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"Excuse me," she said.
"Pardon me," he said.
"Certainly," so said, El Presidente.
Kai 6d
I was born on stolen land
Blinking stars at American fingers
Adorned with Native turquoise
On my knees for men
Drilling oil through slender bodies
Holding ***** money in their teeth
From a **** charge they got dropped
Find me in the pews with my mother
Hands in my lap and my gaze cold
Just a **** with Christian blood
Coursing through my soul
Ripping at my heart
Either shoot me in my country
Good ol’ USA
Or put me away for my sins
Now I'll probably be inactive for another month oops
Billy Joel and Family Guy,
I'm an American walking by.
My button shirts are pressed,
Lined up in a row.
What a good place,
This home I know.
Democratic death
The scales of justice lean right
A tattered flag hangs
Kingston Bao Apr 12
Waffle House is America.
Not the version we sell on post cards,
the real one.
the raw one.

The one that limps,
Laughs,
Fights,
Forgives,
And keeps the grill hot.
Through it all.

It is poetry.
It is art.
It's everything this country is meant to be:
Messy, soulful, and built for anyone that enters the door.

Because inside that yellow box by the interstate
there are no velvet ropes,
no VIP section,
and nobody is any better than anyone else.

In one booth could be a millionaire is a white pressed button-down
Who's on the phone with his divorce attorney.

In the next, a man counting his ruffled-up dollar bills
So he could buy a cup of coffee and a single scrambled egg.

In another, two teenagers on their first date
Sharing a laugh over a stack of chocolate-chip waffles.

And in the back corner is a woman crying softly into her hash browns
As her entire world splits apart.

The cook's name might be Rico, or Janice, but they've worked here for 16 years, survived 14 fistfights, and fought through 3 hurricanes.

Your server refers to you as honey
While she smokes a Newport in the alley out back

And there's a jukebox in the corner
That'll only plays songs that make you feel like the love of your life just left.

The A/C never works,
the coffee tastes like burnt ambition,
and the menus have the same stains as they did in your childhood.

And somehow in the midst of all that dysfunction,
there's peace.

I've been to Waffle House more times than I can count.
After good nights,
After bad ones,
After breakups,
After funerals,
At 3 P.M. with my friends,
And at 3 A.M. with my demons.

There have been times I haven't even known what I believed in.
But I always believed in Waffle House.
I believed in those yellow tiles.
The cracked seats.
That ancient jukebox.
And that first bite of my hotcake that tastes like stability and chaos.

Waffle House is the last American sanctuary.
It's the great equalizer for all.
It doesn't care who you voted for,
How much you make,
Where you're from,
Or how broken you feel that night.

It just asks, "How do you want your eggs."
And that right there, is gospel anyone can get behind.

Because when everything feels like it's unraveling,
Waffle House stays open.
When your relationships fall apart,
Waffle House stays open.
When you fall apart,
Waffle House stays open.

It's not just a restaurant.
It's a time machine,
A therapy session,
A last resort,
A first date,
A second chance,

And a middle-of-the-night reminder
That you've made it this far,
And maybe. Just maybe. You will make it a little further.

When the streets are empty and you're phone's gone quiet.
When every friend and family member is asleep.
When every bar is closed.
When that person that you desperately want to respond doesn't,

Waffle House does.

It won't need a reservation, and it won't ask questions.
It just pours the coffee, drops the plate,
And lets you exist exactly as you are.

The final light when everything else has gone out.
The flicker in the fog.
The open door at the end of the night.
The last neon moon of America,
That I pray never sets.
-Michael Bowman
People often say that the youths of generation Z are weak , lazy and useless.
Of course there are some who are stupid losers among them.
But actually many of them want to form an ideal world.
A world with a truly humane system.
For that purpose they have the courage to rebel.
Against the old system that is full of rot.
In America they held protests against the Israeli lobby network on large campuses.
In Bangladesh they held large protests against the government which was taking away the people's rights.
In Myanmar they fought against the military junta coup that repressively overthrew the government.
In Palestine they are still fighting in the midst of the Israeli genocide.
Of course they must be ready to bear the worst risk.
Aaron Bushnell , Ma Kyal Sin.
Thousands of youths in Bangladesh , Myanmar , Palestine and other countries.
They all died in the struggle.
For what they believed was something worth fighting for.
They died holding the honor as brave young fighters.
While those who are still alive continue to fight.
They believe the old rotten system will slowly fall.
It will be replaced by a new humane system for a better future.
So the future of the world belongs to them.
To generation Z who are now called to fight.


April 2025

By Alvian Eleven
Pobres de nuestros países
Pobres de todas partes
Pobres de Haití
Personas pobres, desorientadas y locas
Ya no diré "pobre Haití"
Haití es un país lleno de riqueza
Haití, un país lleno de recursos
Para otros
Haití es un paraíso y rico en recursos
Para otros
Haití es un país lleno de hipocresía
De gente desposeída, miserable y sufriente
Haití es un lugar lleno de odio y traidores
¡Haití, Haití! ¡Qué vergüenza! Donde sus líderes son tontos, malvados y locos.
La juventud haitiana tiene muy mala suerte.
Porque los falsos líderes son codiciosos, repugnantes e insensatos.
Qué vergüenza para un pueblo que a menudo ha sufrido tanto.
Los cementerios están por todas partes, al igual que las iglesias y los calvarios.
Hay tanta miseria allí porque los ladrones, los estafadores.
Hipócritas, secuaces, bandidos, locos y sinvergüenzas están por todas partes.
Este es el país donde demasiadas personas inocentes mueren por balas, por hierro
Por odio, por hipocresía, por venganza, por ignorancia y por pobreza
¿A qué santo debemos invocar por esta gente desesperanzada
Por nuestros hermanos y hermanas sin futuro que mueren de desesperación?
¿A qué Dios sordo y ebrio debemos rezar para salvar a los seguidores de Cristo
Que se lamentan, lloran, gritan y ladran como perros?
¿Qué palabra deberíamos usar para fortalecer y revitalizar a estas personas debilitadas?
¿Y al Estado que, lamentablemente, existe para castigar a las víctimas empobrecidas?
Pobres aquí donde estamos
Pobres de nuestros países
Pobres de todas partes
Pobres de Haití
Pobres de estos Estados Unidos.

P. D.: Traducción de «Pauvre Peuple De Chez Nous, De Nos Pays».

Copyright © Abril de 2025, Hébert Logerie. Todos los derechos reservados.
Hébert Logerie es autor de varios poemarios.
Pauvre peuple de nos pays
Pauvre peuple de chez nous
Pauvre peuple de partout
Pauvre peuple d’Haïti
Un peuple qui est pauvre, désorienté et fou
Je ne dirai plus 'pauvre Haïti'
Haïti est un pays plein de richesse
Haïti, un pays plein de ressources
Pour les autres
Haïti est un paradis et de bonnes sources
Pour les autres
Haïti est un pays plein d’hypocrisie
De peuples miséreux, misérables et de peines
Haïti est un lieu plein de traîtres et de haine
Haïti, Haïti ! Quelle ignominie !
Où ses dirigeants sont incompétents, mauvais et fous
Les jeunes d’Haïti n’ont pas de chance
A cause de ces faux leaders, et des laideurs avares sans sens
Quelle honte pour un peuple qui souvent a tant souffert
Les cimetières sont partout ainsi que les calvaires
Il y a tant de misère parce que les malandrins, les filous
Les hypocrites, les bandits, les fous et les crapules sont partout
C’est le pays où tant d’innocents meurent par les balles, par le fer
Par la haine, par l’hypocrisie, par la vengeance et par la misère
Quel saint doit-on invoquer pour ce peuple sans espoir
Pour nos frères et sœurs sans avenir qui meurent de désespoir ?
Quel Dieu sourd et saoulé doit-on prier pour sauver ces chrétiens
Qui lamentent, qui pleurent, qui crient et qui aboient comme des chiens ?
Quel mot doit-on utiliser pour muscler, dynamiser ce peuple affaibli
Et l’état qui existe malheureusement pour punir les victimes appauvris ?
Pauvre peuple de nos pays
Pauvre peuple de chez nous
Pauvre peuple de partout
Pauvre peuple d’Haïti
Pauvre peuple des États Unis.

P.S. Traduction de’ Poor People Of Our Countries’.

Copyright © Avril 2025, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poésie.
Poor people of our countries
Poor people everywhere
Poor people of Haiti
People who are poor, disoriented, and crazy
I will no longer say ‘poor Haiti’
Haiti is a country full of wealth
Haiti, a country full of resources
For others
Haiti is a paradise and rich in resources
For others
Haiti is a country full of hypocrisy
Of destitute, miserable and suffering peoples
Haiti is a place full of hatred and backstabbers
Haiti, Haiti! What a disgrace! Where its leaders are dumb, evil, and crazy
Haitian youth and young people are very unlucky
Because the false and fake leaders are greedy, ugly and senseless
What a shame for a people who have often suffered so much
The Cemeteries are everywhere, so are the Churches and the Calvaries
There is so much misery there because the thieves, the crooks
Hypocrites, henchmen, bandits, madmen, and scoundrels are everywhere
This is the country where too many innocent people die by bullets, by iron
By hatred, by hypocrisy, by revenge, by ignorance and by poverty
Which saint should we invoke for these hopeless people
For our brothers and sisters without a future who are dying of despair?
What deaf and drunken God should we pray to save the followers of Christ
Who lament, who weep, who scream, and who bark like dogs?
What word should we use to strengthen and energize these weakened people
And the state which unfortunately exists to punish the impoverished victims?
Poor people here where we are
Poor people of our countries
Poor people everywhere
Poor people of Haiti
Poor people of these United States.

P.S. Translation of ‘ Pauvre Peuple De Chez Nous, De Nos Pays’.

Copyright © April 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
I was once a lonesome pioneer,
A past life ways away,
I spurred my horse in desert sands.
A familiar stranger,
Is all I ever was,
Anyone could tell you, nobody remembered me,
I was in by sunset and left by it's rise,
A way-fairing American,
Inspired by new lands,
After all, the west is best.
Inspired by old west style country
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