Last designation: Leaving Home
Not just taking coffee and tea
But I shall like to get on-board and see
On or above the sea,
The equilibrium power of the spring
And feel the snow flakes
From the mute eye sky, as it leaks.
Journeying from villa to Obodo-oyibo; Smiling at my skin and changing flags
For ears heard so much of the sky.
The whites are good
Don’t get me wrong if I turn MJ
For we are all one in different hood.
Love to see from a closer range
The milky, bluesy and rainbows sky
And so it shall be when leaving home.
From that day onwards,
Lightning and thunderstorm scare me not.
Novices I’d once be. But,
The birds and gravity secrets I’ve known
All borrowed customs and traditions
Call me globalization.
From the soil I sow
My kindred shall be born with a silver spoon
Working smart and not hard
I pray they break not the silver cord from home
Please bid me bye, when I will be leaving home.
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Don’t Call Me Mad: A Perfect World
Imagine a faultless world
All Titans no odds
Ugly is a lost word
No rural but urban well-born
All hairs are auburn and
Braided bun not bunches
All men are heir apparent
And women heiress
Equality to fat thumb and little finger
Everyone are masters no follower
All that breathe are dictators and sinew
Anew would love the imagination to continue…
Reality is to castle built on air
Ceasing distress, recklessness are walled
No free space for magma to work
Nor crawl if snoozing volcano arouse
Bated, all matters shall turn wombat and kangaroo
Armed, in their pouch they shall protect their kindred
No striving, please be ready to starve to death
I forgot,
Trees shall grow tall
And fail to fall
A perfect world
What a war…
A world life would ask of
Where privilege would be thankful
To God
Him we shall see not his rod,
A world where a father sins
Shall be to him alone, yes ’tis his
Why curse his seeds?
A world where righteousness shouldn’t attract a Job
Assorted and unique, time would be haggis
Rain and sun shall shower
To flourish–Day-and-night shunning all hitch
Do God want this mild dish?
Science, technology, biblical and fetish
So many parish hands spoil the dish
Frankfurter, Weeny-weenie out of the perfect world
What a war…
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Tale Of A Wife : Mermaid
She’s a
Mermaid; most modest,
Like the diamond to dirt
Her beauty is but hidden.
The picture frame of gorgeous
If beauty were to be judged
She would lie continuously as the case.
Dark Nigerian, She’s a
Mermaid; most modest
Swimming to the deepest
With long hairs,
Innocent stare
And beautiful smile.
The beautiful one her mum ever born;
She has got men fishing,
Wishing she’ll
Be visible
On or off the sea
She has got this thing called a C
Unashamed well-built chests,
Plywood tummy and eye-searching navel.
She’s a beauty to behold
As a story unfold.
She’s like a
Mermaid; most modest,
An Ika girl finer than an ocean queen,
Some say she’s a secret holder
Of a smooth virgin leg.
Finest mammal,
purest
in exile with her
Is like being at home
She is the summary
of an eye-catcher
and mind-shaker.
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Proliferation (Family Conflict)
Our childhood fool-around
A wiry course
Curse thrown at each other
Had a lexis we didn’t mean.
Foes molested me
Hard you fought for me
My family and only true friend
I didn’t dream of an end.
When love was time
You said to me
Go get her
Then it wasn’t overrated.
Same flour we mixed
Same plate we licked
Same floor we swept and slept
Creative clay playmate I always felt.
Tortoise and stories
Together we got into troubles
Face down, sorry you said,
When I was wiped to bed.
In a keg party, intoxicated,
You threw away my drink keg
And backed me home by leg
Not anymore; health you always beg.
Time dashed wrinkles with hatred
Diabolic-shots on same-blood
Caused by sandy land
Vanity wealth inheritance
All these are mere jealousy
Brothers, sisters
We were best of family and friends
What has come in-between us?
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Slow Enough
Gorgeous hardcover….
Longtime hard-lover.
Little beaver
Impressive diva
Potent dilemma
My deadly fever.
Isn’t life fast enough to know love?
All my tears, I cry.
I try to impress love
I try to suppress pain
Love is fast and too big
To fall………………..
Behind my very short legs on a race contest
Or trace the lines of my cold tears on my chin.
Grace,
Fast and slow,
Unintentional Lies
You say to love.
Phony, low and high
Untrue slow devotion
Mutely saying no to fondness,
Hot to weakness,
Coolly to fake beds, ghostly forever more
All my tears, I cry.
By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka
© 2010
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Don’t Call Me Mad: Sin in Gene
My ancestor’s gene is bad,
O what a sin
Committed, I inherited,
Running after them,
With the sense of music and ear,
Same evil I do.
Doctrines expect good in me,
O what a task
Failed, not my making; why trait?
Obeying chromosome,
Like computer to instructions,
Same evil they did.
Give everyman a different trait,
O hear me lord
Surely, like thumb-print
I swear,
If I sin,
A different evil I do.
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Death and Earth
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By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka
© 2009
Comment |
The use of imagery is highly tactical here, “Death” stand for a male (his), and also dirt. |
Also, Dust (Female; her) and Pain represented Earth. |
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Confinement
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Tell mama ‘worry not’; it’s no Usāmah ibn Lādins’ attack. |
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Raise the mast high for the coming upshot. |
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Fate fades when he comes like tsunami disaster |
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‘Romeos’ and Juliets’ ‘ anchor the Yacht; celebrate when the titanic ice fail |
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Globed-belly, behind walls, kicking the walls |
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Desperate to put to death his mission |
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Confine; feeds on mamas’ meals leasing no starvation. |
By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka
© 2009
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Brain box
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Never too small to contain everything |
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Money is made from its labor |
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A combination of nature and nurture |
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The producer of a frame capture |
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The warden of honor |
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Pays price for the future |
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And varies by different passion |
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Yet similar in fashion |
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Birds use its’ instinct |
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Man operates with its’ institute |
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Some are so productive |
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Others wonder how they excel |
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The small box might be wrecked |
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By those who use it excessively |
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Genius comes from its efficiency |
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Mr. Terrorist burns its effigy |
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As time runs by, experience it obtains |
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Old age comes some memories are lost |
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Never too small to contain everything |
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I wonder if it got an exact size |
By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka
© 2008
e-Paper Poetry of Vinx 