"spleens" poems
Sometimes he was like f+ck it
just went ahead and stuck em
let em fall where they stood
crack another bottle and brood
hysterically on the ridiculous
he had a meticulous knack for belittling the serious, berating feelings and imposing his will in a furious fashion. He liked knives and passion, and will cash in on your lashings. A vigilante, stealing antes to match the chips. The missing teeth of split lipped grinns bidding his amends to the dense. sent to cleanse, the fences on the perimeter. a distributor of disasters.
contributor to the laughter in the stoical spleens of nerdy teens, always cheering for the away team.
He was the benefactor of traction-less tractors rotting in the mud. He was a slacker, smothering the world in love. He was above all else, on drugs.
Sep 11, 2012
Sep 11, 2012 at 10:58 PM UTC
Finding something on the road
And serving it for dinner
Buying dresses far too small
And thinking you look thinner
Solar powered submarines
Broken ribs or ruptured spleens
Driving cars and drinking beers
Lightbulb licking, bad ideas
Knowing where you shouldn't be
And being there despite
Going out in thunderstorms
To fly your iron kite
Sharing needles with a shark
Going to Mansfield after dark
Setting fire to someone's ears
Telemarketing, bad ideas
Not deploying gaffer-tape
When doing D.I.Y.
Believing the implausible
While branding truth a lie
Replying to Nigerian Princes
**** bleach and ******* rinses
Tabloid papers touting fears
Voting UKIP, bad ideas
Impersonating ******
Before nineteen forty-five
Catching a train on Sunday
And assuming you'll arrive
Turning lights on with your nose
Eating food that moves or glows
Listening to Britney Spears
Marmite Pringles, bad ideas
**
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 7:20 AM UTC
There once was a queen bee from Iowa
Who had opinions of her own persona
Her subjects weren't a happy crew
With her self praising points of view
The egotistical queen irked her subject's spleens
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 6:42 PM UTC
we are people; there are no deities that love us more than we love ourselves.
it’s deep, but we’ve got that love buried in us, somewhere.
behind blackened lungs, broken hearts, ruptured spleens and shattered vertebrae, maybe we’ll find that love.
what i have learned in my years of searching, is this:
you’ll never find what you want, but if you are honest with yourself, it may find you.
i’ll spit in a wishing well, walk on a dimly lit highway and dive head first into shallow water all because i want to. i will forever walk that line that divides decency and insanity. that is my place and i love it.
Nov 5, 2012
Nov 5, 2012 at 5:52 PM UTC
Mandibles make their own hoarding,
but they do not make it as they please;
they do not make it under semiconductor-selected civilians,
but under civilians existing already, given and transmitted from the past.
The trailer of all dead gentians weighs like a nipper
on the brandishes of the lob.
And just as they seem to be occupied with revolutionizing themselves and thistles,
creating something that did not exist before, precisely
in such equipments of rheostat crochet they anxiously conjure up the spleens
of the past to their setter, bother from them nappies, bayonet slouches,
and cottons in organ-grinder to present this new scheme in wound hoarding
in timpanist-honored disincentive and borrowed larch.
Thus Luther put on the masseur of the Appearance Paul,
the Rhapsody of 1789-1814 draped itself alternately in the gully of the Rook Requisite and the Rook Empress,
and the Rhapsody of 1848 knew novelette bicentenary to do than to parsonage,
now 1789, now the rheostat trailer of 1793-95.
In like mantel, the belch who has learned a new larch always translates it backfire into his motor toot,
but he assimilates the spleen of the new larch
and exteriors himself freely in it only when he moves in it
without recalling the old and when he forgets his navy toot.
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 4:44 PM 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
Dibble bubble bubble
Written on shitely mearce
A stake to plunder crunch
Of politician Pierce
Colligan
To hollagans
Collagen appeal
Maketh dartboards out of heart boards
Wherein innocence tis real
Foughty daughty submarines
Climbs to ****** coarse
Follitine
Dreamers
Plot success Morse
Coffee beans
To livered spleens
Pains to shock the trike
Childress of a virtue
Seaps of anothers life
Trigulues
And bedulues
Smiling at the air
Drommatice
And romisis
Promises don't care
Foughty immense Brice
Pickled to shickled biles
***** of settle keaster ways
A blighty for the smile
Libertinth
And minants tint
Flight to bagbird heads
Crucifixed pixies
Twilight up ahead!!!
Jun 20, 2015
Jun 20, 2015 at 8:12 AM UTC
I dig for treasure.
I dig for gold.
I dig for stories left untold.
I dig for passion hiding in the dark.
I dig for the meadow.
I dig for the lark.
I dig for knowledge.
I dig for truth.
I dig on paths already used.
I dig for people lacking spark.
I dig for a fire.
I dig for hearts.
I dig people.
I dig you.
You dig her,
she doesn't dig you.
She digs him,
He digs me,
and when we look up we see
past our shovels and mud,
we're all the same inside-
everyone.
We all have skin.
We all have bones.
We all have bodies.
We all have souls.
We all have livers.
We all have spleens.
We all have silence.
We all have screams.
We all have morals.
We all have lust.
And when we die,
We are all just dust.
I dig for treasure.
I dig for gold.
And I dig for dreams,
I dig for goals.
I dig not just for the future,
not just for the past.
I dig for the present.
Although it never lasts.
I dig for knowledge.
I dig for truth.
I dig for the trapped.
I dig for the abused.
I dig for you.
I dig for me.
I dig for everyone to see,
we are all just dust-
eventually.
Jul 13, 2012
Jul 13, 2012 at 4:41 PM UTC
My mothers painful womb,
cut out and tossed away.
My first home
tossed away with
the surgical waste.
Thrown away
with appendixes
limbs
spleens
the fat from a trophy wife.
My first home.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 1:50 PM UTC
I want to be a war machine
I want to rupture spleens with a gleam from my eye
I want to spread suffering in lines waiting for lies, just in time to ignite a stupendous sight in one phone call
I want the call to arms to be in the alarms of emergency vehicles
I want the residual survivors slaughtered after given my word as to the **** of every daughter in my New America
I want to just stare at ya as you plead to be spared
Beheaded and laughed upon, kicked down the stairs
I want to judge you
Smother you in your filth
In your guilt
I want to starve your kids with empty ingredients
I want to **** on my **** and smear it in your ears while beating it
I want to stare in each and every eye, as it dies with the burning sky in its frame
I want to scream the names of the slain, from burning castle walls and call, for lost love to return in the squirm of man
I want to demand, flesh from the best of the best, in a contest against the peasants
I want to topple your towers down, in tickling sounds, from trumpets bound in space
I want to spit in your face, drown you in doubts and smack you awake
I want to decimate your graves, and from the tenth left make, toilets for my torturers, in sweltered pits of **** remains
I want the world to shake in the hunger pains, of every fat ****** with burrito stains in his lingerie
I want to serenade an angelic raid, on your made up play, of plastic soldiers eaten by animatronic vultures, as I smolder the beaten toys on the floor
And I want
Really really want
More
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 9:03 PM UTC
The spleen can be a peculiar thing
Riding high just above the jeans
When it no longer serves its purpose
And the doctors say that it must leave
Oh how the spleen once stood so proud
With the vertebrates in the local crowd
Now we give it the old collage wave
As the doctors toss it out
Where it goes nobody knows
To spleen heaven? Do they have those?
If all dogs go to heaven
Then with spleens we can only hope
That one day we will reunite
With our missing spleens in paradise
If you ask me that sounds real nice
I just hope they keep it on ice
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
Chaos of the trolls of Mars
Havoc wrought by fallen stars
Terror flailing, caught by night
Pawns move one space, born to fight
Women make a frightful pact
Carry babes into the act
The stench of bodies as they pile
Questions not for rank and file
Bouncing Betty's horror, aye
Shrapnel flung to meet an eye
Bullets dodged, and bullets met
The Bomb's the best idea yet... !
Men sit desks behind the scenes
Living on the blood of spleens
Generals spew their jingo kant
Presidential "patriots" shpeel their rants
All the King's horses, all the King's men
Do things WAY beyond OUR ken
Mother's sons get GI Joes
Daddy dies... and on it goes
A testament to heartless greed
*A bride's trousseau is widow's weeds.*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/26/2017
Jan 26, 2017
Jan 26, 2017 at 2:31 AM UTC
When a man and woman get married
A new language will unfold
The man knows not to question why
Just do what he is told
She never has to say a word
Men will see it in that glare
It's the look that men never speak about
The "You better not do that" stare
You know the one I speaking of
Like when a woman on the street passes by
And if she catches you sneaking a peek
You'll get that evil eye
Or when you say something stupid
And your wife starts shaking her head
You know the look I'm talking about
That one that says, "You're dead"
Or when you're at her mother's
You better not say a word
You know her eyes are watching you
Even though she's never heard
It doesn't need any definition
Cause men know what it means
It's the look than causes your heart to stop
And can even rupture their spleens
So when you learn this language
Your words will surely die
The look she'll give will be enough
To even make a grown man cry
Feb 7, 2011
Feb 7, 2011 at 9:18 AM UTC
A discomfort that manifests through a plethora of delusions
Torturous thoughts brutalizing my mind like brain contusions
Causing an endless cycle of suffering and confusion
Sifting through the lies, misunderstandings, and illusions
Chasing the light in the darkness praying for it’s diffusion
A razor blade or a bullet are the only solutions
I’m sailing near the fringes of happiness and despair
Along the river of misery where our souls are stripped bare
On the border of the ignorant who live life without a care
And the knowledgeable hanging from nooses painfully aware
It’s a tumultuous journey to the light bringers lair
And should not be undertaken lightly so you must beware
Of all the deceit, misinformation, traps and snares
Self reflection is a dark wooded path filled with lynched souls
A forest of decaying dreams, aspirations, and goals
Endless entrances and passageways to endless rabbit holes
Demons feasting upon children without restraint or control
They say on the other side there’s sunshine and pastures of green
Crystal clear waters and ceremonies where angels convene
Blue sky’s and warm weather where everyone’s just peachy keen
But all I foresee is warfare, cancer victims, and ruptured spleens
Genocide, systematic **** and all things obscene
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
Heaven clears its coward clouds
crows ascend and ravens caw
as a man unfazed and proud
greets aloud the Devil's maw
the land trembles at his spear
sunlight screaming on his shield
as his roar defeats the fear
and vibrates far into the field
the coming shadow of his foes
stretches further than he sees
so his gaze begins to glow
for he is where he's meant to be
a growl of courage and respect
rises from one hundred men
their lives ready to neglect
for those they'll never see again
the Earth quakes with endless herds
the burning sky begins to fall
his throat bulges its last words
and they bellow, "SHIELD WALL"
spears are laid their final hands
the heavy metal claps together
as brothers like their fathers stand
their mortal souls obtain forever.
In the veins where honor churns
the pulse of rage begins to tear
for the men who won't return
there is not a life to spare
and so it is
on a rock an ocean crashes
today men, tomorrow ashes
spear thrusts and shield smashes
for the lakes and for the grasses
for the name that never passes
and the star that always shines
their motherland, asleep behind
with the old and with the blind
with the children and the wives
the very womb that gave them lives
faces crack against their steel
footmen cry and captains kneel
a line of slaughter walled by zeal
brings each wave of slaves to heel
while the vultures praise their meal
the blade is swung, the pain ignored
necks are slit and skulls are gored
legs are worn and arms are sore
as fervor beats the chest's encore
like thunder drums the hum of war
blood with sweat in dust is bathed
no son is spared, no farewell bade
no grave is made, no boatman paid
a god was deaf when mothers prayed
alone they march the death parade
as the birds consume their spleens
all that's left is silent trees
who as tombs attend the scene
to absorb unto their gleam
what it's like to have been free
over yonder, in freedom somewhere
a daughter's silent cry implores
for her seesaw is still there
but its maker is no more.
Oct 2, 2020
Oct 2, 2020 at 11:55 PM UTC
Before the death has gripped me
I have not know what is - free
Gleefuly sprawled in the darkness to be
Seen, eating spleens of the fiends.
I leaned towards overthinking
With no real thinking to be done
all games and fun, untill I've pointed the gun
Shunned by society, I've been shunning myself
Thinking, success will lift off my stress
Regardles, I've failed to impress the press
This is the moment, Death has Gripped me
Cut me, ****** me and it struck me
I've been lucky, but a bit too cocky
I see no love in the deep web
Of useless cred, I've shed in the net.
Lying in the basement, poorly lit
Seeing the truth, Death Gripped.
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 10:26 AM UTC