Ghazal: Never love me (3)
I long to tell you;
I really love you,
But the love is few
And lost in a dew…
Never love me too.
It’s crystal clear
As the heart tear
It’s uneasy to bear
No deaf can hear
Never love me dear.
You gave me pain
No trace of gain
Demanding a grain
Come sun and rain
Never love me again.
My love travelled
From end to end
While it blend
On a broken bed
Love me not, my friend.
–Vinz (2017)
(C) Vinpoetry.wordpress.comTo a lady who should… NEVER LOVE ME.
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Ghazal : Never love me (2)
I climbed the hills;
On bare broken feet
Talking mutely to myself.
… You never loved me.
Hope you understand;
The pains I withstoood
Not just Literally
But also figuratively.
Love can’t just swell
It’s mutual as-well;
Now it is a noun to me
… You never loved me.
–Vinz (2017)
(C) Vinpoetry.wordpress.comTo a lady who should… NEVER LOVE ME.
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Ghazal: Never love me (1)
To a lady who
Should never love me
I understand you;
You understand too
I once had
A message for you.
It’s really so hard;
My eyes rained so bad
Eachtime but
You failed to listen.
You never love,
… You never loved me.
I threw the fingers;
I made lot of signs
Demonstrating
A love so true…
I longed to tell you;
I really loved you,
But then you were
So deaf to hear.
You never love
… You never loved me.
–Vinz (2017)
(C) Vinpoetry.wordpress.comTo a lady who should… NEVER LOVE ME.
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Jasper
It was June’s twenty seventh day
In twenty seventeen, so to say…
Night was cold for a soul to pray
In grave silence, heads were laid.
I heard a bark, so low and slow
In my slumber, it was a big blow
I did wonder, as the sleep flow
Into shadows silence did grow.
Shortly after, the low sound
Another sound was heard
Still in slumber, I mumbled
For few hours, I stretched.
I walked outside, only to see
Jasper lying still wet as a sea
With thick ticks escaping to flea
From its drying bloodstream.
It was June’s twenty seventh day
In twenty seventeen, so to say…
Night was cold for a soul to pray
In grave silence, Jasper did lay.
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A plea for help
Somebody please help me
I’m the mechanical engines
Rotating on nervy wheels
For any Henry and Percy
To ride me straight to hell.
Somebody please help me
I taste like the hard ciders
In gallons of skunk liquors
I am a poisonous perry
Whose portion rings a bell.
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Ghazal: Revenge
Revenge!
I don’t care
How it’s served.
Revenge!
Slow, swift
Or sweet.
Revenge!
Common dish,
Excruciating wish
Revenge!
Delebrate
Death opener.
Revenge!
Broken ice
Eye for an eye
Revenge!
Is a world
Full of blind people.
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#4 Poetry: Sonnets of Breathe
Written or spoken
In places or things
Contrarily uneven
It is by poets
But by default,
Everyone is
Born a poet.
Poetry is breathe
Everyone breaths,
As life unfolds,
With rhythm,
Rhymes and beats
Poetry is breathe,
Life we breath.
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#16 lines: Inestimable
She is an erratic princess
A beauty never witnessed,
A sporadic soft babe
Not meant for any Abe.
She is an intermittent lady,
A wonder in the galaxy.
Uncommon, none can pay
She shines at night and day.
She is an inestimable stone,
Precisely a treasure to own.
Hating her kills a star,
Loving her pretty scar.
She is a strain of gorgeous
Her beauty is so intense,
Scarce and raw intelligence
Inestimable is her existence.
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#3 Poetry: Drips
Poetry is a lovely drippage
From the eaves of the heart
Leaking to a pretty drain,
An evocation of feelings;
Poetry is like, a drop of rain.
Gathering a wreath of smoke
Revolving around the clouds
With lots of connecting links
Good for the steel and weakness;
Poetry is like, a drop of rain.
Drizzling slim, round and fat,
Each drop swell a desert eye
Of an owl, blind bat and cat,
Breezing from the windy sky;
Poetry is like, a drop of rain.
A to Z, silent and sound,
It is hot, cold, low and loud
Making most of attention
Felt in lively expression;
Drizzling in drips like a rain.
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#2 Poetry: Full of life
Photograph of Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu
Shut your eyes back to sleep
Free your mind, pain will drop
Poetry has lot of trip.
Like a nose underneath
An armpit, with a smell
Poems can’t hide as-well.
Poetry is such a sound
A note so low and loud
It is golden if found.
Most times a ranting tweet
Often with turn and twist
But always full of spirit.
It is an expressive fist…
It is a rich-mans feast
Not only poets want of it.
An animated conversation
A charismatic expression
And a vital demostration.
Poetry is quiet and quite
Energetic, lots of light
Charismatic, full of life.
