ways.
Oh! Those were golden days and I was happy.
Yet now, years later, she has gone far away,
perhaps for good, though I don’t see why.
When I call and ask, she will never say
what I can do to bring her back.
Granted, my life has turned around,
perhaps to something she dislikes,
but she leaves it for me to guess
whether it’s too flamboyant or just a mess.
Yet I refuse not to try so hard, hanging on the sound
of her cherished voice on the phone,
its flat, restrained notes telling me:
“You are alone”.
And still I love and hope.
Sharon Talbot
February 28, 2025
Feb 26, 2025
Feb 26, 2025 at 4:53 PM UTC
Who is that boy, with those piercing headline eyes – I tell you, he only
looks like bad news. His kiss is like a deep bass, a note shaking your
heart with the lies that plays from his lips. Yet, doesn’t he make you
feel older than you wish to be, as you love to think on nostalgia—
all those good moments you long to harness,
would you dare to be honest?
_Still, you defiantly love him more than me, or so it seems…._
Dec 30, 2024
Dec 30, 2024 at 12:53 AM UTC
The rebels in me..
Why does the rebels have to dwell in me..
It's just so exhausting being a rebel sometimes, draining and energy burn..
Being alone among millions is tormenting sometimes..
Being broken over and over again is depressing sometimes.
Feeling deluded and abandoned is suicidal sometimes..
Not knowing your fate is mental torture all times..
Crying alone and in the dark is heart-rending..
Betrayals are worst sometimes..
Sep 4, 2024
Sep 4, 2024 at 7:41 AM UTC
Inferior lives
You and I know it is true
Outcasts together
Aug 25, 2023
Aug 25, 2023 at 7:50 PM UTC
We were born in the jungle,
Living in the shadows,
Clinging to our families
In the dark, under the trees.
Life was good then,
We had picked fruit from branches
And swung on them for joy.
And there was no greed
Or jealousy.
Over millions of years,
We lived in harmony,
Until the forest changed;
The garden shriveled and
Faded away as we watched.
Our lives were rearranged.
Some among us ventured out.
Giving to our sin: curiosity.
Down in the street
Canyons of concrete and steel
The powerful gather
Hors d’oeuvres are served,
Placating the hunger of the powerful,
This is never stated;
They will keep taking
As long as we allow it.
One day, some loner, a rebel
May emerge from the shadows,
Dark-clad, filled with inchoate rage*.
He will find like-minded souls
Who use the new inventions
To topple the oligarchs,
Empty their accounts
And give them to the world.
Chaos may follow,
But out of it a new humanity
Might arise.
Feb 20, 2020
Feb 20, 2020 at 8:20 PM UTC
I prattle
this glory
of green
mountains with
this grateful
horse on
its way
to New
Orleans but
where they
both find
Lovers Lane
in Dallas
on their
mile this
chosen heel
with filibusters
Jan 17, 2020
Jan 17, 2020 at 7:35 AM UTC
O! I went to the loo to do a number
two
Only one cubicle was vacant, the rest
they were all taken
"Looks like a full house today" I
thought to myself
Man! I was bustin' to go
As I sat there on my throne in my
cockpit all alone
There came this funny rumbling
sound from down below
And then, this fearsome volley.... a
fantastic farting
And then, a great release
As finally I dropped my bombs with
studious aplomb
O! what a relief !
"Man! ", I said to myself, " I must
lay off that Aloe Vera juice
That stuff it goes right through you "
But then, something strange, from the
cubicle right next to me
Came this other big thunderous ****
explosion
A big fat blubbery balloony one
It sounded like a tuba gone wrong
And then! And then, another one! this
one further down the line
This time a big bubble and squeaky
one
And then! yet another! a funny little
flute-ey one
Like it just squirreled out in the nick
of time
And then finally, another!!! a big Big
Bellow like from some wonky
trumpet
A real rasper, he must have thought he
was doin' the solo
Man! It was so funny, one right after
the other, you had to laugh
It was.... well, it was Gas !!!
Lucky no one struck a match
Or else it might have been... yea!
Jumpin' Jack Flash !!!
It was like listening to a whole scale of
*** notes
Such a strange symphony, these
wondrous excursions in Sound
For a moment there, it reminded me a
bit of Beethoven,
It was no celestial choir that's for sure
It was something altogether more dire,
Like something you'd hear in a
farmyard byre
The animals all gathered at the trough
It was like all the bottoms were
conversing with one another,
having a chat
Plotting a rebellion even, an uprising,
a coup d'etat
Against that other much more
celebrated Opening
That much vaunted Hole in the Face,
the Mouth!
That puffed up preening Prima Donna
with his preposterous outpourings
His Monstrous, pompous inflated Self-
importance
Sitting up there stuffing himself and
forever spouting nonsense
"Sure, we do all the work down here",
the Bottoms were saying, " and we
talk a lot more sense as well"
They posed the question "Can a Bottom speak more Truth than a
Mouth ?"
These defiant derrieres, these proud
posteriors
With their proud exultations
Sticking a firm two fingers up at that so-called world of respectability up
there
That world of petrified good manners
Suffocating! Oppressing! with its
stifling mores and traditions
Yea!....for sure, the rebel Masses, they
were just a bunch of Bad *****
O! the air it was blue just like Pepe Le
Pew
I could have sworn I seen a big blue
gaseous cloud ascending
Heading up toward the ceiling
Like a great Cloud of Unknowing
except with a bit more foreboding
Reminded me of William Wordsworth
& his lonely cloud a-wandering
But then I thought, did Wordsworth,
Shelley or Keats ever write
An Ode to His **** ?
Was it too dark a side to show, too
dark a place to go
The Dark Side of the Back Side
The Dark Side... of the Moon.
Pepe! Pepe Le Pew, that old Don Juan,
Casanova of the old cartoons
It was then, my Love, it was then I
thought of you
I smiled and said to myself"I know
what I'll do
I'll blow out another sweet blue
raspberry one just for you....
Oh yea!....that one was lovely, that one
was true
I think that one had your name
written on it
O! I do".
And now as Pepe might say " Adieu! adieu!.....Sweet, sweet Adieu! ".
Ende
Aug 8, 2019
Aug 8, 2019 at 5:20 PM UTC
Tonight's the night
We fight or die
And you can bet
It will be violent
But the aggression
That we have to bring
Is the only chance we have
To make a change.
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 5:32 PM UTC
This battlefield still stands,
white smoke swirling as silent whispers of
dying men's shrills still fill the air.
Yet a steady snare beats for us.
We sing our silly rebel songs,
still seared upon our savage tongues.
Shrieks and shouts of all of your wrongs,
songs of sinners, we will sing on.
-
by Aleksander Mielnikow
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 11:33 AM UTC
a rebellion is my love for you
forsaken and opposed by many
still somehow i feel its lost
my heart says one thing and my brain another
this constant rebellion may go on forever
and stop mabey never
at the end of the day its for us to decide
whether to give in or to turn out to be a rebel
and fight till the last breath
it may prove destructive for us
but all is fair in love and war
and love has no boundaries
not now not ever
i feel that you are the one for me
it may be opposed by my family
and many more
but my love is mine forever
my breath is the promise
and my soul the witness
it may not be the same for you
yet it is a rebellion
a rebellion against the world
you and me are the rebels
the odd ones out
we can either choose to stick together
or give in and fail....
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 12:58 AM UTC
Certain people in life leave strong impressions on us,
By their sayings we agree with or positions we abhor.
When these people are no longer around,
their marks make themselves known in various ways.
You are in my thoughts often.
You were quite the square peg.
I think back to the odd ways you did things.
A True Rebel.
But not a rebel just for the sake of it
Nor in order to receive the attention society pays to such people
A rebel because you make up your own mind on things.
"Never be afraid to change your mind," you used to say.
That stuck with me.
So although you are not here with me,
You are never truly gone.
For a while you said I was the one for you.
But You Took Your Own Advice
And Changed Your Mind
And in the now, I am ok with that.
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 11:26 PM UTC
We’re the rebels they call rabble
They want us all to be quiet
They bluster and they babble
Then they publicly deny it.
Representatives, an easy question:
Who do you represent, which faction?
You seem to have a lot of nerve
To insist that you protect and serve!
You want our money to campaign
Then leave us standing in the rain.
You grant yourselves a frequent raise
And pat your own backs with praise.
We could ask who you think you’ll fool
But, this is a nation of brain-dead tools.
At least half the country does not vote
Which leaves our case with a sour note.
But that leaves half who do believe!
It’s for the Constitution we grieve.
Your oath of office had you swear
To work for us, represent and care.
We’re the rebels they call rabble
They want us all to be quiet
They bluster and they babble
Then they publicly deny it.
So, it remains to us to care and feel;
To be the infamous squeaky wheel
And call to the public’s lazy attention
Crimes you commit and fail to mention.
We point it out when you lie and steal
That the promises you made aren’t real.
We remind our brothers, the working slob,
That all you do in office is keep your job.
Getting into office, your number one priority
For that you must ignore all the minorities
Only mentioning them in campaign speeches.
Then continue on being high-paid leeches.
Nobody in your party will call you out
Just collect your money from the touts
And when you retire just leave the rubble
And demand the populace call you “Honorable”.
We’re the rebels they call rabble
They want us all to be quiet
They bluster and they babble
Then they publicly deny it.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 2:58 PM UTC
We wasted our youth on numbing the pain with alcohol and cigarettes.
We were young and naive.
You were charming, I was a mess, and we jumped into the flames together.
We wasted our twenties on screaming into almost full answering machines and bars with mindless conversations.
We were wild and free.
You were a mess, I was fed up, so we danced down dark alleys together singing rage filled songs to the moon.
We were best friends; we were trying to fight the same battle with scars across our wrists and blacked out livers as mementos from this war.
We were family; we were just filling up boxes with old pictures of smiling and happy birthday cards from a mother who was never around.
We were lovers; trying to scream ourselves back into each others arms in hope that we could be the heroes we always wanted.
We were the kids your parents warned you about.
The ones with the broken past and the empty futures they said.
The ones with the alcohol addictions and the drugs habits we refused to kick they said.
The ones who lived in the night, who danced in the shadows but dreamed of the next morning they would have to make it through.
Cheers to numbing the pain at the expense of our livers and wasting our youth on impossible dreams.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 2:57 PM UTC
We have funny colored hair
And we sing our corrupted music a little too loud
We paint pretty pictures of revolution
Right on the surface of our diamond-studded faces.
We run away from responsibility,
In fear of not meeting the standards set by generations before.
Work hard, no sleep.
Play a little less, fall under the knife.
When will we reach the ****** of
This demented little fairytale?
Sit in a perfectly placed corner,
Smile wide, and don’t say a word.
They’re going to muffle your cries with cotton, anyways.
Jun 2, 2017
Jun 2, 2017 at 10:27 AM UTC
Before the year ends
there is so much left to
accomplish. Little grains
of salt tossed from shore to shore
Rogue One is my savior
Jin and Cassian are my guides
a bonding brotherhood
a bonding friendship
a budding romance
but ended as the imperial army
blew them to smithereens.
What is to become of the
rebel forces? They end up winning
but it's a long, hard struggle.
The Force is with me.
I am the Force.
I know this now.
All this power like
the Death Star
channeling green toxic energy
destroying all
that is innocent and good.
Before the year ends
there is an opening
not unlike the blue power shields
that the rebels destroyed.
Fear is my shield
but I have the Force within
and all it takes is some hope
that this next coming year
will be a new bright beginning
full of love and caring
bringing peace and relief and satisfaction and release
to my Brain and my Heart.
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 2:37 PM UTC
I've lost time counting headlights and lamplights and streetlights and stars. I've literally lost time. Each day I wake up, and watch the evening drift by in a sunset, I fall asleep and watch the moonlight sail away on a sunrise.
It was an empty promise, these lights all around. It was an empty promise, that buzzed with the current a few thousand volts. Lights...pale and broken bulbs bleeding gasses and lies. But I guess in the dishonesty of some idea so pure, I found the dream that Teslas lightning tipped fingers yearned for,
A quest of solid gold that conducted an orchestra of thunder. And so lights couldn't be a lie anymore,
They could only be a dream, a dream never fully realized so long as the frozen dead fingers of liars past held their grip. Edisons overgrown yellow tinged finger nails, piercing through the veil of misty electric sparks,
Yet here i am
The light bulb is over MY head now! And my brainstorm is an F4 hurricane, my bolts like guillotines for your greedy fingers!
Because this is the generation of new light, of new thunder and new mayhem.
Of illumination!
A new generation carrying torches, casting out our light bulbs and our lamp posts. Forcing fire into Mason jars and using flames like they were new again.
No no no
…
Not Mason jars. Pull those god **** light bulbs from the headlights and lamplights and streetlights, fill those ******* with gunpowder and unstable explosive mixtures and make stars, *************
Make flames that burn brighter than Edison's unholy lies, that tear down the dome and bring the skies falling!
Watch everything we've built, watch corruption and lies and racism and false superiority come hissing out of the cracks, trying to save themselves from the building pressure,
Trying to claw their red boney fingers from the fire but they can't. Because they are the fire,
And we will all watch as they burn like they always wanted to. Their voices shining past all of the glory their burning visage may grant, their bodies becoming one with the chaos that is our country.
And then we will have nothing left but ashes. No more eagles. Only the right and left wings of a Phoenix,
Risen from our ash and tears, flying into the sky to become the sun...To shine like nothing ever seen by our eyes so used to a false light.
Because it's time we became the sun. It's time we chose a real light to follow, not a halogen tube spewing gas over sickly bodies. No more light bulbs to only last a few weeks. Were tired of artificial light...Tired of breathing oxygen made in a lab…
Maybe it's because we've lost so much time under buzzing broken bulbs, under boot heels and tyrannical ideation. We've lost so much time staring into TV lights and camera flashes that we've only been able to wait for someone real to step into frame...
We've lost so much time counting headlights and lamplights and streetlights and stars. Counting the minutes till a new hero appears...I'm ready to be the light.
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 9:40 AM UTC
Atlas shrugged his shoulders and said his last goodbye
He said I’m tired of this world and all of you know why
Before he left he let the singing caged bird out to fly
She said I begged you to release me before I die
The world once was green but forgot how to create
The sun’s early morning make the moon tides too late
He purified himself first so he could turn from his hate
Now he’s gone leaving behind the anger of our fate
She only knew how to paint the colors of her reality
It made her life easier because it was her normality
They begged her to come back but she did not feel free
She’d rather sell tortillas than cross the pretentious sea
Release the favor of your desires for I have none to offer
I exist where the light has exhausted itself from its search
We only live underneath its glow and not by its promise
And I walk alone by the door of a once beckoning church
In his hands he may choose his wraths or his mercies
A terrible sword of dust swirling without remorse
The light of a rainbow without sound or footprint
We choose either the gentle or sharp side of its source
Where men gather arguing over the virtues of sin
There is no trail to follow except the way of failure
For there is no just end without a just path for peace
And the burden he bore knows who was his savior
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 9:02 PM UTC
The silent messages on the walls
Were enough for the rebels
They peed on it several times
Never seen no graffiti then
Negligence for every wise acts?
Who do you think will succeed?
The people with the cold heart
Or the hearts with good grace?
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 9:47 AM UTC
There are people somewhere
Almost no one knows about
There are girls and women boys and men
Gone beyond the places people care about
And, no one ever sees them again.
They laugh and love and work and share their daily bread
And, live within the fruits of the soil
Smiling at the treasures only found
In the efforts of the ones who toil.
And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.
Somewhere smoke is curling from a handmade home
Someone sits adrift in a song
Tapping toes to rhythms of a timeless beat
And sometimes laughing loud and strong.
Someone no one knows about will sleep tonight
Content with what was done today.
Smiling with a face that seems to say
They wouldn’t have it any other way.
And nobody sings their anthem
Nobody paves their way;
Trees and rocks are neighbors for
The ones who went away.
The ones who went away,
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
The ones who went away.
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 11:04 PM UTC