"exhort" poems
A strange kind of people
whose hegemonic ways dictate
and justify them
to exhort their rituals upon outsiders
and breathe fire on those
who refuse.
They have people called Slareneg
whose job it is to decide the fate
of the outsiders.
They claim to be receptive
of foreign rites
but are known to somehow be able to
coerce others into
blindly discerning matters their way.
They even have a history of
confining their own,
the ones they care not for at least,
to do their bidding for them
even though they are of akin heritage.
These people also defecate in the same place
where they consume meals.
They are backwards.
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 1:20 AM UTC
You won't recognize them I bet,
your secrets, even in broad day light,
if they walk towards you smiling,
wearing dark glasses to hide their eyes
in a humid day.They now wear clothes
of different styles to take you for a ride,
even cross dress and change the accents,
they play games with your hazy mind
--the secrets you once buried deep under.
They stand peeping behind blinded windows
prowl as shadows soliciting behind half open doors,.
Time flies in a hurry like migratory birds left behind,
you have to strain your ears too much
to hear even the faint foot falls of the past!
Old memories have changed their manners
they try to distract one with invented details
Like the muffled voices in an attic dark,
on a fateful day so long, your old secrets
speak an archaic tongue, that needs to be interpreted.
One has to be artful as the turbaned village elders
who would for your astonishment interpret
the vocabulary of lizard calls, key to nature's intents.
Or the trained eye of an elder who in flashes
of meteor falls, reads the secret messages of universe.
To get a true sense of your own secret
you have to tread the places they hide.
Make them shed their crusted hides
by which they conceal their true color,
which one has been waiting to see,
with a palpitating heart, walking back
to where one walked once, long forgotten.
That is why elders on days of yore
would exhort, embarrassingly repeat too,
not to have any hidden secrets that hurt
even if breathtakingly beautiful like a courtesan.
In some moment one won't expect
dreadful they could turn and become witches,
with fiery eyes, dreadlocks, and long nails.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 4:11 PM UTC
Hello Poetry
Yearned.
Ached.
For so long, for a community,
That values the ineffable wonder
Of a wordsmith's creations, intended to
Repair himself and the world with bullets of
Verses.
And here you are.
Like/Dislike, matters not,
So long as we value each others work,
And the the heart echoes within
What the eyes read and the mouth whispers.
The array and disparity of your names,
A delight,
Each name a poem
In its own right.
So I resubmit a question for your consideration,
The answer is now known,
The answer is all of us.
May 2013
---------------------------------------------------------
Who's Who In Poetry
T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers, tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.
Each a troop,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.
All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to rabbled boors,
imagination suppressors!
World:
cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.
Poets!
Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.
With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with **** empathy!
For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.
When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
tastes his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
and becomes one who was,
yet is,
because of you,
in poetry.
---------------
Postscript (1/25/17)
Even more true today, than four years ago.
Thank You.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 1:40 PM UTC
T'is a curious thing,
these verbal peddlers,
these tribal members,
famously well known to no one,
perhaps at best,
a kindred few, fellow-travelers.
Each a troop,
in the army of orphans,
bloodied, purple hearted,
word-wounded,
anonymous unto each other,
yet all bonded intimates,
in solitary struggle united,
yet sea-parted by the very nature
of the solitude of composition.
All poets are Cain scar-marked,
purposed for everyone to see,
a warning to the rabbled boors,
the imagination suppressors!
World:
cherish these flawed ones,
gentle these frail but gritty,
the Lord has tasked them
to be prophets in one tongue untied,
undo the strife of Babel's division.
Poets!
Be the harpooners
of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody,
comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy
to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders
into crinkly eye-lined smilers.
With clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
teach us our free-to-see peep show,
reveal, unseal us
with **** empathy!
For who's who in poetry
is all of us!
saviors and failures,
recorders and decoders,
night writers of the oohs and aahs
of dreams and nightmares.
*When this poet cannot,
no longer, anymore,
taste his poems upon your lips,
keep your poems within his heart,
then he breathes no more,
becoming one who was, yet still is,
because of you,*
because of poetry.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 4:53 PM UTC
ojos de Angel
Thy dress is quite seen, thy vocabulary to me reads
The word's of a queen.......
mo chuisle
Thy feet art tired from work
Relax, let mine finger's exhort, pressing and caressing softly to thy skin.....
buah hatiku
For thee I write ancient poems and haiku's
Doth thou not seeith thou art mine muse, and law giver to me?
sirenita
I've traveled for thee from afar
I giveth mine courtship to thee, and heart
For though distance doth not keep us apart,
Distance is but a word
As mineself I canst maketh it all real...
Just telleth me,
When thou art up for a real call
A real visit
And everything to be....
For I'd giveth all for thou
Mine reina
Mine everything....
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Elsa angelica dedication
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 12:25 PM UTC
*"Be the harpooner of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhapsody, comfort caress us,
exhort the loopy to light their illusionary candles,
turn the sad eyed lowlanders into crinkly eye-lined smilers."*
l<>|
writ many years past, just another dusted off phrasing,
composed from life's lecture notes, collected by eyes tired
from the hazing,
eyes wearied by the addict-strong,
incessant observational needing,
of celebrating the loopy,
they who make this planet
capable of laughing at itself,
a helping habit for mutual survival...
*should you spot a man ungainly wrought,
weighted down by a harpoon cross
cursed 'pon his Cain-marked back,
you need not move to the other side,
'tis only a make-believe poet,
with his recording device,
seizing your rhapsodies to rhyme,
his collected artifacts, your crinkly smiles,
his meat, his metier, his chosen career,
a comfort caresser of your illusions into
a shapely sculpture of words for you to keep,
a token of your now examined worth,
a celebration for the keeping...*
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 7:05 PM UTC
Totally like whatever, you know?
by Taylor Mali
In case you hadn’t noticed,
it has somehow become uncool
to sound like you know what you’re talking about?
Or believe strongly in what you’re saying?
Invisible question marks and parenthetical (you know?)’s
have been attaching themselves to the ends of our sentences?
Even when those sentences aren’t, like, questions? You know?
Declarative sentences—so-‐called
because they used to, like, DECLARE things to be true, okay,
as opposed to other things are, like, totally, you know, not—
have been infected by a totally hip
and tragically cool interrogative tone? You know?
Like, don’t think I’m uncool just because I’ve noticed this;
this is just like the word on the street, you know?
It’s like what I’ve heard?
I have nothing personally invested in my own opinions, okay?
I’m just inviting you to join me in my uncertainty?
What has happened to our conviction?
Where are the limbs out on which we once walked?
Have they been, like, chopped down
with the rest of the rain forest?
Or do we have, like, nothing to say?
Has society become so, like, totally . . .
I mean absolutely . . . You know?
That we’ve just gotten to the point where it’s just, like . . .
whatever!
And so actually our disarticulation . . . ness
is just a clever sort of . . . thing
to disguise the fact that we’ve become
the most aggressively inarticulate generation
to come along since . . .
you know, a long, long time ago!
I entreat you, I implore you, I exhort you,
I challenge you: To speak with conviction.
To say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks
the determination with which you believe it.
Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker,
it is not enough these days to simply QUESTION AUTHORITY.
You have to speak with it, too.
May 3, 2014
May 3, 2014 at 7:27 AM UTC
The Muted Commoner
You don't see them,
......Just past them......
Speak but unheard,
perforce, thus, muted,
against their will
blogs bread unread uneaten,
poem orphans better than us,
vine ripened unto death
Truly dare you say I/you the better?
Shamed heat, you spit,
outed, no penance offered,
non granted,
the forgivers are muted too
**so this be your charge,
so this be your salvation:**
free the mutes from the trance -
exhume, exhort find them
in the back pages, then
acknowledge that we are all
Muted Commoners.
find the poem unread,
revive it with a read, a heart,
and then you can speak your
Peace.
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:41 AM UTC
Those unchained melodies are heard-
slayed and naked, like a lost soul-
wand'ring along a village; a dejected village!
And hark, hark to how they plead!
O, how they beg to be alive, to be free
from the deadness of these winds.
But no-one greets them, with a handful
of care!-how ill, and thievery is,
such inattentiveness! What a smug
egotism!-For these areth living
creatures, not lurking shadows as they'th seemed!
Blackened willows, stiffened dust;
trembling trees, affronted branches-
bending in their nakedness, a scene of vulgarity
with no ******* and sensations-
to capture attention, o, am'rous
attention! How poor these humans are! Brutes
are they to natureth-dappled with disgrace,
insincerely prayin' for more and more to feed their
ungrateful innuendoes-which prey on their
mortality-to fascinate their tongue,
and ***** And elements with no such marks
are out of them, no thinking is set on them;
no moreth! Peek, peek now, at how those
bountiful thorns blureth, and dieth!-at the scorn
and rivalry amongst humans-and still no-one bothers
kindethly-to eventh peek at 'em, yon miserable,
pitiful creatures! But 'ose humans, whose spitefulness
is awayth from b'ing praiseworthy, are aboundth with
death; cannot they defy it, inescapable as it's always
been-for death is not destined to dieth-never!
Thus thy sins, humans, wilt swing thy joys into swamps
of guilt, denial, and suffrage-be unafraid of which,
straighten thy chins-for these are all what thou'th
deserved, all along! Thou'th betrayed nature, and now
thy souls wilt be thy subtlest enemy-thy veiled threat!-
beware of 'tis, but still perchance, it is futile to
exhort thee-now and again! Thou art stained with
remorse, and prefereth doth thou-to follow thy own
course, rather than nature's bliss's vows.
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 6:39 PM UTC
These Nights with lights, Lightened from cigarette filled clouds to rainstorms.
We are drowning our Inhibition to exhibitions, of a shallow madness.
Within a matter of clearance
Of transverse sunrays:
We call this morning
A day past,
A night ruled with dreams.
Flooded with traffic afflicted
Souls searching beneath empty vessels of libations
Only to unearth realizations from lost sensations.
Vagabonds patrolling streets
apparently policing their worries,
from failed inquiries of maternally adopted creeds.
Divided vision escalated arrhythmic palpitation
Deviation from a gradual calm away from calamity
Expel, Exhort-Excise, the deep-veil
A rising dawn, polluted skies reflected in these eyes,
I stare at this street lamp, flickering at-us-all.
Jan 23, 2010
Jan 23, 2010 at 10:48 AM UTC
I foster an incremental relation to the cosmos, enticed regularly by its indefiniteness and appeal.
Its evolutions, innate behaviors, and formidable sciences are recompense for earth’s meager discrepancies.
I often engage in the caprice to dismount much dissatisfaction by the constancy of riveting celestial events.
These beings possess no artificiality.
Its prophetic order, ornate and stupendous architectural facets have allowed a crescendo of dispositional hysteria.
Prosaic imprecations are deduced from its auxiliary wherewithal.
There is no contrition in immersing in enthrallment nor is there fickleness in trust.
Magnificent bodies orbit in finesse and probability, achieving universality and control.
Though these incitements are exponentially cheering, my origin is but connoted in despondency.
Usurpers and ill-suited vandals proliferated by the intemperance of the Ptolemaic discipline.
Rustics, miscreants and idle minds misdirected by less virtuous planetary derision.
My cognitive severity asserted by ominous consummation.
Oh how these preponderant truths confine me unfortunate.
Soliloquy is but an affliction amidst this era of anachronistic reign.
Grandiose passivity is intolerable at this time.
I plan to dichotomize my adamant fate from precepts and conditions anew.
The deposition of malfeasant kings will be sought.
Ploys I have already configured; propagation is near to instigation.
I will exhort my ascent to prime eminence.
The stars will sanction me to a rightful end.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
Exuberant ecstatic rapture
Sardonic denigrating quip
Joisting up an oaken rafter
The cabin of a sailing ship
Lucid eloquent recumbence
Surreal retrospective grace
Endless ocean’s myriad turbulence
Infinity would set it’s pace
Imbue spontaneous induction
Exude efficient transience
Exhort the mystic symbiotic construction
For the course of our intransigence
Litigant ludicrous licentiousness
Coquettish audacious impunity
Lecherous libidos atrocious impertinence
Would pound id’s shore horrendously
Derisive subjugated nuance
Extol intrinsic unity
Nebulous wisps of shaded quiescence
With breeze and sky make harmony
Predilect effluent effusion
Tenacious taubla tapestry
Alleviate the torrential confusion
Acquire efficience for flights symmetry
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 12:39 PM UTC
Most fail to understand the spiritual secret,
regarding the true power of the human tongue.
Proper and improper usage of its strength, allows
one to create consequences, that are far flung.
Consider the idea of words as ‘containers’,
housing both creative and destructive powers.
For even God is bound (Scripturally) by His Word.
Learn to alter your speech, starting this very hour.
Although you’re free to choose what is spoken,
allow your lips to be completely free of guile;
be disciplined and utter Biblical truths regularly
to avoid Satan’s ageless traps of worrisome trials.
The Godly principle of ‘sowing and reaping’,
demonstrates that our words have responsibility attached;
the unleashing of power may be initially unseen,
but either acts of good or evil have been dispatched.
Will you decide to edify and exhort souls today
or unwittingly deflate the spirit of others?
Can you be slow to speak and quick to listen?
Will you help or harm… your sisters and brothers?
Don’t let unnecessary, careless words fall onto the ground;
speak with kindness, thoughts, that are Scripturally sound.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Jam 1:26; 1 Pet 3:10; John 10:10; Phil 4:6-7; Prov 15:23
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.amazon.com/Reaching-Towards-His-Unbounded-Glory/dp/1419650513/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie;=UTF8&qid;=1388058560&sr;=1-1&keywords;=reaching+towards+his+unbounded+glory
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
Jan 23, 2014
Jan 23, 2014 at 12:39 PM UTC
Is an old poem of mine that I tender to you to turn your mind away for just, even just, a few minutes from the sadness and the depression that I read about in poem after poem. I am an old man whose sighs are recorded in the lines on his hands. It will be better. You will be loved.
Be brave.
Lead to Gold, Philosopher to Poets
When the philosophers abandoned
castle turrets for ivory towers,
lost was the secret of
I and thou,
of turning lead to gold,
but these cagey, canny scholars in new residences,
who traded
perspicacity for pensions,
before they left,
they tasked to the poets,
a singular task,
cloaking them in a life long responsibility
charging them as follows:
Be the harpooners of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhaposdy,
exhort the loopy
to light candles of illusions,
canonize the nursing mothers to deliver us
the kinder Ishmael's who will revel,
lead us with warmth and apprehension,
with the strength of sinews
fixed and flexible,
we will believe and
they will teach the rest of us
that the first commandment
is to empathize.
**with clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
the comedy of our conscience,
our free to see,
the peep show of us,
explicate and deconstruct
our unexamined lives,
help us to extend the boundaries,
record the voyages of our timepieces,
declare us all free and victors,
file away the chains of language
and declare us all poets**
Aug 4, 2013
Aug 4, 2013 at 12:43 AM UTC
Be a harpooner of the unexamined life,
with unfettered rhaposdy,
exhort the loopy
to light candles of illusions,
canonize the nursing mothers to deliver us
the kinder Ishmael's who will revel,
lead us with warmth and apprehension,
with the strength of sinews
fixed and flexible,
we will believe and
they will teach the rest of us
that the first commandment
is to empathize.
with clinical observation,
dense and demanding,
make us laugh at
the comedy of our situation,
the comedy of our conscience,
our free to see,
the peep show of us,
explicate and deconstruct
our unexamined lives,
help us to extend the boundaries,
record the voyages of our timepieces,
declare us all free and victors,
file away the chains of language
and declare us all poets
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
Let as many Bondservants as are under the Yoke Count their own Masters Worthy of all Honor, so that the name Of GOD and His Doctrine may not be Blasphemed. And those who have believing masters, let them not Despise them because they are Brethren, but rather Serve them because those who are Benefited are Believers and Beloved. Teach and Exhort these things. If anyone Teaches otherwise and Does not Consent to Wholesome Words even the Words of our LORD Jesus Christ, and to the Doctrine which Accords with Godliness. He is Proud, knowing nothing, but is Obsessed with Disputes and Arguments over Words, from which Come Envy, Strife, Reviling, Evil-Suspicions. Useless Wranglings of Men of Corrupt Minds and Destitute of the Truth, who Suppose that Godliness is A means of Gain. From such Withdraw Thyself. Now Godliness with Contentment is Great Gain. For we Brought nothing into this World, and it is Certained We Can Carry Nothing Out. And having Food and Clothing, with these we shall be Content. But those who Desire to be Rich Fall into Temptation and Snare, and into many Foolish and Harmful Lusts which Drown Men in Destruction and Perdition. For the Love Of Money Is A Root Of All Kinds Of Evil, for which some have Strayed from the Faith in their Greediness, and Pierced Themselves through with many Sorrows. But thou, O Man Of GOD, Flee these things and Pursue Righteousness, Godliness, Faith, LOVE, Patience and Gentleness. Fight the Good Fight Of Faith, lay hold on Eternal Life, to which thou were also called and have Confessed the Good Confession in the Presence of many Witnesses. I Urge You, in the Sight of GOD who gives Life to All things, and before Christ Jesus who Witnessed the Good Confession before Pontius Pilate. That thou Keep this Commandment without Spot, Blameless until our Lord Jesus Christ's Appearing. Which He will Manifest in His Own Time, He who is the Blessed and Only Potentate, Thy King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Who alone has Immortality, Dwelling in Unapproachable Light, whom no Man has Seen or can See, to whom Be Honor and Everlasting Power. Amen... Command those who are Rich in this present Age not to be Haughty, nor to Trust in Uncertain Riches but Trust in the Living GOD, who gives Us Richly all things to Enjoy. Let them do Good, that they be Rich in Good Works, ready to Give, Willing to Share. Storing up for themselves a Good Foundation for the Time to Come, that they may lay Hold on Eternal Life... Guard what was committed to Your Trust, Avoiding the Profane and Idle Babble and Contradictions of what is Falsely called Knowledge.... By Professing it some have Strayed Concerning the Faith.. Grace Be with Ours All.. Amen.!
GOD Is Our Strength,
GOD Is Love,
GOD With Us,
GOD Bless,
Peace n Love.!!
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 3:30 AM UTC
Exuberant ecstatic rapture
Sardonic denigrating quip
Joisting up an oaken rafter
The cabin of a sailing ship
Lucid eloquent recumbence
Surreal retrospective grace
Endless ocean’s myriad turbulence
Infinity would set it’s pace
Imbue spontaneous induction
Exude efficient transience
Exhort the mystic symbiotic construction
For the course of our intransigence
Litigant ludicrous licentiousness
Coquettish audacious impunity
Lecherous libidos atrocious impertinence
Would pound id’s shore horrendously
Derisive subjugated nuance
Extol intrinsic unity
Nebulous wisps of shaded quiescence
With breeze and sky make harmony
Predilect effluent effusion
Tenacious taubla tapestry
Alleviate the torrential confusion
Acquire efficience for flights symmetry
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 8:06 PM UTC
My cat is gone
Stormshadow-san.
I've waited long enough,
Its time to search.
The giant hill covered in mis-matched patches of overly-healthy and near-dead grass, was no longer a ****** opsticle,
But an enormous accelerator to my race to find my buddy
I run fast into the wooded clearing
Panning far and wide
Ntt nttntt nttntt! Ntt nttntt nttntt! I exhort to him in his native tongue.
STORMYYY! NTTT NTT NTT!NTT!NTT!
(I sound like a dying chipmunk)
Gazing high into the swaying treetops,
A white-spot catches my not-so-great eyesight
My heart follows me down the hill
Faster than legs can move it raptures me to a scar in the little mountain before me
Its not him, but I keep looking
The trees, not yet fully budded, and green from the waters touch.
I see early flowers of purple and white springing from the dead and withered leaves.
I can't believe.
But I do, believe, in Love, and life.
My wandering eyes now fixated upon these little ironcly painted flowers fill with salt water and fog my heart.
I can tell that my heart is letting go, but the stubborn child in me says
"NOO OHOHO OHohoh *snort!"
I feel myself being held, by a father who understands and cares of his sons tears
And the tears suddenly disappear.
Like a flood, calm washes over me.
I turn back to the house of " exceptance"
Mine eyes look up for one second.
And there is snake eyes-san, jet black with girly features. She meows hello and slides below
My terribly worn out sneakers.
I knew she knew, and she knew I knew.
"He's gone, but im here with you"
Jul 12, 2015
Jul 12, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
we are
all plagued
by some churning remnants
of haunting pain and shame
but we are not to blame
for repentance oft falls short
no matter how much we try to exhort
these murky maddening memories to depart
they flow yet in even the purest heart
for me
my crimes, too many to enumerate,
will all cause me to self deprecate,
but of the ones I seem to recall
the deed that taunts me most of all
was the simple thoughtless movement
of two five year old fingers
I used
to crush
two sublimely blue
robin's eggs
in a nest
on a promising bright afternoon
in the dark land of memory
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 5:10 PM UTC
I was not the original son
A first page
A number one
I was always the period
At the end
The quotation marks
That were left undone
I was the pause
That separates
That feeling you get
That you came too late
The one who stood
outside the door
When inside were passed
Out the fates
So I've come
To walk around
Those now living in the ground
Where in the dark there is no light
None to much to talk about
Just my breath the only sound
I have come here
To settle down
Upon this space
My hallowed ground
My favorite stone
upon which I sit
Beside the ties they left unbound
With the Dead
I hold my court
There are no groans
They don't exhort
The chase is done
The horns have sounded
Hark the chords of a la mort
Until dawn
A captive audience
I hold down
My midnight's deviance
Until first light
Threatens with
Complete radiance
Mar 29, 2018
Mar 29, 2018 at 12:04 PM UTC
I'm too reserved for samba but I can see it's fun,
some of your band look happy though some look rather glum.
There's some of us can do that stuff
and some of us who can't;
however much we'd wish it, rhythmical we aren't.
If you make me stand up and exhort me to dance,
you won't like what you'll see chum
so don't give me the chance.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 10:27 AM UTC
Never had it been of the application of force between
interludes of terrible waiting that getting on with hostilities
was more calming than the imagination of the horrors
that lay ahead
The initial wave knew the sacrifice would be written about
until the heavens decided that history was full enough of
our failures, shaking loose its detachment from the fate of
its hapless creation
They were led by men who could be counted on to exhort
them with words as to their duty; to be told of the good
hunting to come, but to men who had no fantasies of their
own, words only fabricate a hero
There was no marksmanship or survival skill that could
shield a man fated to crush the spirit inside the prayers
uttered by his mother; there was no training that could
prepare him for life or judgment day
And yet those whom absolution abandoned to their own
devices had fallen in love with their conquerors only to
weep bitterly as the beachcombers liberated them from
their supposed occupation
It made them wonder of the desperation that was
stronger than hope; about how a woman could fall in
love with the eyes of the enemy; and how the enemy
could have a heart for love
But his witness of human nature amidst the horrors
of despots would remain in abeyance until the fears of a
common man had met courage in the moment he realized
how mankind could never love him as does a God
He wondered if he would be different; would he be death
unable to laugh or understand a broken nail; would he be
able to believe in men; would he be able to love someone
when he knew his heart was left behind?
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
Step by step. O Woman, the Guardian Angel of my heart
I would follow you to the road of happiness
I would make enormous sacrifices to join your path
I implore you to have absolutely no doubt
I’ll find you because I love you so much, I love you
I won't care about all varieties of problems
Remember the beautiful song by Alain Barrière
I will cross borders and break down barriers
To exhume you, cherish you and love you more
As was done throughout the ages
Until you come back to me, until you ultimately come back
You and I will never, never have peace
Step by step, bit by bit, little or big step
You and I will be together under a new roof.
Despite the tides, winds and hurricanes: I love you
And I shall neither scream and nor shout that I love you.
Woman, woman of my heart, if you did not come back
Step by step, I would search the encyclopedias of secrets
To find the door to your heart and the key to your soul
I will bravely cross all borders. O Woman!
Woman of my being, I am ready to be criticized
Castigated, censored, cannonaded, even crucified and nailed
As was done throughout the ages
To resurrect love and love you more
I exhort you to nourish no, no doubt
Since you will be alone on my path, on my road.
Until you come back to me, until you ultimately come back
You and I will never, never have peace
Step by step, bit by bit, small or giant step
You and I shall carry the same cross together.
Despite rain, wind and thunder: I love you
And I shall chuckle, laugh, and smile because I love you.
P.S. Tribute to Alain Bellec (Barrière), a great singer and poet.
Translation of my poem‘ Si tu ne me revenais’.
Copyright © December 2004, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
Dec 22, 2024
Dec 22, 2024 at 8:46 PM UTC
Oh Muse I call thee! Sing me the song of the human soul!
May thy words sound as thunder so that all man may hear your message!
I call thee! Oh manifestation of inspiration move me brightly!
Oh adoration of faith, reward of virtue’s gentle embrace.
Oh sweet Nuit your gentle kiss shall fill my heart with a trembling breath.
Your figure is slender as a ghost of kindness long since passed,
your eyes in silence echo the muse’s disregarded tune at last.
Oh revelation of the face, take up your sandy wings.
Rise up over the Earth just as you emerge from Nun,
that primordial darkness of insecurity that rough sea of regret.
Behold the last great voice has spoken! The third pillar lost, the tabernacle is broken.
Divine Truth, nothing-earthly gives or can destroy, the soul’s calm sunshine of spiritual joy.
Oh stone rejected by the builders, ascend to become the keystone of the living Arch.
May your rays forever illuminate the Earth!
Long live the Brothers who exhort this beauty… for they are the Sons of the East.
Sep 24, 2011
Sep 24, 2011 at 4:39 PM UTC
Introvert
Inverse, retrace, replay
Cloven hooves
Humans trace
Flooded sod
Amidst vines
Foliage flawed
Decay, dismay, displace
Contort
Exhort
Jubilee
Changing mask
******* flee
Inverse, retrace, replay
Retort on a whim
Falling branch
Rotted limb
Draw and release
Spirit's scream
Resounds throughout
Arid peace.
No alert
Vivid leaks crimson
Monotonous chant
Parts silence like
Rabid sea
Urgency nonchalant
"X" hails the chief
Betrayed by rays
Stagnant and serene
Immovable husk
Found in it's sleep.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 11:48 PM UTC