For a while now,
I thought I feel no longer.
Transiently this gravity etiolated,
But you, like Optimus Prime
came to my rescue.
Like magnetic flux you appeared,
And lured me into your field.
Now I am lost in your radar,
You give my heart a real beat.
I am Spellbinded.
In my head a tenant you've become,
In my head you are the stars I gaze.
And in my heart a resident you've become
And I hope you won't depart, for you've became my Chum
YOU are my favourite thought of the day,
My Venus in a clear morning.
YOU are my cup of soup,
My latte on a cold day.
You give me the "heebie-jeebies"
Those willies, getting my knees weak.
Selfless as you are,
with the sweetness beyond.
Unmatched you are,
with a smile so contagious
And that is a complete reason why I have a renewed faith in Romance.
Perhaps you are my fairytale.
O lord, deep sorrows weigh on my heart,
You created me,
Where shall I go?
Without you, To whom would I share my sorrows,
I am a white flower in the garden of Autumn: scentless, colorless, and etiolated.
I too wish to bloom in the garden of verdure.
O lord; embrace and bear hug me,
I am broken, a wanderer, and aimless.
My life is abandoned, everyone. Everyone came.
They bruised, battered, and blighted me, went and left me solo in the garden of Autumn.
My sepals and blanched petals whimper there,
O lord; If you won't rescue me,
I think the white flower may die in the garden in Autumn.
I know I am a colossal sinner and sins have dimmed away my beauty and charm,
I don't want to die being a sinner.
If I died, I would die like a waste then,
If so, how can I stand in front of you? I can't endure it and would feel ashamed.
O lord; look at my garden of Autumn and transform it into the garden of spring.
Let me perform the elegant deeds,
and then I wished to die
The blue sky is not heaven
It's not the same thing at all
Dear friends.
We often speak of the firmament of yesteryear
By day, the sky is dazzling like an etiolated flower
Dear friends.
Defying gravity is to soar into the heavens
Where at night, stars and asteroids are numerous
It's the dream, it's imaginary impulses
Where we are stunned, amazed and silent.
We are fascinated by extraordinary tricks
The sky isn't really blue, it's an illusion
Man has a way of making inventions
To satisfy his tellurian and planetary curiosities.
P.S. Translation of” Le Ciel Bleu” by Hébert Logerie.
Copyright © September 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Eclipse
without sun
I am etiolated,
enfeebled, bereft
my backbone heavy
and limp,
muscles stale and indurate
from disuse
I try to lift my face,
feel the light,
even the dawn or dusk,
even when fog would cloud my vision
but I cannot move, for
my neck is fixed,
vertebrae seized, locked,
eyes that can do no more
than stare ahead
at this monolith, this
menhir, present since
I can remember
that ages me, leaves me
threadbare and faded,
as a moth-eaten blanket
fails to sustain a warm embrace
so I shiver in the shadow,
ensnared in this eclipse,
this dark moon
that will not detach me
from its bleak orbit
I who am…insipid, vapid bland, inadequate life
My life halfhearted I am uninspired
I am Spiritless in a place of safety refuge
I am for certain, I need,
a deed to land in life and death
How chosen are we
When the blood flows out
Still and solid I am No longer talking
Dead to live be I living
My new home is in the skies
Where I’m alive no longer dead you’re not but I am
No need for heat my God keeps me (safe and warm)
His ever presents how can I be sure ?
When all the time you changed my mind
I asked for more and more
How can I be sure safe, quiet, cozy comfortable in sanctuary?
Secluded withdrawn isolated and safe haven
refuge my sanctuary safe keeping covering me
Preserve yet my cushion life inoculate unworldly securities
Yet still I’m pathetic etiolated blanch reclusive unprivileged
So am I decrease in importance lost significance I’m blench keep safe
11/26/19
Pale shelter Poetry Contest Free verse poetry form only.
Sponsored by: John Hamilton
BLACKBOARD BLUES
I woke up this morning and I had the blues
And the blacks and the Reds and greens whence to choose
In days gone by when boards were black
And teachers weren't wary but on the attack
Chalk was as white as snow filled skies
You could tell a school master by the dust on his flies
But now boards are white and we've ink on our fingers
And the odour of liquor that inculpates and lingers
Use markers that erase and be sure they're never
Permanent and fix your mistakes there forever
You should also remember these pens may be dated
And leave you with writing that's etiolated
With a piece of chalk you would know where you stood
Be it long short or tall it could make its mark good
Then if your mind blanked, went as clean as a whistle
You could turn round, take aim, and launch it as a missile
Last night, the "wolf moon's" crepuscular aura glowed.
A luminous peach orb, it hung in its abode
so spectacularly, that I silently slowed
my weekend walk through the willowwacks, while words flowed,
as molten lava from volcanoes would explode.
Its afterimage was like a handsel bestowed,
bewitching in a pulchritudinous yellowed
radiation that etiolated, 'twas stowed
in the recesses of my mind, an episode,
a pageant suspended in mythopoeic mode,
that called out in its classical clarion code -
thoughts emanating from moonlight, my path had showed.
01/14/17
Summer morning dew
Morning dew fall in summer
on etiolated plants
They eulogize the sprinkle rain
for the blessing he
pore upon them, for he makes
them to stand straight.
He save them from being engulfed by
Yesterday's sun and
enhances them
for another bright day
Sensibility defined by loving emotions,
Thy love blossoms between two souls,
Rewarding both with a red hot hue,
Over the years, the magic begins to fade,
Neither's heart is in the right space,
Growing apart after thy love etiolated,
Hurtful feelings burn in the lover's mindful place,
Emotion enflames them with a life of waste,
Always hurt and stabbed, thy strength of love fades,
Removing their pain with anothers embrace,
The heart is always stronger after love has been displaced.
My mother on a day of marked memory
By this cycling page of history
Gave me then my first nativity
I have no next title to her legacy
That stretches my skin to cover
The etiolated sagging of time
That since childhood over and over
Stripped me of the strict sublime.
I am not deluded by denials ruse
This subtle crawling of grave
Nearer to my impotence to refuse.
I am still, all the rage is in the wave.
Cancer, a mutant cell, a stain on life,
remission can go for years,
and give you some time,
to enjoy your life,
but one day, it rears its crown,
and your finis is on the horizon.
Once you've been diagnosed,
you will never be free,
marked like a permanent stain,
on a shroud of cloth,
your life is etiolated,
and we pray for remission and peace.
Someday, there will be a cure,
a lasting luxuriate that lures,
until that epoch blossoms,
pray for the past one's misfortune,
because before thee perished,
a measure of hell hath they endured!
Razorblade © 2012
SERVITUDE TO PRIDE
See,
Our love that once
Like an inferno burnt,
Now, like an ember smolders,
And beyond kindle by pride has become.
Our psyches by pride wreathed, in loneliness
Our hearts writhe and our mirth into myth retracts.
Without,
A serene heart we feign.
But within, our hearts by dusk of pride
Blinded, for each other grope and to the
Melody of the dirge of our fissured
Hearts pride spitefully dance.
For
A faded memory of you
All night i carouse yet for
Your caress I yearn.
Photographs of you and i, my roses
To you, as a sedative into the mire you threw.
But, how come out of your heart you could
Not throw me?
The
Trees of pride, it is palpable,
A fertile soil in our psyches had found,
And under the arbor of their leafy boughs,
Etiolated our hearts berth and for
Sunshine seek.
My abecedarian fingers
Numb to their recalculations and lexicons
I brush slimly my thumb through each
And clasp myself in fives or nines
It sinks its full weight like an equivocate clasp
One gaucherie to an eldritch comeuppance
A padlock lip nimble and pivoted like sickness
Delicate but ultimately dependent upon timing
The human stomach is a pendulum
I feel mine pulse as cynosure cascaded
I cherish extemporaneous occurances
Empyrean palisades and medications
I collect as a dictator my tintinnabulations
Of etiolated tchotchke and clamp my fistful
Stumpside in the rivulet, Adamic clay bathes
Of my clasping reconnaissance of fives and nines.
Oranate she was with beauty when i first met
was she just another angel to detect my fate?
she was so kind, a devil she would not hate
to send her to this earth god would surely regret
my life is etiolated ive lost my sun
tears and sorrow i've got, no signs of fun
your attitude has given me despair
id have loved you even if i got was stare
my love is as high as the sky
i'll promise my love for you will never die