Art is so beautifully misunderstood,
You can't sing,
Unless your voice,
Is selling out stadiums.
You can't paint,
If your artistry isn't displayed in a gallery,
Locked away for the rest of time to see.
You can't play piano,
If you don't compare to Mozart
Or Beethoven, or Bach.
And, why would you ever,
Bother to write a poem,
If Shakespeare has
Already, lived and died,
And Emily Dickenson,
Has said her goodbyes?
Art is useless,
Unless you are great,
Art is meaningless,
Unless it can be bought and sold —
Capitalized, until the world is content.
That's what society has taught us,
But they so beautifully misunderstand.


And so,
We forget that art,
Is so, beautifully human.
As long as we have been here,
We've been creating,
Singing, dancing, growing
Our prose will be here, always,
Writing our names into the skyline,
Keeping us here,
Even when we fade away.
Art is what makes us human,
It's not for money or fame,
It's what proves we're alive,
And that we haven't changed
In a millennium.
The famous artists,
Never meant to be known,
They only ever meant,
To live.
And I am the same,
In my mind and soul,
I don't want to be recognized,
I just want to write,
And be me.

Believe it or not
The Parson is right
We shall return with zeroes
Many zeroes.  Let’s be Heroes
For and to the world. Let’s not be selfish
Because we shall return with zilch
With nada, mit nichts, perhaps with empty zeroes
Which mean nothing. Let’s pause
To think. Let’s be wise and humble
Love is essential. When the trees tremble
And fall; when the ground shakes and burns
When the soil slithers and slides, the world yearns
For peace, sympathy, compassion, and love. With nothing
We shall return, just like we came on earth with nothing
The sky will always stare at us, as we raise our head
Heaven will remain at the same distance
And we shall leave alone, with nothing, with no bed
No castle, no money, no power and no incense
Believe it or not
We will be blessed to be in a wee lot
After the soul departs
And the ash rots
Believe it or not
The Poet is right.

P.S. This poem is dedicated to the kings of the world.
Copyright © January 2025, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.

Four young men on a rooftop in 1969,
Putting on a show for the very last time.

Not the last for any,
but this was the fab fours end.

Four old men under thirty,
about to start again.

People pointing fingers,
people laying blame.

Surely it can't be over
they'll Get Back again.

They'll travel back down that
Long and Winding Road.

Back to Penny Lane,
where it started so long ago.

Imagine the world without the Beatles,
I wonder if you can.

I remember four young men on a rooftop,
being great again.

Wanting to prove it to the world,
Before they let it end.

Before they let it go,
Before they Let it Be.

And that's the memory of
the Beatles,
I'll always choose to see.