"aftermaths" poems
by Desmond Makatu,
Your visits are unpredictable.
like a ghost, you're invisible.
The attacks are inevitable.
You come like a thief at night.
You seize me day and night.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Cruelty unrestricted to age.
Victimising even toddlers.
Unrestricted to ethnic groups.
My life has time gaps.
Gaps, like discrete graphs.
Cracks depict thin line between life and death.
Grace bridges the gaps and life prevails over death.
Seizures still haunt me like a demonic wrath.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Attacks are brief, bruises lasts forever.
You offer questions only God can answer.
Quest for answers is like probing for cure of Cancer.
Death seemed to be the answer but God thought otherwise.
First seizure shook like multiple earthquakes.
Followed by a pool of darkness.
woke up confused, crowd's ****** expressions said a thousand words.
Migraines raided my head, exposed to enormous pressure.
Officially baptised by wrath of seizures.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
You're a physical and psychological culprit.
Like a Yoyo, you take me into a roller-coaster of emotions.
Aftermaths of your theft are etched in my mind as if they’re on stones.
Behind my “poker face” lies devastating pains than physicals seen by the crowd.
"Epilepsy: an inevitable thief"
Watch video on YouTube. https://youtu.be/VggXerYLOHY
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 8:02 PM UTC
I'm writing this poem to be ignored
like many of you
I enjoy being a poet
of keen irrelevance
a literary luminaire
of solitude
a lost writing ghost
a megalomaniac haunting himself
a waiting oracle
waiting
for the occult muse door mouse to tap dance
whispering night babble
or having a cooked chicken fly into my mouth
while i take searing snapshots
of erratic images
puzzling them into words
from boundless burdens
of heaping intestinal bluesy aftermaths exodus of conscience
bruising my self like a ********* in heat
on out of control run-on rants
and blood razor drenched mysticism
while real men drive earth movers
drink bruskies
and kick ***
hustling time share Chinese handcuff contracts
and up sell social justice platitudes
fit for pie in the sky levitating hysteria
lives shatter like red ice
in endless cacophonies of skull clobbering effacement
I'm writing this poem to be ignored
and no one lets me down
Mar 20, 2019
Mar 20, 2019 at 3:32 PM UTC
Tell me not here, it needs not saying,
What tune the enchantress plays
In aftermaths of soft September
Or under blanching mays,
For she and I were long acquainted
And I knew all her ways.
On russet floors, by waters idle,
The pine lets fall its cone;
The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing
In leafy dells alone;
And traveller's joy beguiles in autumn
Hearts that have lost their own.
On acres of the seeded grasses
The changing burnish heaves;
Or marshalled under moons of harvest
Stand still all night the sheaves;
Or beeches strip in storms for winter
And stain the wind with leaves.
Posses, as I possessed a season,
The countries I resign,
Where over elmy plains the highway
Would mount the hills and shine,
And full of shade the pillared forest
Would murmur and be mine.
For nature, heartless, witless nature,
Will neither care nor know
What stranger's feet may find the meadow
And trespass there and go,
Nor ask amid the dews of morning
If they are mine or no.
2.9k
Brainwaves like the cosmos
giving birth.
The bang of my nuclei expands
beyond the earth.
My supernova incinerates all in its path
My black hole engulfs all light
E=MC²…..
The birth of the atom
Concepts like myriad mushroom clouds
Visions of explosive aftermaths
Mind games played out on a grand scale
Random radioactivity
Permeates creativity
Defying gravity daily
Like a river
I flow
I bend
Sometimes a gurgling stream
Sometimes a raging torrent
No more hurricanes……
I am serene
Sep 4, 2009
Sep 4, 2009 at 10:25 PM UTC
When we've turned to past
And all our memories turn
To vicious whirlwinds
: Untouchable
Aftermaths of aftermaths of flames,
Of which we were the arsonists--
Even with our senses impaired--
I'll still come back to you.
.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 4:43 PM UTC
I really have a soft spot for winter weather
It’s sweater time
It’s scarf time
It’s cuddle time…or a-little-more-than-cuddling time
And it’s sweaters and scarves indoors time because people seem determined to hide the aftermath of mouths that have overstayed their welcome
In the corners of shoulders and collarbones
Tracing tracheas to chests and lingering just out of reach of lips
And because I’ve been taught to hide these marks, I do
But if I could, I would accessorize with necklaces of purple and blue
Passionate hues that grow from teeth and tongues
Can you paint with all the colors of the
Winding veins that spindle into spirals around blood and bones and vitals
Can you decorate the blank canvas of my neck
With Rorschach tests that I’ll spend the next few days
Analyzing and decoding
Finding new shapes just for fun
And then we’ll start again with stripes and spots and splotches
Remembering that the fireworks we call cliché are interchangeable with capillaries
Bursting under layers of skin
To later be concealed under layers of cloth
And people will blush when the consistency in their color is questioned
And they’ll tug their collars higher
But I’ll always have a love for the fact that these are bruises that come from beauty
That these bodies end up damaged in the most gentle of ways
And please don’t put a negative spin on damage
Because I know of people that will spend all kinds of money for outfits that look like they’ve been through hell and back
Because distress is a style and the aesthetic is stunning
And even though people joke as they will
I’m secretly proud to wear a badge of black and blue
On the corner of my collar claiming
You Were Here
And I’ll pin one to your neckline
Signed and dated
I Was Here
And the blood that we’ve drawn to the insides of each other’s skin
Only mirrors the blush that appears on my face when I smile and think
I really am lucky to have you
And it’s sweater weather outside so these bruises will stay confined
Under the snowy scarves we’re told to keep
But I’ll admire this art as it fades through the week
Tracing over physical proof of nights that fall into the past
And scrutinizing the speed at which they do
Adoring the marks that no one else seems to
Because aftermaths confirm realities
And I could never disdain the colors that tell the world who we are to each other
And how we stay warm in the winter
Nov 22, 2014
Nov 22, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
“Just relax”
She says, as I picture her kissing the
Neck of a female coworker
With whom she had recently started
A flirtatious friendship
“We’ll play it by ear”
Scratches on the cluttered chalkboard
That is my anxious mind
Riddled with equations of what ifs
And ramblings of aftermaths
“It’ll work out”
Isn’t as reassuring as it might seem
When I want nothing more than to witness a fantasy
That is scribbled in a weekly calendar
And only committed to by word of mouth
“what else could I say”
Is a fair point,
but one that falls silent on my lust
which seems to be manifesting as a smoky devil
with obsessive compulsive disorder
“And if it doesn’t happen, oh well”
Are easy words for her to say
Considering the amount of fantasies she has fulfilled
Since we have started this journey
Of debauchery, and self-esteem adjustments
“At least we have each other”
The most comforting thing she has said on the topic,
Yet I wonder
Am I enough for you…
And you for me?
Apr 23, 2018
Apr 23, 2018 at 3:35 PM UTC
Without Peace We All Know Where We're Headed......
Give peace a chance, will those of nobility declare
Intelligence of spirit, who could ever compare
Valiantly fighting the evil in the world, unwilling to fail
Earnestly helping those needy, without ever becoming frail
Peacefully sacrificing time and energy without ever reconsidering
Endangering themselves to constantly make a difference
Antagonizing the establishment for an instance
Coming home with battle scars to wear and none to share
Emphasizing they are not heroes, only that "they care"
Angering all others, for showing they disagree
Considering the options with nowhere to hide
Hiroshima and its aftermaths, would never subside
Attempting to disrupt, what those warmongers insist
No necessity to justify, the results do persist
Coming full circle does our world continue to exist
Ending in oblivion, if we don't learn how to desist
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 8:50 AM UTC
What do you know of life
the way I live it?
What do you know of us,
to open your mouth and talk? Like that.
What do you know about
Binds, bonds
How love goes and grows
You silly teenager, never fell in love!
You are older than I but you know not more.
You don’t know my mind, at all.
Neither his.
You make me shake. Stir up pain and doubt in me.
What do you know about life
and the aftermaths?
I read poems and you are not in them
I hear your words in no place.
What do you know about
love - that lovely disease
spreading through the body
and not your weekend flirts!
Life looks empty through these eyes.
Please interfere not with my heart.
These words cannot aspire to tell
the world contained inside my chest
What do you know about life
The way I live it?
The way we live it?
Shut up.
Mar 29, 2017
Mar 29, 2017 at 1:58 PM UTC
I mistreated you
I cheated you of a freedom needed for us to mend.
I was wading, waiting just to swim again.
against the tides is where I’ll find the path to pave the space needed
to make way for every ounce I couldnt appreciate
Never sing a song to a woman who wants to leave
I’ve turned into a madman, I think that’s enough for me
Will I make it to the end we’ll just have to wait and see
I ain’t Think that far yet but there’s no time to be
The one to hold you in his arms when your heart bleeds
I can’t humanize my **** disguise we’ve parted ways
My soul and I Parlay
prequels fondly pondered I’ve tread onward
focus was astray
Ive taken bigger bites than one can chew
Without a stain
I’ve seen it through
I came to play with aftermaths
And whatever’s left of sanity
don't know it all and won't pretend i Am saint
To me, imposing my beliefs would be deceit
Can’t captivate
man who has refused to see
Reduce the heat, don’t slave away for poverty
Its uncommon to solve problems with commodities
You’ll have to seek beneath the skin
My best attempt was making peace with the friends ship
allowed to sink
I keep the channel open, hoping that we meet before it ends.
I'm finding new approaches to the dreams I will transcend.
Now with all I know I can make sense of the events, a toast to the amends .
May 11, 2024
May 11, 2024 at 3:40 PM UTC
Hello pearl,
quartz thoughts,
beautiful girl.
Are you my whole entire world?
In tiny palm fist,
amethysts of magic tricks,
&
envy green in sentiment;
Plenty of men felt your eminence,
In sparkled emeralds,
cut precisely into these grooves,
to take a walk in my shoes,
you lose crazy diamond
you lose.
Some days so mundane,
I'll come after you Monday,
some say it's a Tuesday, Ruby,
but I can see through them like transparent jade,
your gaze shines opaque,
still lost in the landscape.
You shook me like a handshake,
revealed like aftermaths of earthquakes,
just another precious mineral,
worthless
girl,
subjective to the pearl,
subliminal to the world,
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 2:44 PM UTC
humid temperance in your tussled hair
you are fair to begin with
a more wholesome lust-
my ***** could pray too.
you give this
gravitas -
while withholding a miracle of aftermaths.
you're spot on.
manifest this for me...
bring out the outcasts of your hinterlands and small tokens.
bring out your fists so that i may comfort them
with too warm kisses.
let me languish in your paradox
swollen with joy
totally into it,
let me love you like like like like daybreak mending.
i'll size you up
on a pedestal
and catch
you
like a lover.
try me.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 11:29 AM UTC
Fortune, fortune…fortunate son of prophecy
Preaches his sermon to the masses of relentless ones
A boy child with blond dusty hair, big bulging blue eyes with fair complexion stands by
Listening to the sermonizer as he delivers his powerful words of peaceful kindness
A kingly man speaks ******* as the statements shift forward in a timely matter
Plains of destructive aftermaths, horizons of thronged hysteria
Captivates the surroundings, laying in the background like plagues in biblical portions
“Raise my son, this is the day we shall rise and go onward... the time is now to rebuild”
States the preacher’s blessed father as he be troves his scriptures with tightened grip
Child becomes man that very day, setting forth his striving ambitions
Letting go of his childhood memories with a fight to change what once went wrong
Standing in the darkest hour of his destiny, he becomes tame with greater conviction
It will be no easy task knows the boy; he will set forth with courageous tidings
Bravery will stand the test of time, witnessing the spiritual uplifting momentums
Kingly man stands in the way of his convictions, for he is a self loather
Built to the hilt in muscle and stubbornness filling his belt buckle
His abilities hold him from ever knowing life’s greatest mysteries
Diabolically he counts the steps of world ********** standing taller than any man before him
But it is he who will be overran by Prophetic Son of the Holy Spirit
The land as far as any man can see lay in grey ****** rubble
Ambiance of ash strewn clouds fogged the earth’s surface
Causing transportive means to get choked out, shutting down the crossroads of societies
However to the man child, who stood the chance of defeat. Saw nothing of this sort
He looked out onto the existing landscape and saw roadways paved of solid gold
Trees blooming with fully bloomed cherry blossoms, and fields of floral arrangements
The king did not like anything of the sort, so he tried and tried to foil the rehabilitation
Of the groves of smiling girls and playful boys while the elders cheerfully applaud
However the kingly man became overrun by the source of his own allegations
Turned the cheek and gave way to the man who once was a child, the day stays brighter
on the other side of reality looked around to adore what you have set before your very own eyeful delight
Apr 21, 2010
Apr 21, 2010 at 11:13 AM UTC
We cowardly witnessed the genocide of many human beings
Live, live, live in real time
That was an odious, callous and vicious crime
We said nothing, absolutely nothing about the sad and awful events
Many of us were either silent or complacent about everything
Even God was absent and quiet. He did nothing, nothing
Evil doers are not humane; they are ******** criminals
We witnessed the bombings of babies, buildings and animals
We saw the massacres and the aftermaths. We could smell the blood
And could hear the cries coming out of the television screens
We saw the live and dead bodies, the hearts, the livers and the spleens
Rotting and spoiling in the filthy streets. The color of the mud
Is grim and abnormal, because of too much sufferings and tears
Too much pain and misery, too much disgust and shame
Too much atrocities and killings. We all know whom to blame
We know who are responsible for so much evilness and wrongdoings
Humanity got thrown out of the window in this part of the universe
We wonder if these two legged machines have a heart and a soul
We wonder if they ever look in a mirror, in a clear pool
We wonder how it would be if everything were to happen in reverse
Where is God? Why this ignominious silence?
Live, live, live in real time
That’s an odious, egregious and beastly crime
How can anybody sleep at night? That makes no sense
These days, everything is live, eerie, vivid and instantaneous
Grotesque things are never acceptable, admissible and hilarious
We want peace and we dream of peace
But the guilty ones must pay from west to east
And from north to south. We want peace and justice.
P.S. This poem is dedicated to Love, Peace, Equality and Justice.
Copyright © June 2025 Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Jun 1, 2025
Jun 1, 2025 at 11:37 PM UTC
Our lives are set-up in beautiful hypothetical.
Propositions swirl around like conveyor-belt sushi- delights to choose at semi-random.
Light and fluffy brightly colored choices.
Candied aftermaths of promise.
We stare at the world like through a pane of glass that houses every good thing.
Select a sweet impermanence.
Finger a whim.
Cast yourself onto a game of chance.
Play your favorite song on the jukebox of 'nowness'.
Skip all of the imperfections in a sidewalk.
Dandy through your daydreams.
To want is to behold.
To wish is to brush the tips of splendor.
All of it free for now.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 12:14 AM UTC
Sadists, aren’t we all… abusing that for which we fall…
The way that I’m obsessed… with the fabric of your dress
Although it doesn’t feel as good… as tender skin beneath it would
So it deserves the claws… and lacerated ribbons’ flow…
Of all the fingers, it’s the thumb… that sees the broadest, like the sun
Runs in circles on those knees… the sweet of you I love to read
Yet passion thrives on sacrifice… with aftermaths of melting ice
To treat the paintings on your skin… which lust, in trance, would blindly leave
Like every coin, there are two sides… and truth is tasting both in life…
The things that we adore… our hunger paints in gore
And now you’re in the palms… their lips brush off the calm…
The sinking of the teeth… the flavor underneath...
Apr 17, 2018
Apr 17, 2018 at 12:28 PM UTC
I listen to the wind
as it blows past my ears
to sense that it whispers
from afar some new cheers
that I've been expecting
for a while to receive
and to tell me plainly
without words to deceive,
I humbly bow my head
in a true spirit of
gratitude which conveys
a deep feeling of love
for the One who does seem
to be always close by
no matter where we be
dissolving fears that try.
I somehow know that all
will be well at the end
of one's life journey which
has been lived to contend
with those things that decry
people's efforts to live
honestly by the truth
and are able to give.
I consider the past
that we have all been through
and has brought us here now
for the present time view
which leads to the future
showing us many paths
we cannot all follow
but have their aftermaths.
I look inside my mind
at the darkness to see
the light of my spirit
that comes at times to me
recognising the state
of my soul reflecting
on the outer life lived
but which needs directing.
I am very grateful
to the unseen power
that is a source of help
in hard times to shower
benevolence and grace
when futility reigns
and hopelessness is what
for some life here pertains.
I embrace all of life
with the wonders it has
and ours for the seeking
though they must be seen as
belonging to us all
without attachment to
a selfish attitude
when they're found by a few.
________________
Nov 20, 2019
Nov 20, 2019 at 9:39 PM UTC
Discarded heavenly ash that rains down,
Torched atoms from an immense body,
Collecting delicately on powdered reflecting floors,
Which catch radiant and brilliant aftermaths,
The chaos creating by destruction but never really changing,
Just flickering in the light as they grow weightless,
Everything silent nonsense now,
With pristine nothingness,
Brilliant colors dipping and moving with blatant blankness,
Such energy resides in the smallest speck,
Suspended in a ribbon of reality,
Nourished with tidbits of truth,
Until the intense instant of breaking off,
Particles erupting, igniting, into brightness.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 10:30 PM UTC
A dent in the wall -
Something said, something thrown. Hush,
A praying fly sleeps.
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 2:56 PM UTC
Thinks she sets aright
Some problem universal
In her leveraged might....
If the ******
Thinks that in ****** rage
Satiation lies...
If the Thief
Thinks in stealing pieces,
She takes home peace...
If the Bully
Considers righteous
His abuse of power...
Or if they do not care,
But run to evil deeds
Because they're there...
They do not think beyond
Commission,
Forget the list of victims
Includes themselves.
Aftermaths & Consequences
Force lives of guilt
Penned in fences,
Pending dooms,
Self destructions...
Perpetrators penetrating
Their own souls,
Destroying their own lives,
Believing devils' lies,
That no one has to pay;
No hell awaits to have its day.
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 11:26 AM UTC
We must die
Yet, for our words won't dry
On the blank sheet's of papers
Endlessly the poesy
Shall remain
Even in the aftermath
From all those poems
Who were given birth from a poet writer
They shall remain
When the poets breathe no more
The poems will breathe
For Eternally ....
Yet, the words will stay and remain the same
But the thoughts
Will speak to those whom read the poet's poems
So, we shall write till the end
Even if we are reborn
And don't remember who we were in the aftermaths
Therefore our words live on
So, let us the poet's writers give a gift
To the poems
Apr 15, 2017
Apr 15, 2017 at 12:21 AM UTC
What y'all gonna **** against now that the wall's fallen down?
If we built it and it tilts,
tough.
Them with the kilts on have still got the hots on ( hoots mon) for Euro
I dunno though
it could just be the weather.
But we don't have to explain we're too busy complaining and I'm really ****** off because outside it's raining
and it's British rain not dependant on Brussels
(he flexes his muscles)
tremors are felt
seismic events on the trading floors
It still bores me and I need a ***
where's the wall?
Jun 25, 2016
Jun 25, 2016 at 7:35 AM UTC
I can’t always be warm.
Sometimes I’m a cold cemetery
That only welcomes bones,
Broken hearts, tragedies,
Lips that haven’t talked for days,
And souls controlled by parasitic grief.
Other times I’m a battlefield
That has seen chaos,
Rage, bloodshed, and death.
I’ve witnessed aftermaths
And how soldiers become winged.
At times I tried to be a home
That promotes rest, growth, and warmth,
But I guess I’m just an empty place —
Ordinary, plain,
Replaceable.
Aug 11, 2022
Aug 11, 2022 at 7:32 AM UTC
I remember your stare as soon as you saw me
We were at a bar, and I smiled as soon as you did
Aubrey, You are crossing the paths.
In my head, I play a memory of you
I keep on seeing little signs
But I can't catch them, all I get were these aftermaths
You wonks sank deep, and my hand touches your skin,
You took me for a ride and I visualize lips
Aubrey, You are crossing the paths.
In my head, I play a memory of you
I keep on seeing little signs
But I can't catch them, all I get was the aftermath
Whenever I see your face,
I fall in love each time; I got lost in your voice
Aubrey, You are crossing the paths.
In my head, I play a memory of you
I keep on seeing little signs
But I can't catch them, all I get were these aftermaths
At the ocean, we join and dance until we fall
Because anything we ever shared here will soon fade
I sang your voice and my love for your overall
Our feet's buried on the sands and we were afraid
Aubrey, You are crossing the paths,
In my head, I play a memory of you
Only a memory of your laughs
Something I could hold onto
Because none of these will ever stay.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 12:14 PM UTC
I surrounded myself with people
Who I thought looked like me
Whose painted faces
Looked just like how I tried to paint mine
But where others covered there pain
With a mask
I just asked my pain
Why cant I paint
Two decades of friendships
Forged in fire and suffer
And brotherhood and heroism that
Decided the fire wasn't going to be enough
Huh
How long did that last
Trace the path through the woods back
And the file "adult" didn't unfold with the map
Its funny that we never considered
The aftermaths
Of time, space, separation
Disillusion, security, and all of the isms
That we want to blame for this is why
And this is it
And we dont try for real anymore.
I once believed
I had a brother
Not even from another mother
Not even, but more to me than my own brother
I once believed
And there is no one Id rather talk to right now
In my insomnia
Than the brother I chose
Who had unchosen me
Jul 2, 2025
Jul 2, 2025 at 4:46 AM UTC