From riven ways and lent-for heaven’s vault
we clime on breath enwrit with slender ink,
each word a sworn avouchment ’gainst the dark,
each line a stout denial unto Lethe.
Hands erst in thrall do now the aether shape
with sigils forged of cinder, ash, and balm;
the orphan’s moan, the widow’s fervent cry,
lie twinn’d upon one consecrated leaf.
No tongue herein is beggared or despised—
the hush’d confession, clamant plea alike;
the scripture born of weal and wounded flesh
doth pace as peers in kingly even-stead.
We sing of marches loos’d from iron will,
of Right relearning how to quicken fair;
for Peace is not engender’d out of hush,
but sired by heedful ear to elder griefs.
This labour is no idle courtly sport,
nor dalliance of metre, wit, and breath—
it is a synod call’d by mortal hope,
where Mercy mounts the throne of trembling Fear.
Here, in these staves, the world recalls itself:
that Freedom waketh when all tales are weigh’d,
and Concord draweth first untroubled breath
when every soul long mute is bid to sing.
It is sunny
It is raining, it is thundering
It is autumn
From waking up to sleeping.
The leaves are dry and passive
And the flowers are dead and inactive
Later, it is snowing
The neighbors of the inn
See the deer pass by
All the holy day long
And during the whole evening
We feel the change of the nerves
To welcome the new season
Where we are far from the harvest.
We can hear from very far away
The wind humming in the hay
The vibrations are not monotonous
Since the hummingbirds of the hills
Make their spectacular presence felt
And the poets in the imaginary gardens
Describe everything that happens
In the country where the mass
Remains insensitive, benighted and glaikit
And where the elected corruptors boast.
It is sunny
It is raining, it is thundering
It is autumn
From waking up to sleeping.
P.S. Translation Of ‘Les Cantiques Antiques De L’Automne’.
Copyright © November 2024, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
From silken mists scarred stones give tongue
To canticles raised to twilit drear,
Of frolicked hours when seasons were young,
And Promise chastised every fear.
Once brightly smiled upon our days
The kindly sun of Life's beauteous womb,
The reaching hearts, our breathless gaze
Died not nor sleeps within this tomb,
But thunders soft from lips long stilled
No lonely dirge, nor dour 'plaint,
For 'neath these cold mounds Love's not stilled,
Nor slumbers lame with voiceless throat,
It whispers yet though rude encased,
E'en past Death's flowered moat
Too strong a song to be effaced...
CANTICLES OF A HAPPY PEOPLE
We are here for all of us,
We are fine, freed and fulfilled;
Our motives are mutual, for we are the future;
We can stand under the sun, and bathe in the rain;
The light will bring back everything, that darkness took from us;
The rain will wash away our pains, and cleanse us of our past;
No more sadness and sorrows; for we are healthy and happy;
We are graceful and great, blessed with fame and fortune;
We are filled with peace, and our hearts are aflame in love;
We are not voiceless, but fearless; we are a happy people.
EMEKA CHIBUIKEM V.
Where did you go, my only beloved?
I look to the wind, yet no sign I see.
Travelling roads, I search with fervor.
Your presence disappeared from me.
Why did you scatter oh so swiftly
Without telling me goodbye?
Will you return and do so quickly
or are my hopes left high and dry?
Where did you go my dear beloved?
When can I ever see your face?
Since you were lost beyond the valleys
my joy and happiness have been erased.
I am anxious since you have gone
though I'm not saddened yet to tears.
Where did you go, my only beloved,
I'll go with you there
or wait for you here.
Chanté Walker
Sunday December 31, 2017
"An Album of Expressions-January 2018"
Faint with love!
I missed the moment
When my King was at the door
Groggy slept
While He was knocking
Kept my feet from freezing floor
Finally rose
To catch the visit
But my Love was sadly gone
Now I tread the
Streets of dawning
Trusting He will show anon.
Have you seen Him
Women, Sisters?
Watchmen of the City's weal?
But you beat me
Cautious, caustic
Thinking all my flame unreal.
He has pledged
A sure betrothal
He will meet me 'long the way
And His garden
Will delight us
With the amorous scents of May.
Shulammite
He calls me smiling
Fairest maid can this be true?
Yes oh yes
My only answer
Every doubt He will subdue.
https://issuu.com/dewane/docs/shulamite
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