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Briscoe 14h
Lights off, blankets tucked,
The last person goes under.
This old house stands still,
Holding its position
Against frozen wind,
While the blank sheet of snow
Mutes the sounds
Of a whole world on hiatus.

One last sip of water from the sink,
Letting the tap run
until it freezes your lips,
And you glide on the hardwood
Back to your space.

In your chair, the one place
You wanted to be.
But the only thing
That you can feel,
Is the pull of the abyss
And call of the unknown.
Now that we are on in years,
celebrations change and dwindle
to little remnants of tradition.
We are two stragglers
from life’s journey,
Left behind by the young,
No longer nurturing him,
yet tied to his well-being
even as we wait for his call.
I celebrate Yule not in our home,
but by imaging his joy beside a tree,
his exchange of gifts with her.
And I recall the first Christmas
with my husband, falling asleep together
under a mammoth tree filled with light.
We made ornaments for fun
and poverty didn’t matter.
I wrote a poem for him,
decorated with scenes of our life.
And now, we are too weary
to celebrate like that.
It is as if we pore through a box,
a ragged thing, dragged through time,
looking for souvenirs of joy
and memories of the life we had
when he was here.
I think this poem speaks for itself about our experience this year. Our son moved far away and cannot just pop by for Christmas or dinner from the next town. It is definitely a new stage of loss!
Christy 2d
There was a thunderstorm
In London the night the coroner called.

I flew to California to make sense of it all.

You were afraid of the high dive just the year before.

Last night spread your wings,  stepped off the ledge to soar.

You played with rocks as a child and prayed to them as an adult.

The ring you wore for protection,  Sorry it didn’t work.

But you will be forever young the way you did predict

And I’ll be haunted by the imagery of how you left

I will spread the dust of you in the places where you found some peace.

The hardest will be our elephant shaped tree. Where we played in the creek.

You believed what the demons told you. But I know the truth.
You were loved and my heart is broken. I will grow old without you
Ryan
Love tore me open
to those sounds,
emitted from her throat.
Love cleaned wounds,
though left scars
as countless as stars.

I just wanted her to breathe.

I just wanted her to see
that such a weight needn't be
what she needs to
drag to another sunset.

If she could ever
raise her gentle head,
she would have seen
it was instead a sunrise.
celeste 3d
i curled up in a ball today, watching the sky shift through different shades of gray. i didn’t think much of anything. i lit an apple candle. i made apple muffins. i listened to random playlists on spotify.

and at the same time, today, i thought of everything. today was shannon, and how the warmth reminded me of her office, how it felt good to hear her compliments all to myself. they were mine.

i crushed my apples and brown sugar together. thinking of the world i once got to be close to but they are gone, and i see the butter crumble out of my hands. you deserve better. you deserve better. you deserve better.

letting myself close my eyes, feeling the pulse in my head cutting like the knife in my hand, and how i ache to cut the past from my life. nothing but the blood pouring out of my head, where i can finally run, run, run.
do you ever attach yourself to a car—
the way it smells, the way it drives—
as if the engine hums a melody
of memories you wish to forget but cannot?

you step into one just like theirs,
and it’s as if the past breathes again,
each seat, each scent, a ghost of what was.
you think, maybe if i own it, i can rewrite it.

buy the same model, the same colour,
but this time, let the road carve sweeter stories.
let the wheels turn away from pain,
and the engine sing a song of healing.

perhaps it’s not the car at all,
but the need to drive forward,
to leave the haunting behind
and replace it with a journey that's truly yours.
maybe, just one day - i might forget those memories.
I was bric-a-brac smashed to pieces during a heart attack;
A spirit released from her worldly oath;
A genie escaping from her bottle;
A servant fuelled by self-loathe.

When my world was ending in an earthquake-
Much like a baby crying from the rubble-
And when they dropped the first atom bomb-
Much like a cockroach in its armoured bubble-
I survived.
20/12/2024 <3
The end of the year is the dawn of a new one.
The sadness and the yesterdays are all gone.
We have in front of us: a new era, a new horizon;
We are hoping and dreaming of a better season.

The moon seems to be brighter at midnight.
The migrant birds are flying very low tonight.
They are chirping, screaming, moaning and singing;
The children are happy, jumping, running and playing.

We set new goals, short deadlines and crazy wishes.
We invite friends over to enjoy novel drinks and dishes,
And we listen to old songs, which never go out of style.

The globe will not stop turning and the wonderful sun
Will not cease shining. A new season always brings new fun.
We need to relax, be more realistic, laugh more and smile.

Hebert Logerie - Sunday, December 30, 2012
Hebert Logerie is the author of numerous poetry books.
Mahta 5d
People die, don’t they?
Most of the time, you don’t know them—
so you don’t hear about it.

But sometimes, you know who died.
You receive a message,
you read it,
you don’t digest it.

You send some messages,
not because you want to,
but because you have to.
You make people sad,
you make them relive that moment—
not because you want to,
but because you have to.

There’s the you on autopilot,
following what must be done.
And the you in the coffee shop,
reading a book,
sipping hot chocolate,
as if no one died today.

No one you know.
Not yet.

The sweetness fades.
The weight arrives.

You wonder if you truly knew her favorite color,
Her favorite moment,
What she would have wished for

Perhaps not this.
Not like this.
Not today.
In memory of my cousin, who passed away today after battling a brain tumor for nearly two years.
The nonstop negative news or publicities on Haiti
Hurt tremendously and disturbingly
The relentless or constant bashings of all Haitians
Twinge and twist my heart like cancer patients
On their death beds, who are resigned, hopeless
Penniless, helpless, and spiritless.

Haiti needs a mega break from all the powerful parasites
That are still exploiting our precious resources at countless sites
While concomitantly exploring and impoverishing our peasants
Our innocent siblings who perilously work for crumbs and cents.

It is time that all truths are spoken or be told
It is time that we unearth, unfurl or unfold
All vile plots so the world can witness the premeditated lies.

Papa Noël is a well designed invention in disguise
At Christmas time, the hurts are excruciating
And the misery is objectionable and nauseating.

Copyright © December, 2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
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