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May is the month of Mary
May is the month of love
May is the month of all flowers
May is the month of all Mothers.

Let's celebrate all Mothers
Those who are poor and are living in huts
Those who are rich with fake eyelids
Those who are small with high heels
Those who are lofty in a giant pair of trousers
Those who are educated, stylish and sophisticated
Those who live sadly in the street corners
Those who worship the ****** Mary
Those who mourn, pray and smile.

May is the month of Mary
May is the month of love
May is the month of Mothers
May is the month of all flowers.

Let's celebrate All Moms
Those who bathe in the pond of misery
Those who wander hopelessly the streets
Those who are discouraged and disappointed
Those who toil every day
Those who practice love
Those who need to be rescued
Those who mimic the styles of Mary
Those who kneel, sing and laugh.

May is the month of Mary
May is the month of love
May is the month of all Moms
May is the month of the all mums.

Copyright © May,2016 Logerie Hébert, All rights reserved
Hebert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Zywa Feb 12
With eyes like a deer,

so wide, the girl is hiding --


in stinging nettle.
Collection "It takes a lot of tries to make a début"
egg hot pot Nov 2024
Winter morning sunshine
I feel like rubbing my feet
Her voice is rather sweet
But her lips stink of brine

Blood on my lips
Hers rather dry
Winter morning sunshine
Now mine smell like brine

Not the sorrow of regret
Nor the V of indignation
I just feel like winter morning sunshine
Jack Groundhog Oct 2024
In the ancient Gothic church
Mother Mary whispers here;
Her stony face looks out at me,
blank eyes that shed a granite tear:
There beneath her warming cloak
a mass of children huddle there,
seeking shelter and maternal love —
their fears and pains that she will bear
are lit by a sea of candlelight
that lifts cares hence, way up high,
borne aloft away from here,
to dissipate in distant skies
Inspired by a statue of the ****** Mary with votive candles seen in St. Stephen’s Church, Mainz, Germany
Àŧùl Jun 2024
1971, they lost East Pakistan,
And Bangladesh was carved.
1972, they conspired terror,
By promising 72 in Jannat.
2024, the fools still believe,
Not just in violence but also in the 72.
****** Nymphs wreak havoc in their minds.

Spreading his Chiropteran wings,
It's actually Satan laughing.
The fools want the world to convert,
Convert to the religion peace at what cost?
They wield their swords and Kalashnikovs,
******, killing, converting, decapitating at will.
They think that they will get virgins in afterlife.

What's described in their scriptures?
72 bathykolpian blue-eyed virgins.
Infinite stamina and limitless wine,
With those 72 eternally ****** Nymphs.
This crude carnal desire motivating,
The ******* to commit more bloodshed.
They rally our daughters, sisters, and mothers.

Like what — they rally them as trophy wives,
Or better if stripped **** and humbled.
They **** our brothers in an exemplary manner,
Decapitating, dismembering, and insulting.
What sort of faith do they follow?
They follow the words of a mad man,
A mad man who claimed to know God.

But actually they follow a barmy man,
A man who lost his mind to the heat,
The Arabic heat with nothing to eat.
No water to drink and it caused him to break,
He was not a sensible man,
About the 2 billion followers?
They're victims of sunstroke too.

We need to strip **** their carnal faith,
Strip them of their human rights,
As they are no humans.
Humans don't behave like jackals,
They follow the religion of the Devil,
But they have the support of bigots,
Bigots who ignore our fallen angels.

Our girls and young women they don't spare,
Why then about theirs should we even care?
Use pliers and plass, pull their nails out,
Send them to their perverted Jannat.
Let the terrorists die of pain,
What will we gain?
Some centuries of actual peace.
My HP Poem #1972
©Atul Kaushal
Shofi Ahmed Apr 2024
The same rose, still red hot,  
the ****** from the other world,  
wide open on the ancient Earth—  
mind the thorn, though;  
this way, the door is closed!

Every morn, the nightingale  
hops onto singing before the sun pops.  
In the shadow of the visited moon,  
keying in the door must be someone's boon!
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2023
Little chip
bottomless dip
but is it?

Does nature has
a hole or a slit?

Tap in logic
it's ******!

For instance dig in
mathematically instill
a finer silicon chip
but where is the slit?
It springs
digital and now AI magic.
Asiah Mangham Jul 2019
I saw the way your expression would change when I would talk about a ****** act I’ve committed.

You wanted me pure
You wanted me whole

Hearing the ring in my ears when you’d speak of how many girls souls you’ve laid to rest.

How they were propped up and popped open.

I was next,
But something told me not to be another victim.

How he cut them open and dug them out like cantaloupes.

He dug into genesis and didn’t know he killed creation with every lick.

He committed genocide with no remorse
And wiped it off as satisfaction.
Shevaun Stonem Aug 2021
O Mother of He who is Love Himself
I run to your golden abode. Seek for me the grace
to be like you.
To love like you,
to serve like you
to obey like you.
May my mind be Heaven bound,
Seeking the good with my hands
Speaking the truth with love
Sharing my warmth and your light.
Take from me the darkness,
the weight that weighs me down
making my eyes heavy and teary.
Fill me with your light, that I may never falter,
on my path, to share the love.
The most perfect woman to exist, help me imitate you.
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