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The first Beer I drink

The first Beer I drink

It was the school days

Childhood mentality across the way

Before these days

Unintentional sins I had sinned

To them it was a play

After the long time tabled

I feel my soul astray

In the evening; come what way

Sanctity or devilish; rebuke me

For my conscience rebukes be

Straight to hell; all the way

Where tipsy made no say

I was high in my ghostly way

My conscience said I had sinned

My best friend Odiwe said I sinned

I was so scared of what they say.



    By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka

    © 2010 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com


Native Fly: Childish Superstition

Childish Superstition

I played a lot like other teens

Indoors and outdoors soiled my clothes

I got my tooth broken

In childish combats and play.


Up my little cranium, I closed eyes

Crying bitterly, I backed the walls

Then threw the wrecked tooth

As the crow flies to the rooftop


Curious and frighten

That it may be eaten

By birds, lizards and all

I prayed to God for a guard.


“If eaten by birds it will never grow!

So I sang good songs, to the birds.

Then; brothers and sisters were young

Fathers and mothers old; friends and I were all teen.


To be intelligent;

Cocoanut juice dare not drink

Play on kids but for your mothers’ sake

Dare not draw lines along the streets; by dragging sticks.”



By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka

© 2010 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com



In line 8, ‘As the crow flies’: stands for straight. That is; “then threw the broken tooth straight to the roof top”


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Childish superstition is all fun. Then we were told that when we break a tooth, we shouldn’t just throw it anywhere. We were asked to cast it to the rooftop. And when doing that we endeavoured to close our eyes. If not the broken tooth would never grow. There was this childish false notion that drinking the juice from cocoanut shell would make us (little children) unintelligent so we ate only the milky part. We were also told that if we drew lines with sticks as we ran by the road, our mothers’ breast would grow to long.



Hey cumbersome love affair

Pin your ears back it’s not fair

You parachute the love affair

Hiding the truth, the aircraft is dire

Lost in nowhere

Your legs are neither here nor there

Listen to the preacher

What goes around comes back around.



By Onyeche Vincent onyeka

© 2010 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com

Basis of a parachutist

Miss ebony and fair

It is true it is you, but

I love to see you go

From the sky I jump, awkwardly

With my parachute

And without you carefully I land.


It is not that you are ugly or

Augustus was a chubby lad but

It is my uncontrollable love

That fills my hankie with tears

It is true it is you, but

I’ll feel no affection for my blood

Pretend my sister or let’s be just friends.

It is true it is you, but

With you I may miss my parachute cord

And my silk fabric will gather no air.


Now I hate to be on my own

But I prefer to see me alone

I don’t want to be left with words like

‘If I had my way I’d tear the building down’.

For Samson had a Delilah

And Adam got Eve.



    By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka

        © 2010 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com

Fatal: ‘MS. ONYECHE’

Fatal: ‘MS. ONYECHE’



Doctors mirror out same results

Family dwell in awkward quiets

Night so cold, slow like snail steps

Days are awaken with past memoirs

So painful to watch you go.


Doctor’s epics in white stay alive

Children modifying nostrils size like Elephants

Growl, snorting, and roaring, cry everyone’s tears

No more new toys for the wide-Parlor floor

So painful to watch you go.


Doctor’s epic, hidden is the truth

Hopeful for recovery you sit and lie

Unaware, essence of time is making no sense

Children cry, if God would alter, trading the tears

For it so painful to watch you go.



By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka

© 2010-08-03 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com



An acclamation to an Aunt; Sister, Mother, and Grand Mother: MRS. EUNICE ONYECHE. Since the month of June in 2010, it was diagnose that she had an incurable gravy cancer. People around her knew the truth ‘INCURABLE’ but to her she continues with medication hopeful for improvement.

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