"poli" poems
conformity is the con in society.
justice is just not happening.
politics cause tics named politicians
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 7:04 PM UTC
Ewan ko ba kung bakit
Sa pag-ibig may politika
Kung sinong mas may kapangyarihan sa puso mo
Kung sinong kayang bayaran yang mga ngiti mo
Kung sinong may kakayahang patahanin yang luha mo
O paagusin nang walang patumangga
Ano nga bang kapangyarihan ko?
Kundi makinig at makisimpatya-simpatyahan
Punasan ng mahimulmol na panyo ang mga pisngi mo
O ngitian at kulitin ka para di mo naman maisip ang mga problema mo
Ano nga bang kakayahan ko kumpara sa kanya
Kung binigay ko na lahat ng karapatang ari para sa'yo
Ano bang laban ko kung siya ang may hawak ng property rights mo?
Hindi ba krimen na ang tawag kung magnanakaw ako ng tingin sa'yo?
Pero bakit di ka pa nakukulong sa puso ko kung ilang beses mo na akong pinapatay?
Bakit ba wala akong lakas na gumanti sa tuwing sinasaktan ka niya?
Dahil ba sa nakapanghihinang pakiusap mo?
Sa malakas na pagtutol ng mga mata mo?
Maraming dahilan yan kaibigan.
Pero dahil politika ang pag-ibig, siya ang binoto mo at hindi ako
Siguro dahil siya nga ng napusuan **** kandidato.
O sadyang walang dating ang pagpapapansin ko
O dahil masyado mo na akong kilala na di mo nais na maging isa ako sa tatakbo
Nais **** siya naman ang maglingkod sa'yo
Kasi hindi ko alam, ang sabi mo kasi mahal mo siya
Alam mo ba ang salitang yan?
Sapat upang magpaguho ng mga buhay at kinabukasan
Hindi ko, ngunit mo
Pinalampas mo ang pagkakataong
Paglilingkuran kita na parang isang prinsesa
Kung ano ka naman talaga
Naiinis ako sa tuwing pinagmumukha ka niyang pulubi at walang silbi
Ikaw naman nililito mo siya
Binabato ng mga paratang
Tama na
Mahalin mo rin siya ah
Kasi di naman siya maluloklok kung di mo pinili
Pinili mo yan
Magdusa ka
Kahit pa mahal kita
Eh kung sa di mo ko nakikita
Ni binilugan sa balota
Paano ko pa ba ipakikilala ang sarili ko?
Kailangan bang masabing kayo upang mabigyan siya ng kapangyarihan sa'yo?
Pwede naman kitang paglingkuran kahit di ako pinili mo
Pwede naman kitang mahalin kahit kelan ko gusto
Kaya kong gawin lahat 'yon
---
Kahit walang pondo kundi ang puso ko
Kasi independent party ako
At ang katotohanang walang tayo
Di magiging tayo
Na sinampal mo sa aking mukha noon pa mang naging magkaibigan tayo
Tanggap ko
Wala naman akong hinihinging kapalit
Gusto ko lang masaya ka sa napili mo
At sana panindigan niya ng pagpapahirap sa damdamin mo
Kasi tangina kinuha niya lahat ng binigay **** buwis at pawis
Di man lang nagtira upang mabigyan ako
Pero sige na
Tama na'to
Wala nakong maramdaman
Isang kasinungalingan
Paalam na
Sana magtagal pa ang termino
Administrasyong binuo ng pag-ibig niyo
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
Hang on, hold on...
...we get the fiddle out,*
Now the old Ban-jo...
here comes it now,
clap tune with us...*
America went in the can when Hollywood then brought-in,
The good feelings sneakin' 'round as Old Times never for-got-ten.
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!
Real T.V. got your goat as poli-ticks snake your vote,
I guess that's how, guess what's now, -rock that boat!
LOOK AWAY! LOOK AWAY! T.V. keepin' Dixie!
Take a knee you N-F-L, NBA you go to Hell!
Still not same, as Me 'n Me, with money, life is swell!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!
Demo-cracy was thrown a hand, when Dixieland lost it's stand,
Oh live and die for T.V.
Keep your eyes down now, -boy don't look around...
...Our way, -T.V. -is Dixie!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!
Gotten out? The Great Gar-den? Then we shot your Mar-tin.
And ole Jay Z we'll mow him down, every time he hits our town,
oh you'll see, catch a grave, as God T.V. keep y'all a slave!
Not the same, as Me n' Me, in spite of all your New money!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!
HOORAY! HOORAY! America, still Dixie!
Sep 24, 2017
Sep 24, 2017 at 8:05 AM UTC
I'm sick of not being able to write.
I'm sick of meaningless violence in the world.
I'm sick of people needing someone to blame.
I'm sick of meaningless debates.
I'm sick of pettiness in the human race.
I'm sick of people not supporting each other.
I'm sick of people wishing others to be held back.
I'm sick of my friends dying.
I'm sick of money.
I'm sick of the presidential election.
I'm sick of these pretend Poli-sci majors.
I'm sick of humans disagreeing with each other just because they can.
I'm sick of my TV show's being cancelled.
I'm sick of negativity being the way of the world.
I'm sick of the people I love being unwilling to take a chance.
I'm sick of To Keep You Alive being unpublished.
I'm sick of being stuck on Keep Me Alive.
I'm sick of death.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 1:33 AM UTC
Oh how I understand the discretion policy of political views in professional environments.
I sit at the top of the lecture hall and become queasy.
I retch at the sarcasm spewing from his lips.
I try only to tune in on my notes and disregard his personal views
How difficult it is, when the person that irks you the most, is the person that will grade your term paper.
How pitiful it is, when a newly found acquaintance is gone after realizing there is no reasoning with him or her.
Oh how I now understand the discretion policy.
Jul 21, 2011
Jul 21, 2011 at 12:57 PM UTC
Le sourire d'une femme au printemps est plus joli
Que le reflet dansant des tulipes jaunes de l'étang
Comme a dit l'autre: son visage est enjolivé et poli
Avec du sirop de miel. Elle a vraiment un sourire charmant.
Oh! Printemps, la plus belle des quatre saisons
Cela fait grand plaisir de la voir coiffée en jaune
Couleur de l'espoir, jolie couleur de la moisson
Les pétales pétillent dans l'air et les cloches chantonnent.
Non, ce n'est pas un rêve, elle est vraiment magnifique
Elle est vêtue d'un sourire qui inspire et qui fait soupirer
Les hommes qui aiment tout ce qui est beau et classique.
Cette femme a les mains entrelacées sur sa cuisse droite
Comme un mannequin qu'on applaudit sur la piste réservée
Pour les plus belles femmes de l'histoire de notre planète.
P.S. Translation of 'The Radiant Smile Of A Woman' in French.
Copyright © May 2018, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs livres de poésie.
Nov 29, 2024
Nov 29, 2024 at 10:24 PM UTC
The problem
With
Poli-
Tricks-
They mention every
"God"
But the only
God-
And they wonder
Why their lost in
Misery-
Ashamed
In darkness
Falls- evolution
In schools
Meaning no
(Morals)
Their standards
Are that
man's a
Monkey, using
Euthenics( reviving ****** in their
Man-made
Mural's.
Eat your cereal
Live life as if we have the
B
L
I
N
D
E
R
S
ON-
Though my eye's are
Uncorrupted ( not seeing through misty nighttime glasses)
Breaking to the other
Side
Of the
Fog-
Science correlates with dios
And dios with science-
Yet popular belief
Is a tool
Of diablo's
Machine.
Reaching into the dome
Of the great
City-
Where America
Is astray
With the globe
In the horned one's
Mean's.
Has the man who said
There is no
God
Just walked out into nature-
To see the spectacular
Creation
On a universal
Scale?
Yet their bucket's of
Disbelief have been
Shown beneathe the
Veil
Where the impious
Are stale
And their
aspiration
Is
None!
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
Have you seen my roli poli.
He was siitting o. My desk
In a purple top hat and a bright
Orange vest.
Have you seen my little buddy
All rolled up in a ball or sittin on
A bar stool sitting up tall.
Has anyone seen him.
He was going on a cruise.
Yesterday he gave a story to
The channel 7 news.
I gues he rolled out. Didnlt even say why.
Roli poli's outa here
Bye. roli poli.
Bye.
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 9:52 PM UTC
Writing is all I have I fear being like my mom and dad
My frustration come with hurt and getting close
The hurt in my voice denying my feelings
Being strong messed up no more wrong
Life is not hard only when others are complicated
Sick to my stomahe body aches full of pain
Dk what to do headache and stress hard to focus
I worry because I care I feel things should be set right instead of unfar
Unaware of how I feel put you 1st even when you're down
You mess up my day but that's okay we grown strong together
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 5:13 PM UTC
These
mauve colored seats with the classic
delta pattern
have never looked good.
They don’t when I sit in them,
they didn’t when you sat in them.
but you did sit in them.
so they are my favorite part of this room.
or maybe I like best the awkward colored walls
made from ribbed tan brick.
I like them because you hated them too.
No.
now that I am
scanning this cumbersome auditorium
the unwieldy
plastic
beige clock
which must have been counting seconds
for thirty years at least
stands out
as the most fantastic element
because it clumsily timed your Poli Sci lectures
too.
I laugh across the ages to you
we comment on the drab melancholy
with weary satisfaction.
As I warm the same mauve seats
where you once took identical notes.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:30 AM UTC
the thought seizes me awake,
after a heart powered hour of sleep,
rise in silent reverie, nary a peep,
though my heart rate breeeches
150 miles per hour, each beat
yesterday wrote of the eloquent
sensibility of simplicity, its natural
native appeal, and when I think of
things that world needs most urgently
which is, for poets a de rigeur activity,
fyi, that more common than uncommon,
sobelieve in my expertise,
we need badly, another Hobbit movie pretty please!
we need rallying after the tallying,
we need fellowship among the species,
a crossover inclusive of the animal kingdom,
require fearless leaders who value selflessness
over personal gain,
less optimism rhetorical,
and some plain honesty to give the world
the equity of equality,
what it wonts,
and not what pro poli’s
tell you think
which slogans sell…well
whent to the corner store,
bot all kinds of fall
colors of berries and tiny flowers,
went all-in unreasonable
on clot colossus seasonal,,
oranges, yellows and quiet quilts of
hardy little greens,
bread, OJ, larger uncaged eggs
a-dozing,
and though my impossible orders all fulfilled, the boss,?her list defeated,
by crossing off
my abbreviated illegibility scribbling,,
it was still insufficient for missing was this:
*what the world needs a fresh Hobbit triumphal,
where self~sacrifice always come first, and duty rightly prevails, over evil,
always a close call,
and the chill of fall,
the dint of wint-
er
is warmed away by
love, justice for all,
besting every close call,
and for a replay of the
World Series where them
Yankee underdogs emerge
victorious and the city lifts
its chin, and says OK to the
new day, week, and that
extra hour of…mmm…
daylight
sleep*
call me naive,
it is an honorific
terrific,
great fully
accepted
Nov 3, 2024
Nov 3, 2024 at 10:02 AM UTC
The word I. The idea, ego. Me, relative to you.
I am, but you may not know that. May is your word here.
May be is all yours
to follow in the flow of
all that
anyman,
(wombed or un nevergoes unsaid some days,)
any among the lot o' ye, may be able to swim thru if
it don't get thick.
I, a-poli-gize, bow down, kau-tau, or no--
un appolo getic magic tech
I stand, sistere, my command,
in this realm, I command lies to stand in light and
I redeem the idle words from the ashes.
Okeh that's my job. I am not a messenger, I sweep.
When walls come down and chains are cut, it's amess.
I become the besom sweeping up the destruction.
--- why is any line after any line. sirius, you have to ask.
orthodox definitions serve as ample chains to hold any
child to the post where today's
sufficiency of evil squats
quotidianishit, day after day. I find such chains,
I cut them with the fruit of my lips,
shape-shifted to the sword,
from the stone,
you know the one...
then bing back to me through a google plex of porbables
fighting spelchek to go viral.
A blind me, I lied, and saw the light. Dumb luck.
And then, rather than, lie once more and say,
I can't believe this,
I am that sword, still be, and know.
eh.
I, the word,
I did it. I made a point and a word formed,
as a bubble might
under relative circumstances. I know, round and round.
If this were a game, this is a key. (ah, a secret here.)
if this were a game, and I were playing.
Jun 18, 2019
Jun 18, 2019 at 11:23 PM UTC
With no paradigm to guide me
I am lost with no words to write
My Conscience is losing ground
My speech fades with the light
Forlorn Mistress of my soul
No pagan muse present
Each word, each phrase is wrung
From my minds contents
Fruits, breads, wild nuts, rare wines
On all of this I have dined
But later in the Night
I have eaten the Bitter bread of thought:
Battles fought out in the Sun
Battles waged in darkened rooms
Won before begun
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 5:08 PM UTC
Ah sure it wasn't long
last Saturday night,
before I was dancing out on the green.
I stepped the dance
to general delight;
And I danced the skellemesago.
But not before long
I drew there a crowd
who thought me rather odd.
And sure says I
to two poli-ce-men,
It's only me dancing the wherligig jig.
But with menacing look,
says one to me then,
You'll come right along with us.
Yet being inclined,
to dance tru the night,
I skipped my heals and fled.
It was such a fleeing,
as think you might,
That I danced the Irish trot.
With fine trotting trot
as ever was got,
I danced away from those men.
Yet intent they seemed,
On following me,
And dancing the rufty tufty
So up tailes all,
we three did go,
and the maid peept out the window.
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 4:19 PM UTC
Touting about
To -democracy-
taking path
Many a psychopath
In the acid-test of integrity
Proves aberrant
Exuding a political stench
To development-and- democracy
Thirsty repugnant.
A phony politician
Has a double face
Which s/he changes from
Place to place
To sweet talk
Citizens sugar-coated
Ideals to embrace.
But monster's follies
Is sure own talks to efface.
Many a political monster
Wrecks his/her share of disaster
When reason to fantasy
Cedes place,
But soon
S/he will be
Stripped of grace.
Oct 5, 2019
Oct 5, 2019 at 8:53 AM UTC
Une fois, une seule, aimable et douce femme,
A mon bras votre bras poli
S'appuya (sur le fond ténébreux de mon âme
Ce souvenir n'est point pâli) ;
Il était **** ; ainsi qu'une médaille neuve
La pleine lune s'étalait,
Et la solennité de la nuit, comme un fleuve,
Sur Paris dormant ruisselait.
Et le long des maisons, sous les portes cochères,
Des chats passaient furtivement,
L'oreille au guet, ou bien, comme des ombres chères,
Nous accompagnaient lentement.
Tout à coup, au milieu de l'intimité libre
Éclose à la pâle clarté,
De vous, riche et sonore instrument où ne vibre
Que la radieuse gaieté,
De vous, claire et joyeuse ainsi qu'une fanfare
Dans le matin étincelant,
Une note plaintive, une note bizarre
S'échappa, tout en chancelant
Comme une enfant chétive, horrible, sombre, immonde,
Dont sa famille rougirait,
Et qu'elle aurait longtemps, pour la cacher au monde,
Dans un caveau mise au secret.
Pauvre ange, elle chantait, votre note criarde :
" Que rien ici-bas n'est certain,
Et que toujours, avec quelque soin qu'il se farde,
Se trahit l'égoïsme humain ;
Que c'est un dur métier que d'être belle femme,
Et que c'est le travail banal
De la danseuse folle et froide qui se pâme
Dans un sourire machinal ;
Que bâtir sur les coeurs est une chose sotte ;
Que tout craque, amour et beauté,
Jusqu'à ce que l'Oubli les jette dans sa hotte
Pour les rendre à l'Éternité ! "
J'ai souvent évoqué cette lune enchantée,
Ce silence et cette langueur,
Et cette confidence horrible chuchotée
Au confessionnal du coeur.
403
C'est en deuil surtout que je l'aime ;
Le noir sied à son front poli,
Et par ce front le chagrin même
Est embelli.
Comme l'ombre le deuil m'attire,
Et c'est mon goût de préférer,
Pour amie, à qui sait sourire
Qui peut pleurer.
J'aime les lèvres en prière ;
J'aime à voir couler les trésors
D'une longue et tendre paupière
Fidèle aux morts,
Vierge, heureux qui sort de la vie
Embaumés de tes pleurs pieux ;
Mais plus heureux qui les essuie :
Il a tes yeux !
345
Viens sur mon coeur, âme cruelle et sourde,
Tigre adoré, monstre aux airs indolents ;
Je veux longtemps plonger mes doigts tremblants
Dans l'épaisseur de ta crinière lourde ;
Dans tes jupons remplis de ton parfum
Ensevelir ma tête endolorie,
Et respirer, comme une fleur flétrie,
Le doux relent de mon amour défunt.
Je veux dormir ! dormir plutôt que vivre !
Dans un sommeil aussi doux que la mort,
J'étalerai mes baisers sans remord
Sur ton beau corps poli comme le cuivre.
Pour engloutir mes sanglots apaisés
Rien ne me vaut l'abîme de ta couche ;
L'oubli puissant habite sur ta bouche,
Et le Léthé coule dans tes baisers.
A mon destin, désormais mon délice,
J'obéirai comme un prédestiné ;
Martyr docile, innocent condamné,
Dont la ferveur attise le supplice,
Je sucerai, pour noyer ma rancoeur,
Le népenthès et la bonne ciguë
Aux bouts charmants de cette gorge aiguë
Qui n'a jamais emprisonné de coeur.
342
C'est à coups de canon qu'on rend le peuple heureux.
Nous sommes revenus de tous ces grands mots creux :
- Progrès, fraternité, mission de la France,
Droits de l'homme, raison, liberté, tolérance.
Socrate est fou ; lisez Lélut qui le confond ;
Christ, fort socialiste et démagogue au fond,
Est une renommée en somme très surfaite.
Terre ! l'obus est Dieu, Paixhans est son prophète.
Vrai but du genre humain : tuer correctement.
Les hommes, dont le sabre est l'unique calmant,
Ont le boulet rayé pour chef-d'oeuvre ; leur astre,
C'est la clarté qui sort d'une bombe Lancastre,
Et l'admiration de tout peuple poli
Va du mortier Armstrong au canon Cavalli.
Dieu s'est trompé ; César plus haut que lui s'élance ;
Jéhovah fit le verbe et César le silence.
Parler, c'est abuser ; penser, c'est usurper.
La voix sert à se taire et l'esprit à ramper.
Le monde est à plat ventre, et l'homme, altier naguère,
Doux et souple aujourd'hui, tremble. - Paix ! dit la guerre.
332
Tu dis que mes délires
D'orphie volante
Pour attendrir ta chair de conque
Sont nuls et non avenus.
Et que le chemin qui mène
A la crête du mont de Vénus
Est ardu et pentu et glissant
Surtout pour celui qui grimpe à bicyclette.
Je serais vantard
Je ne serais que vent fripon et couillonnade
Et tu n'as nul besoin de la marchandise
Que je te présente fraîche et dispose sur l'étal
Avec ce bec aux dents soi-disant acérées.
Je te promets pourtant de t'attendrir
J'ai la recette : elle est rare et je te l'offre
C'est une recette simple et infaillible
Comme gage de notre désir de nous fondre dans nos ombres
Je te chante en latin lubricus
Première classe des adjectifs masculins,
Nominatif singulier
Comme l'ont chanté avant moi Tacite, Horace, Virgile, Pline
Ovide et autres
Qui est la racine de lubrique
Et qui veut dire glissant
C'est-à-dire lisse, poli, gluant, dangereux, périlleux, coulant,
Insaisissable, fuyant, inconstant, incertain, décevant, trompeur, séduisant,
Chancelant, disposé, prêt à, hasardeux, délicat et mobile
Si l'on en croit le Gaffiot de 1934
Et je m'enroule en Aspidelaps lubricus
Serpent corail venimeux autour de ton ombre
Souffre donc que je te lustre de l'antidote
De mon ombre glissante
Et c'est dans l'ombre de nos ombres
Que nous sommes lubriques
Que nous sommes lumière
Haletant, bavant, buvant goutte à goutte
Nos cantiques les plus luxurieux.
Ce sont comme des envies de femme enceinte
Irrépressibles
Inexplicables
Incompréhensibles
Et pourtant sourdes et réelles
Incontournables
Je veux que ces envies jaillissent
De nos inconsciences charnelles
Et prolifèrent, nous mordent
Nous griffent, nous lacèrent
Nous démantibulent.
Nos pondaisons ne sont jamais stériles.
Nos jaunes pochés éclatent
Dans l'eau bouillante de nos verbes
De toutes les couleurs de l'arc en ciel
Et nos coquilles ont toutes les formes géométriques
Et s'imbriquent
Comme par miracle
Comme des poupées-gigognes.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 11:33 AM UTC