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Sophie 4d
I see some kids heading home from school,
bent over from the weight on their backpack.
In Palestine, children bear the politician’s schemes on their backs.
And bend further down,
grieving their parents’ lifeless forms.
Children, who used to be whole,
have their limbs torn off,
skin hanging from their faces and hands.

On my visit to the shop,
I see a kid throwing a tantrum over not getting sweets.
In Palestine, children hear cries of the wounded,
screaming for help.
While the world stands silent, aid delayed.
Red capes, a stone in their hands and a imaginary knife in their
teeth, they die as martyrs.

Politicians, no way you’d wield ruthless might,
If they were white children in your sight.
Robert Ronnow Oct 2022
I spoke with two people at the party Saturday.
A young police officer, short-haired, fit,
chiseled face who had two young children.
He felt constrained by the law, without discretion
to question mopes (perps) aggressively
or to let go those who were obviously no threat.
Even at a family function he seemed straight-backed, correct,
devoted to his role as our protector (and his children’s)
yet I thought perhaps too deeply in debt, indentured
to the rules and laws of legislators and destined
to be disappointed (or worse). I thought his courage
and devotion (to whom or what?) would surely
be poorly repaid and that this lesson
was necessary to ready him with wisdom
for death or further living. I worried like a brother
about the unpredictable dangers, even terrors,
he must daily face, and the pleasure he takes in facing them.
How will he return to the fragility of family,
of the soul alone, after wielding the force
of the state, the blind, combined will of us all?

Next a business exec, retired from a well known
global investment firm. At first we talked about
the lush beauty of the northeast compared to the arid west
(although he loves every inch of the west, too).
Then somehow we got beyond light conversation
when he complained about the perceived decline in values
for instance how the Ten Commandments can’t be publicly
displayed. He said we can all agree on God
but I said I have a mechanistic view of the universe
(although the unknowable always sits just out of reach
of the known). I told him my dad’s theory of reincarnation,
a good man and a corporate seeker of God also, whose shoes
I could never fill unless I swore belief in a supreme being.
No hard feelings. Then he told me the story
of his dying friend, an atheist, not even a deist
like the founding fathers, who opened his eyes for the last time
to correct the exec’s misperception that now he’d meet his maker.
Having exceeded the bounds of acceptable conversation
I went looking for my children. Nothing more to question.
David Hilburn May 28
Roses are redoubt
Violets are a horn, blue
Sugar is sweat, in a dark pout
And hell is crying, and so are you...

Pain, the magic and the cruel
Forever, is a shoe...
Live by a creed, and you say hi, to a tool
Know a you, for a sweet tooth...

Done, to hunt a misery
Found in a gutter, no man's
Land, has a sick flower of mystery
Told to a child's shadow, a risen chance...

To become a family's cannibal?
Creation, is our view on rage
Though put to such, much is beauty
Tarry with us, to live without music to face...?

Treasure of the ******?
Hell to pay, a quiet dowry
Of dues and tomorrow, a question to hand
You, a seduction's voice, with hunger as its quarry...
caveat emptor, I have the time to answer this question for an angel...
Oh happy Sunday hour
after five and before the tea-time tide
when those who filled the beach
with grubby toddlers, toys and spades
return to roasting hotbox cars
and stow the cool-bag in the boot,
along with salty dogs who want to sleep
creeping under blankets kept especially for them,
farewell they wave,
with lollypop sticky, sun-touched infant hands
a tired last goodbye to the sand
that battlefield land of dug-outs holes and hollows
a ruined castle landscape
that the sea will fix tomorrow
Laokos May 18
In the shadow of water
I know your true face.
not in the shadow
but in the feeling of
being in it.

…do you understand?

there’s a coolness
that wraps around me
just right,
like when evening comes
and the southern sun
finally relents its strength of illumination
to the unknowing of night.

through the shade of a wave
opaque enough to dilute
the intensity of the light
but not enough
to stop it from reaching me,
I recognize you.  

who are you
that you should linger
in my inner sight
like a sunspot
staining my vision wherever I look,
changing colors
behind my closed eyes?

a stranger?

perhaps I’ve known you
in other lives.
maybe we were lovers.
maybe we were almost lovers.
maybe this is our dance.
we circle each other
like leaves in an eddy,
a brief swirl of proximity
before we’re shot back out
to the flow of the river
like children on a slide,
laughing in our innocence—
in our ignorance.

then comes the
inevitable separation,
the distance,
the peculiar ambiguity
we wear like a skin—
like a camouflage.

but I still see you,
from time to time,
behind the eyes of a stranger

and

I still feel you
whenever I am in
the shadow of water.
Angelina has a rainbow which is yellow, mauve and pink.
She likes to go there often if she wants to sit and think.
She like the way it shimmers and watches as it shines,
she knows that it will answer any question that she finds.
She watches birds and animals that dance beneath its arch,
and the mischief of the squirrels,  which always makes her laugh,
She likes to know the rainbow will softly wipe her tears.
She loves the way it listens as she tells it of her fears,
for sometimes, when she's home again, it's very sad but true
that Angelina's rainbow turns purple, black and blue.
I am always incensed by cruelty against children and this poem was written after I read a particularly disturbing news report one day.
Ma plume pleure les agonies et les souffrances
De mon peuple qui se noie dans la misère.
Mon stylo stylise les lentes cadences
D’un mendiant qui s’égare au sein de la galère.

Ma voix dénonce la vaine guerre et l’injustice
Qui punissent les plus impotents de la vallée.
Un petit groupe se voit maigrement récompenser,
Quelle honte pour un monde infesté de vices!

Mon pinceau démasque l’inégalité et le déséquilibre
Qui bottinent tout un univers soi-disant libre.
Mes 'rayons laser' brûlent l’iris des aveugles
Qui voient très clair le mini-tableau de mon peuple.

Je suis le gendre du poète lâchement exécuté
Et le petit-fils du plus pauvre empereur assassiné.
J’abhorre la vanité et la mièvrerie de l’homme
Qui se croit supérieur à l’hérisson et à la pomme.

Ma plume pleure pour mon peuple
Qui boit l’absinthe comme un aveugle.
Ma voix emportée, par le vent de la liberté
Est pareille aux soupirs perçants des enfants affamés.

Copyright© 18 Mai 2010, Hebert Logerie, Tous Droits Réservés
Hébert Logerie est l’auteur de quatre recueils de poèmes.
I was never born to be great;
I never believed it was my fate.
Not like the Beatles,
Who wrote the songs
That live with us all life long.
I wasn't here to invent
A vaccine to prevent laments,
Or destroy dementia,
Or unveil the answer
That cancels cancer.
I'm not up on investments
That provide the cash to crash hunger,
Or house the homeless and usurp anger.
No I'm not a man of wonder.
Yet, if you ask someone who knows me,
A child of mine, for one,
They'll correct my every regret,
And might say I was all these.
Children and grandkids think we adults have all the answers and all the power. We don't, but we must be mindful of their perspectives.
Heidi Franke May 4
From here, four thousand feet down
The Rocky Mountain Range
As winter subsides and spring begins
Purples and whites among the forest, up there, from here
My shaded porch by a hundred years old ash
I see where I once was, high above.

From here, as the tick, toc, tick, toc
Snuck through the air of time
As the children lost their wonder
The fancy climbing, the hold on tight
Of a tree swing dangled, beckoned
Them. They lost their spark
From here at this distance I see it all stuffed in the dirt of time.
I used to live in a fancy house against an 8,000 foot mountain range. I moved to the valley floor after divorce and now from my front steps I can see that beautiful mountain range from a distance. The view is majestic and I think I see more than I ever did living right in the forest. I appreciate my time on earth especially when I step back from everything and perch from a distance.
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