The Unabashed Poet

The Unabashed Poet

I stand before you to defy death
Remove the smirks
The ants and the bees
Off your face
Remove the grimaces
And chase the annoying smurfs.

I am neither a fool
Nor a tool
Of this sick society
Which is drowning in the sea
Of hypocrisy.

I want to defy death
I want to see the other side
Of the mountainside
And subsequently return to earth
To dictate countless stories

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poem by Hebert Logerie
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The Untold Story

You once told me your race
(Not if I really cared)
You once showed me the true color of your face
(Not if that mattered)
You are whom you want to be
You are the sheep, you are the bee.

You once told me who you were
Once you discovered what the dean did
You called the police supervisor
And filed a report, there you hid
Your true genealogy
You wanted to be conveniently
Different than the jerk
Because there was no perk
For you to win
What an egregious sin
What a sad hypocrite
You are the pit
The pit bull that lies

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poem by Hebert Logerie
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… about Love

Everything about Love is fascinating;
Love at first sight; love that lasts forever;
Love that kills: winter, fall, summer and spring.
Everything about Love has an element of fever
In it: the anger, the rage, the jealousy,
The scorn, the disgust, the dishonesty,
The deception … etcetera, etcetera.
It is a timing bomb that can explode at the blink
An eye, or implode momentarily at the crank
Of a gun. Love can be unexpectedly deadly,
Beautiful, joyful, sweet … etcetera, etcetera.

Everything about Love is controversial:
The lazy days of summer on the boardwalk,
And the romantic promenade in the park.
Everything about Love is exceptional:
The beauty of the kissing and hugging swans,
And the tenderness of caressing hands.
Everything about Love is beyond words:
The lilies at springtime, the singing birds

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poem by Hebert Logerie
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I am Trayvon Martin (Justice Is Never Irrelevant)

I am Trayvon Martin
Yo soy Trayvon Martin
Je suis Trayvon Martin
Mwen se Trauvon Martin

For a long time and even now,
Justice
Is never irrelevant to us.
Very often, we wonder how
Come we are always
The victims, the culprits,
The ones who get dumped in the pits
In the shallow graves.
We get killed by being in the wrong place
At the wrong time.
We get mace on our face
For no reasons.
A horrendous crime
Is being perpetrated this season
By the namby pamby warden,

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poem by Hebert Logerie (March 2012)
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Fire Of Love

Fire of Love that burns and destroys,
Fire, fire that causes sufferings,
Infernal fire that curses,
Kills and causes death.

Broken-hearted, isolated and sad;
Mad, nerve-racking and humiliated.
Infernal fire that curses,
Fire of love that burns and destroys.

The torrential winds and waves
Have invaded and inundated the heaven.
Fire, fire that causes sufferings,
Kills and causes death.

Broken-hearted, isolated and sad.
Let me drown in the absinth.
Incarcerate me in the labyrinth
Mad, nerve-racking and humiliated.

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poem by Hebert Logerie
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Il pleut, il tonne

Il pleut, il tonne,
Et les cloches de l'enfer sonnent.
Le dictateur hébété
Est mort; il est décédé.
Le diacre chante un autre Te Deum:
Dominus vobiscum.
Hurrah! Hélas, les enfants jouent dans les rues,
Comme rien n'était. On va enterrer le salaud.
Il était comme un vieux crapaud.
D'après les rumeurs, il est nu
Dans le cercueil, comme un escargot.
C'est marrant de voir ce sot
Bien allongé. La foule est tombée des nues
Et les poètes rigolaient;
Enfin, le pays va être en paix.

Il pleut, il neige
Le chat est assis sur le siège.
Les femmes, aux pieds de la Sainte vierge,
Récitent leur Ave Maria, avec un cierge

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poem by Hebert Logerie
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The Lonesome Traveler

The Lonesome Traveler
(Dedicated to a very good friend)

The weather was foggy and the sky in tears
You, snoozing in your crib, as though, all were perfect.
Clean shaved and yet well dressed; in your isolated heart,
You were ready to pass through the clouds in peace.

For the past years, you felt highly submissive,
And one of these days, you'd have no choice but to reach heaven.
Oh! It is sad to take off alone.
Oh! It is strange that all will forget you, once they leave.

Living, you loved flowers, women, and bust;
I wonder how you're going to deal with new realities,
Because in a few, you'll become dust
That can nourish the air, the flowers and the bees.

The weather was gray and misty this autumnal day,
It was sad to witness your sentence at the sepulture;

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poem by Hebert Logerie
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The Revenge of the 47 Percent

In politics, it is acceptable to fight back with the ballot.
This long awaited election is about people with a lot
Versus the hardworking middle- class, which strives
Every day to earn a living, and to improve their lives.

The 47 percent is a powerful force made of retirees,
Veterans of the armed forces, recently graduate students,
Teachers, full and part-time workers, factory employees,
Health workers, paraprofessionals, and civil servants.

The list is infinitesimal, that's what makes this voting block
So potent and important. The next election will serve as a test,
For this true melting pot, which has the strength to move the rock,
In favor of Barack H. Obama, the one and only, and the best.

The best person who can lead and move this country forward.
Barack has proven himself in the last four years, despite
And in spite of the mess that he has inherited. The kite
Will only fly higher with his effective leadership, not downward.

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poem by Hebert Logerie
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Une Bouffée de Nuages

L’homme est comme une bouffée de nuages
Qui passe dans les couloirs du firmament
L’homme qui trépasse sur les plages
A la maison et à l’enterrement
Est illico presto dévalorisé et chosifié.

Le tout-puissant scélérat après être frappé
A la tempe et au thorax est ipso facto éliminé
Tout est éphémère, le pouvoir est passager
Les mauvais mullahs et les despotes sont des insensés
Qui un jour seront réveillés par l’inévitable réalité.

L’homme passe comme une bouffée de nuages
Nous sommes tous des damnés de la cage
Nos pas et mouvements sont minutieusement contrôlés
Par une force invisible laquelle est destinée
A nous conduire jusqu’au fond des nuées.

Occasionnellement, on dit que l’homme n’est rien
Et que nous vivons dans une jungle décorée

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poem by Hebert Logerie
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Nothing Is More Beautiful Than a Woman

The spring flowers ranked distant third,
Because they cannot conceivably smile,
Though they possess a beauteous style.
The peacock, at times, behaves like a nerd,
She cannot sing like Whitney Houston,
She occasionally complains that in Boston,
It is too cold even during springtime,
When the newlyweds start having a good time.

Nothing is more beautiful than a woman,
What came second is a romantic poem,
With a lot of ' Je t'aime, je t'aime'
Which can put to sleep men and children;
A beautiful poem that can lure the siren
Of the sea to come ashore on the hot sand
To find love, a light breeze, where the band
Serenades beachgoers wearing tight bikinis.
Oh! God, I feel so good when I sneeze.

Nothing is more beautiful than a woman.

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poem by Hebert Logerie (March 2012)
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