"turfs" poems
When I saw her for the first time it wasn't admiration
It was awe mixed with a twinge of jealousy
Her perfection and her confidence intimidated me
When I first befriended her it wasn't just adoration
It was an obsession and a fixation
To be like her in thought and action
Till I learnt to be better than her without being enough
That was when the insecurity started
'Will I ever be enough?'
I wasn't enough at home, not fair enough or smart enough
I wasn't witty or flirtatious enough
I lacked guts and I lacked the temperament
Of a proper twelve-year-old.
I was a doormat and a pushover
Already coming undone at my seams
Trying to emulate perfection through blinded eyes
Every day I scoffed and surrendered to my picture of admiration
Trying to secure her own admission
'Will I ever be enough?'
Then she left me battling my own wars
Hers was to conquer new turfs.
I waited for a while, finally realizing
I was a ship without a captain, left to wander evermore.
I caught a new captain in a bystander who counted his lucky stars
I admired him for being there for me when I never was.
I tried to hold on to an unconsolidated bond of friendship
With a raging doubt piercing through my heart
'Will I ever be enough?'
Many came telling me my worth.
Many left ravaging my already battered heart
Many drank my colourless lifeless blood
Many left a wretched bluish mark
I shrivelled from the inside out
Bloating in the nausea of my being
Every day trying to put me together
Every day losing instead of winning.
One day finally I reached out
Knowing my salvation lies
I put everything behind me and cried out
Only to be put on the side.
That day I realized my worth
When she was hurt by my rejection
When she refused to give me a chance
When I had never received any ever.
My insecurities still lingered
But they were a part of me now
And I did not know how to do without.
I picked up the pieces that meant something to me
Even though she was no more there to see
Yet I knew that she was never enough
Never my horizon, never my turf
I had wings to reach farther
And my flight has thus
Now begun without her.
(c) Anavah 2018
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 7:18 AM UTC
Good-morrow to the day so fair,
Good-morning, sir, to you;
Good-morrow to mine own torn hair
Bedabbled with the dew.
Good-morning to this primrose too,
Good-morrow to each maid
That will with flowers the tomb bestrew
Wherein my love is laid.
Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me!
Alack and well-a-day!
For pity, sir, find out that bee
Which bore my love away.
I’ll seek him in your bonnet brave,
I’ll seek him in your eyes;
Nay, now I think they’ve made his grave
I’ th’ bed of strawberries.
I’ll seek him there; I know ere this
The cold, cold earth doth shake him;
But I will go, or send a kiss
By you, sir, to awake him.
Pray hurt him not; though he be dead,
He knows well who do love him,
And who with green turfs rear his head,
And who do rudely move him.
He ’s soft and tender (pray take heed);
With bands of cowslips bind him,
And bring him home—but ’tis decreed
That I shall never find him!
1.9k
Teardrop echoes; the tone of your skin drains away,
painting another picture of the night. Whistle-blowers of the night-
torchbearers of the day; kids fighting each other for tree turfs;
skipping stones at early morning ducks. But their mother
inside doesn’t have much time to duck his punch
Well domesticated dogs, too afraid to bark at the night’s
domestic violence. Dominated skin under the dominator’s tight
hands; the love of a shape-shifter— changing its skin to appear
loving for ten pairs of eyes; striking down with a false picture
of love- to the sight of six eyes. Like claws that sink into your
skin; he’s drunk again!
A day away from shelter; for a heaven that does exist from
one’s bruised knees. For all the hurt draped over troubled
shoulders, unfurled eyes crying silent tears bouncing off
the walls
_A child in the next room hears the teardrop echoes_
Sep 5, 2024
Sep 5, 2024 at 6:02 AM UTC
*The retrospect of material
I value those works on machines
Mainly in co ordinance of our commons
When you hadn't recoiled towards summons
Contrary compassed promotions.
Palpating the inadaquet; a revert
Chances to brandish
Never did you, cultivating no savvy aerials
Inspiring me not with world's flow
A place I wanted to spand;
Inside still do.
On pulverant turfs did we become jovial
Only until now has zest fulfilled
so I thought.
Stupor on you revulsion, and to attorny
hearsay rumors, spur verses words
Your flight remains hurt
The retrospect of days
Spays that gained ways waned
Which I could not jurisdict
Tactful our souls
Both cordial; satted in rage
Images of ****** past age
Halyconing things to say
But still I shake when I view you
Alone behind machines
A ****** head; drenching steam
To far former and prior; like dream*
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 8:31 PM UTC
Vestiges
A morning pills
Rookery dismissed the asphalt veins
Upload to the guts
A long pipe with loop end
Useless
Any place is ready for a shred gaze ..
Another shrapnel of a flinch
Skins die young
A mile *** and feet misconception
Reach-less away the cloaked steps
A ****** stores in a single snapshots of a wake
||
Sat
A few verso to unlock the night
My shadow disarray me
And all roads weep in flinchlike
A **** turfs beside the sole entance's city
Lost in rhyme
A sleep or else no more an option
An occupying air extort my corpse
And plant an images and flanks in my head
Sat
A few steps to unlock the night
And the door mute
And all cities are falling now
|||
Mock the pain
Will perish if you passed away
Reach the escape pod
And no one will ever stain the quietude
Will provoke the gypsy body
Sad cars agonize my civilized body
Mock the pain
Nothing left to pay a visit toll
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
Bravery comes in many forms
For some it is in battle in a foreign land
For others it is in battle with their body
One day a diagnosis out of the blue
Turns life on its head
Turfs plans out the window
What’s this?
Why me?
I don’t know what to do
Plaintive cries echo in the darkness
As you stand alone despite those around you
For you alone can fight this battle
There is advice of course
From the medics and others
There is treatment in various forms
Diagnosis turns to prognosis
At some point down the line
You always hope for the best
Against all odds you fight
Try this and that
Mainstream and sometimes out of the stream
You do whatever you need to do
It is the way
It is your fight
But life is such that death
- that word we are not meant to utter -
Is inevitable and so it arrives
Even when expected
Such as it can be
It knocks the living sideways
But we need to respect
It was your battle
You chose weapons that suited you
You fought so hard
It wasn't always easy
But fight you did
And now you have moved on from this life
But please know
My life is richer because of you
You will never be forgotten
Dec 7, 2010
Dec 7, 2010 at 8:42 PM UTC
Oh the kiddos outta there
whoever again dare to call me names that end it with a Girl or a Mademoiselle
You at most reflect an image of me to fit to the level of your potency
same as to a ridicule of your fantasy
weeping and spitting big turfs of
-at most admirably-
musical words
as your age allows you to be
an equivalence that functions still
OH THE WOW in most efficiency
only whenever the rhythmic pumping ejects seedlings
to swim up the rat-race
from your reptilian starship
parked at sacred ocean’s depths
crossing a few inches behind thyn abdomen
towards your jellyfish brain
and that’s shorter than TIME
oh the poor whining with BIG Holy One
hidden in the oaths of your monstrous
zombie-town
so now listen in PURE Attention to me (if you can)
It’s True my first kiss was at age twenty three
HAHAHA and yet not even a romantic one
at most an obligatory
who knows maybe a task
from the higher self
probably to teach me
or the physical body -
YES and the last one at age forty
that tried to **** all the ****** futility outta me
the rest and the in between remains dark and edgy and thorny
who cares when it does not bother me
what business does relate to you oh my Sexuality
or the inherited **** beauty
but that makes not less of me when
I am now almost 43
my coal black hair made of Sea Breeze
grows the beauty of my aging color
to the creamy WHITE topping of delicious wisdom cookies
baked by my peaceful wishing
the joy of my child innocence remains
to fire Passion and Desire
which I reserve
to one/ single poem only
who made me realize the truth of me recently
that I haven’t yet dated … a Monsieur
who dares to call me a Madame
with whom I can fully be Me and grow towards a maturity.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 5:24 PM UTC
She walks on the turfs in the lonely night,
with all her sorrows her soul ignites,
the cold breeze tickles her face,
She sees their silhouette on moon's full phase,
Oh how enchanting it was, when he proposed,
His grin was something she'd die for,
But thy love is not as important,
as to him is his life,
She never had listened,
When her intuition cried,
The night is different she realized,
Unlike other days, this time had flied,
Hours pass, clouds reign over,
covers the sky, the thunder hollers,
She discerns something like a dewdrop on her face,
Unsure she is, maybe its the tears rolling down due to pain,
and then there are more drops, the sky pours rain,
the cold breeze, the raindrops, a perfect twain,
the thunder and wind is like a symphony,
it feels like mother nature is singing a lullaby,
She senses something when she sips the wine,
She could be seen dancing to the rhyme,
she sways to her silence, her madness,
to her pain and to her loneliness,
Atlast herself had she descry,
The only night that didn't make her cry.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
A boy this day
brought into this world of violence and decay
in the streets he frays
in the beats he stays
turfs pullin him away
threatening his well-being
so he goes to hell stealing.
He's feeling
so alone
cuz on the streets there ain't nobody
you can call your home body.
People's faces you learn to go study
but no matter how long you try
a poker face strong to lie
and soon you are so drawn to die
you realize the wrong do die
and the strong do lie
and the few do cry
the politics pull him
through the war ensuing
black versus white
wrong versus right
dark versus light
day versus night
it's a trick know
to pick against a foe
but the situation is forced
beliefs sourced.
Born unto a fate,
in the streets of hate.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 6:15 PM UTC
there is something special in you girl
something striking that makes me sway
whenever you cross my path
whenever i see you walk away
under the sunlight
when you sit and smile
you don't see me but
i glance you, wait, and see a while
with clothes colored of rainbow
and your hairs pulled back
with your black turfs round you
and your beauty filling in the tack
well i just figured it in the breeze today
it seems my silence, is too loud and base
so i close my eyes and begin to pray
then tears of stupidity stream down my face
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 12:20 PM UTC
2/11/2015
*"Never though, my mortal summers to
such length of years should come
As the many wintered crow that leads
the clanging rookery home.
... I remember one that perished
sweetly she did move, such a one I do remember
whom to look at was love.
Comfort? Comfort scorned of devils!
this is a truth that the poet sings,
that a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things."*
- Alfred Tennyson, "Locksley Hall"
Something about the florid, languid grass that
cooed in place on the turfs and greens,
stagnant in their newfound summer discovery.
The malleability of the universe seems incredulous to me certain days
the days before future people, sanguine
nights in the weaver fields wherein blocks away or a mile
they slept, before prior meetings.
So with this i am curious as i write
what lies in the field of frozen prospect garden?
where agrimonias will soon sprout jaundiced hairs
and I will sit around alone as i do in town
maybe, publicly intoxicated, slurring
along to a Ramones song with my friends
as empty as campus after a year
**** it. **** it?
Feb 11, 2015
Feb 11, 2015 at 5:52 PM UTC
The Marshland
In the middle of the fen where the soil is full of rotting foliage,
roots of tree from the time the land was a forest,
a dam where ducks swim and as is the way of ducks noisy in
their chatter with each other, social bird with no musicality
I mean have you ever heard of an opus titled:
“When the ducks sing in Covent garden.”
Yet they like it here and can spot a Cheney miles away and
thus avoid getting water-boarded. We used to go there
the farmer and we dug into wet soil square sized turfs
which dried in the sun and in the fall we had carts full and
primordial roots that burned brightly when snow fell outside
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 6:17 AM UTC
Yellow flower, grieving flower, pale flower,
You were burnt by the sun and the hot rain.
Ripe flower, matured flower, immaculate flower,
You've nevertheless kept your phenomenal beauty sane.
The half-yellow and the half-green leaves
Are trying to mimic your beautiful color.
Mother Nature and Fauna are profusely in tears,
And Squirrel and Nightingale in a state of horror.
Flower of one of the most somber and romantic seasons,
Your exceptional beauty merits great admirations
And your sweet and delicious sap is beyond words.
Flower, I'm coming tonight to rest on your turfs,
To contemplate the stars and the sparks,
The abandoned branches and the rods floating in the parks.
Copyright © March 1997, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of numerous collections of poetry.
Nov 8, 2024
Nov 8, 2024 at 9:06 PM UTC
The concept of aging hits with distaste
The wisdom that stumps life's thirst
A nod to having done it all
As we mantra unfulfilled dreams
Selling dead stars to kids
Revisiting old fears, my debt for words,
My remodeling of how i approach life.... Less enthusiasm
I used to dread today
Grabbing this bleak space
Inviting hairs to my face
Charging mirrors for confidence
Drumming my chest with consolation
I Dreamt like stars do
I used to run with springs for knees
Hopping old pine fences
Sliding down guard rails
Thumping turfs
As my body thuds the floor
Laughter grips my lungs
Back when love was forever
so was heartbreaks
Sunrises were beautiful
Grasshoppers were wondrous
Poodles were guilty pleasures
The world was screaming paint
We Projected puppies and ponies out of clouds
something out of nothing
We made Castles out of sand
Tainted bodies with dusty palms
The alter was a fracture of heaven
And the priest was God
Pale skin and iced veins with a numb heart
Just as Gods would act
Looking for love,
May have drank for love
We danced for love
We fought for love
Love sometimes had a boyfriend
Love said no a lot
Retching sounds and **** stains
Pants worn below waistlines
Cigarettes for the first time
talks of ladies with lighter skin
Female connoisseurs
No more cartoons at 4.....
We! are! men! now!
May 5, 2017
May 5, 2017 at 6:09 AM UTC
Herbicide rich farm lands..
Pesticides on every lawn..
Long live the American dream!
Capitalism is a long lost song..
Roundup sprayed ski slopes and golf course turfs!
Bucket list of old rich folks dying of cancers..
City water that stinks..
The ink of our receipts..
Testosterone levels,
rapidly deplete..
Year’s of no regulation,
Aluminum in the sky..
They obviously want to make sure…
No one gets out alive!!
Jun 19, 2025
Jun 19, 2025 at 1:31 PM UTC
Lapping at the shore
washing sand, salt and rock
Deep hidden lore
a timed ticking clock
Shallow depths roll out
a scroll of uneventful surprises
Silent in the overlooking clouds
unraveled by the tide that rises
Hushed syllables of spoken words
the song of crashing waves
One sees all in the seabed
simply a cover of the deeper caves
Storms unease the sea
as lightning flashes in the waters
Stabbing at the blind lights
nothing floods free
Extra terrestrial marine creatures
washed under cold spirits
a world under the sand of
skeletons, ghosts and grit
Fear like nothing else
trapped within warm calm waters
Unknown to the sailors that surf
or the turfs that rip waves apart
Spreading cracks
unearth the alien fish and murky
waters
disrupting rhythm only to be
pulled back in
A state of peace hides
anger
Crystal clear water hides
darkness
The water lies untouched
overflowing into lakes and rivers
Clarity in a desperate clutch
burying the happy-ever-nevers
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 11:23 PM UTC