#week
I wrote the following poem for Poetry Month two years ago. Today I turned it into lyrics and with very specific prompts/instructions created a song (male and female voices) using SUNU. I hope our colleagues here enjoy it. A link to my new song (free access) follows the original poem.
It's Poetry Month
If poets wail in the woods,
Do they make a sound?
If what we write goes unread,
Why on earth do we persist?
It is madness, I insist,
No one can cure 'till we're dead.
Will we be silent, or discouraged? No!
Let our voices resonate with our truth,
Be it sweet as a ripe pomegranate,
Or sour as cheap wine left too long uncorked.
We sing as best we can in harmony,
Or screech like rusty nails caressing slate,
E pluribus unum - one family,
Embracing every country, every state.
Our voices won't be silenced, nor our song,
For we were born to sing right notes and wrong.
Song from lyrics based on the above: https://suno.com/s/YEqFapQWXgTPK1cT
(If you listen to the song and enjoy it, please feel free to share the link but not a downloaded MP3 as the Lyrics are copyrighted by me but the generated music and voices I cannot distribute until I upgrade my account at SUNO--the link, though, is fine as it plays on their site. I've been working to create songs from a number of my poems and eventually will add my own cloned voice to mine and perhaps create an album.)
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 8:49 PM UTC
It’s only been a week,
But it doesn’t feel that way,
Like time moved differently
Since the day you stayed.
Seven days don’t seem enough
To hold what I feel for you,
Because every moment with you
Feels deeper than it should.
In just a week, you became
My comfort, my peace, my home,
The one I think about
Even when I’m alone.
It’s crazy how something so small
Turned into something this real,
How just one week with you
Changed the way I feel.
So this isn’t just a week to me,
It’s the start of something true,
Because no matter how short it sounds,
Every second was with you.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 3:54 PM UTC
I awoke hoping for a golden day
I’m easily dazzled, I suppose.
But it’s cool and overcast in Paris.
They’re limiting the sunshine today
because of global warming.
How can global warming bring a thousand harms
if it can’t even cook a turkey?
I love this after-Christmas week.
The crowded activities and Hallmark card events are over
but we still have the sunny moods and infectious vibes
(with no classwork).
My parents flew in last night.
It’s a holiday miracle.
What’s better than running into your mother’s arms
for a, “Mom-MEEEEEEEEEE!” hug.
Joy is a land unto itself, dizzying and potent.
“Your hair,” she said, almost immediately
- confiscating my adulthood with ease.
I‘ve missed her interrogations
and itchy, absorbing interest.
Re-entering childhood can be emotionally wearing
I needed a skin of those shuttle tiles for reentry.
The funny thing is, I get to watch my momma smother
under Grandmère’s beam-fixture gaze.
It seems awfully bright in here - far below the overcast.
.
.
Songs for this:
Wouldn't It Be Nice by The Sirens
Conexão by Amber Mark
Dec 27, 2025
Dec 27, 2025 at 12:38 PM UTC
Line em up
Lay em down
Let em bust
Lock em away
Wake
Live
Drink
Smoke
Eat
**** shower shave
Sleep
Line em up
Lay em down
Let em bust
Hit the whole rotation
Always moving
Never stopping
Always winning
**** losing
Loving
*******
Something
**** em
Slave em
Do em good
Pay the rent
Pay the bills
Cook the meals
No concern
Locked in
Blacked out
Function on the herbs that brew n burn
Said it first
Line em up
Lay em down
Let em bust
Oct 26, 2025
Oct 26, 2025 at 4:56 PM UTC
Women pains , nothing gained
Blood stains , energy drained
I try to tame but all is vained
Woman pains that no one weighed
But a woman who once felt this ache
Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 12:27 PM UTC
sunday on a saturday afternoon
fills my lungs with soda taste longing
flinging through words never said
to spit out of my head
here i lie on the bedding
sunday comes around
to feed me to the ground
silence waits til i turn to say ‘i found you’
saturday sun on a sweet afternoon
week full, ate up my work til i threw up on you
what was that last thing we spoke about?
like,
just wait til it ends
just wait til it ends
sun sat day to wait til it ends
and then you know like
it starts on a friday night
we’ll tie our hands together
over our new tv
we’ll watch the stories as they play
of a life worth living past sunday
life worth living past sunday
Feb 28, 2025
Feb 28, 2025 at 12:17 AM UTC
A new day
Comes every day
With a morning, a noon
An afternoon and an evening
It's day and it's night
Across the countryside.
The first day of the year
Is as special as the last
Man creates days of feast
To distinguish himself from the beast
That says that all days are the same
Like the wind that dances and sows.
There is a beginning
To smile and laugh
And an end of time
To cry and die
The animals are right
A new season does not matter.
A new year, a new day
A new week, a new month
A new night, a new noon
A new sun, a new moon.
Copyright © January 2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
Jan 2, 2025
Jan 2, 2025 at 11:11 AM UTC
(the drug cos. have invented this,
tablet, capsule, even injectable;
but the pharma cabal says
no to all,
who know & ask for a public release)
|~|
For
A Kiss That Lasts All Week
it will cure most illnesses,
and what’s the point in that?
you will just have to learn it
with practice, practice & tactics
no need to hurry, play with
the concept, roll it over the tongue,
ready for overseas deployment
said tongue,
the tongue now
the advance force
close your eyes
focus on the overwhelming
(says the now all powerful Wizard of Lips)
those underestimated sensors of the lips,
too oft disdained
in a overhurrief hurricane rush
to the
“big n’ better “ orifices,
and the slow luxury
of the tingly
uttering of
WOW~
shooting through you to the parts of you
suddenly rewoked
& now revoked
from the
quietude of functional boredom
and think
but do not speak
*** *** o m g,
this is
the fountain of youth,
the revitalized
cellular generation,
the speeding up of the
flow of blood
to places long forgot,
allowing the heart to pump
its gifts to the deadened spots,
reawakening the invisible
soul
that we all have in common
so:
get to “work”
Oct 13, 2024
Oct 13, 2024 at 12:52 PM UTC
stuff spread all over
moving from one abandoned
house
to another
Seems I'm ******
spoken words without truth
phone broke
homeless joke
it ain't so funny
when I'm stuck
In the confessional booth
can't get out of here
trust no one
ever-fear
night wary light little
some kind of maze
**** riddle
i don't have the answer to
got to get
before it gets you
i got to go real soon
new hat same old boots
this is just a bunch of dust
it'll **** you
wake up
on the morning news
hide your things
or take them with
else you ain't gonna have ****
broken will
broken dog
sleeping in a hollow log
drink mud
It poisons
You
sick two days and still gotta move
another place i can't stay long
don't look now
here comes the law
give me ****
wish me luck
thinking I'm a ***
********
******
got what i had coming
can i put up an argument?
be worth the time that I have left?
doubt me
catch your death
crown me
catch your breath
hell hill
third world frills
cops chasing the elusive
kids
kick grandma's door in
shoot to ****
shoulda left the pistol
grabbed some other till
19 now and a ****** rap
what the hell am i to
do with that?
all these things that i did see
leave me choked...
without speech
stressing on the basics now
all day long
bow me down
Apr 24, 2024
Apr 24, 2024 at 4:25 AM UTC
One week is as long as it takes for your job to wait before they clean out your things and go back to normal day to day life after you pass away
and although routines, business and normalcy all make sense for the mental health and financial success of everyone else still alive
because life goes on as it always does and always has…
it’s a reminder that no job is worth any extra of your precious time on earth or mental sanity
because it takes your employer one week to move on without you
May 30, 2023
May 30, 2023 at 10:35 AM UTC
Golden skies and grass greens,
ribbons and threads and legacies,
heavens and harlots, power and age.
It's all flames in the end, isn't it?
All words, all swords, fall so, perfectly.
And like a cancer, you can eat the cigarettes' so sweetly,
all the champagne flowing so freely,
And when we wait for our Paris.
Life makes you intoa a creatures below, surprisingly like mosquito in summer
eating in the garden of fire, to live happily.
It's all smokes and shadows tomorrow,
and it falls like a cold shaped drink, like a dollar
swinging, settling, hoping to be taller, but falling
in our hangover and faded like-memories
in the black morning, of anxiety and sorrow.
Just eating in the garden of fire,
dragons, vampires, pirates and scabies.
All from a broken shaped bottle with ***** like choices,
liars of empires, sweats of angels and children,
it all flames in the end, in the garden of fire, isn't it?
But when the wind turns north,
will you turn and know, when the rich
and the wicked find no more?
If we slowly find the money isn't the answer to all things,
and the battles, bills, and blessings don't become our idols
maybe eternity, will overflow, we can lie down in grass so green,
and like mountains, like kings, we will find happiness so free.
Surely in meadows and forests, witches and wickedness,
anger and bitterness, will be song so forgotten once we are so free.
We will eat the richest cheese, running into homes of orphans,
we can cause them to be such kings, alive and well and so happy.
Before the end truly comes, in time and reason, a new healing,
king and throne, with eyes so weary, knees and backs so heavy,
we will remember, like a song so catchy, a life set free.
Jul 5, 2022
Jul 5, 2022 at 3:52 PM UTC
no great ceremony for a Tuesday
it slips into the rest of the week
quietly jostling for position
giving Wednesday a shove
telling it to wait it's turn
pushing Monday out the way
which nobody liked and everyone dreaded
we start to forget to mourn the past weekend
even looking forward to the next
just like us it has every right to be here
perhaps even miracles can happen
perhaps this is where it all comes good
Jan 13, 2022
Jan 13, 2022 at 6:48 PM UTC
Today is the third Day
Even as everyday is Sabbath
When the Son rose, the world
received the promised Ghost
First of firstfruit blessed
day after the Seven
when it was still dark
And the kingdom came
day after Seven Sevens
yet hidden to this day
For a week, Israel wandered
For a week, bread is unleavened
Evening of the Seventh approaches, fast
But time shall divide, till not one is lost
Apr 3, 2021
Apr 3, 2021 at 4:12 AM UTC
I can't help but vent
on how this week went
For the school board dared
Give us all Stress that ensnared
From our hopes of having free time
To our hopes of being able to flip a dime
But worry not, for I have not prepared
So I have dared;
but alas, to no avail
So I will continue trying to unveil
On why the school is so merciless
To those who don't know patience
And to those who are worthless
Hear my inexperience
I am scared, nervous,
despaired, and ambitious
For I will dare once again
To this week of drain
Dec 14, 2020
Dec 14, 2020 at 10:05 AM UTC
I wish every day was a Friday,
that seven-day repetition that
I no your walking through
my door, no looking back...
Were here all night a 2.5 fraction
of a week where theres just me
and you, just us....
Runing a 4.5 day missing you
to a weekend of just us
through the minutes to hours
to the where did this
weekend go.
The alram sounds, then the race
to the end of the weekned
starts,finishing as we count mistakes
of days that we catch on to a friday.
Your here now, were sorry I missed you,
but the weekend is ours..
no leaving, were just us, me and you.
I've missed more than just your body,
missing your breath on me,
but now were here in this moment,
long live every weekend when your next to me.
Sep 26, 2020
Sep 26, 2020 at 7:36 PM UTC
The Day is the Year is the Month
Not of passage but of transit
Evening to Morning, Dark to Light
And Seven Days decreed as a Week
Unmarked, of abstraction, not perception
And Seven of Seven is the Week of Weeks
Of Time marked by the Sun
The Pentecost and Jubilee is the Day
After Seven of Seven Days and Years
But of Time marked by the Moon,
the Seventh is the First, the First, the Seventh
And Seven of Seven is 42 months or 1260 Days
Now what do the Stars do for time?
Sep 14, 2020
Sep 14, 2020 at 10:37 PM UTC
Oh my dear Sunday
Your thought brings peace and blessings
Oh my dear Monday
Your thought brings anxiety and stress
Oh my dear Tuesday
Your thoughts bring a bit of cheer and hope
Oh my dear Wednesday
Your thought brings us relief that we are in the middle of this week
Oh my dear Thursday
Your thought brings us cheer because tomorrow is a Friday
Oh my dear Friday
Your thought brings us anticipation and thrill to spend the weekend
Oh my dear Saturday
Your thought brings us comfort and laziness through the entire day
Welcome back, my dear Sunday.
And Monday we will never miss you !!!!
Sep 12, 2020
Sep 12, 2020 at 3:29 AM UTC
I was Wooing My Honey,
on a dark lonely Night.
The Stars were missing
and the Moon was nowhere in Sight.
We were sailing in Italy,
on the Waters of Lake Como.
Reminding ourselves,
of Our Nightmare near Mount Bromo.
The Waves were Flirting
and Romancing the Shore.
Her Kisses started pouring
and we're sweeter than Before.
As Our bodies went Sailing,
from one position to Another.
The Rain came Tumbling,
changing the ****** Weather.
As Our Romance reached,
it's Mountain Peak.
Our Bodies were Locked,
putting an end to The Week.
Jun 21, 2020
Jun 21, 2020 at 12:26 AM UTC
it's not the sound that you miss
or the view
or even the touch
or the lips
or the sound of the walking shoes
rushing forward in a stamping blitz
halted by the shadow's looming lightlessness
its not any of this
what you miss is knowing
knowing that you're not standing next to the wind
or particles drifting through your hands-
but knowing
that someone is there
and they have no plans of going-
May 13, 2020
May 13, 2020 at 9:18 PM UTC
The chill crawls up my spine
Its tendrils of fingers intertwine
I walk a never ending line:
Anxiety that goes on
I stumble forward, determined but weak
I can’t remember how to speak
But from my mouth: a mournful shriek
Will there be a dawn?
Whispers begin to fill the air
They come and go from nowhere
Were they even real? Is nothing there?
Fear has a reek
What brought me to this dark place
What set me on this eternal race
What being or spirit, what face?
Ah, it’s finals week.
May 9, 2020
May 9, 2020 at 2:21 AM UTC
I'll trudge
this shingle beach of a week
days hurting my feet
like stones
two steps forward
one back
I'll not be defeated
the weekend
we reach our pier
rides on the waltzer
roller coaster
ferris wheel
helter skelter
until it ends
waking on the shore again
Feb 25, 2020
Feb 25, 2020 at 12:19 PM UTC
on the sofa
binging on bargain bucket box set series
and copious volumes of alcohol
warm in our shared delusion
that the end of the week
requires celebration
Feb 19, 2020
Feb 19, 2020 at 4:46 AM UTC