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Last night’s flame

So high and loud were the screams
At the point of confusion
Many would wish the tension
Was another scary dream.

None cared about documents
The snails became good runners
The chubbies flew like feathers
Choosing breath over wealth.

Dead were the words, wait or freeze
No one cared about naked breasts
Nor for the other ragged dress;
Some forgot their tender kids.

It was dark, though not past ten
At large, no shoes and no socks
So did those with age of rocks
The sick borrowed extra legs.

Gate was slammed with great intense
Multitudes flee from Estate
Leaving the block to its fate
No remorse, and no conscience.

A potential disaster
More than the Devil can chew
Over the roof the fire grew
Even the kids were sprinters

Who wouldn’t run when co-tenant
Whose roof feared to be burning
Were seen halter-scattering
To anywhere but not their tent.

From the point eyes made a frame
No hero nor firefighters
No sands, nor extinguishers
Could put off such thick dark flame.

The overwhelming stampede
Was more like defeat concede
And you wouldn’t comprehend
The things running in our heads.

It wasn’t our blocks on fire,
To send fire in particles
From our harbors and vessels
Aided by winds, fuel and tires.

Approaching the burning flame
Were only a few of us
Whose bravery I didn’t trust
We discovered in our shame….

That accross the estate’s fence
A tall tree, and not the roof
Was on fire, putting it off,
We laughed; but it was intense.

(c) 2021 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Hazel’s Diary: Don’t be scared of the dark

You are our muse, the splendid joy we bear
Caught up in our lives, the love is crystal clear
Before now, to you darkness was never frightening
Neither did you wake up crying over nothing.

Where did you learn to be this scared
I have a message for you… Dear Hazel,
“…If shadows spread tall and wide over at night
It doesn’t mean that it will forever remain like that

Darkest hour is always before the dawn
A spring eternal is how your hope should be drawn
Walk up to us from your room to the parlour
We are your knights in shinning armors

The adage, “Light at the end of the tunnel” is true
And it all begins deep down from you
Laugh and the world would laugh with you
Cry not my dear, all that we got is you.

©2021 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Blurt out

Let the pages fly and spread their wings
Let my spilled inks make millions to think
It is plain and simple, hope it sinks
“All man has his fault”, the song I sing…

Some make angels to cry a river
Wrecking the cake not worth the candle,
I have made words fly off the handle
Like bullets from a trigger finger.

I have made unspeakable remarks
Awful, but to some I am proud of
Like daring heads and shoulders above
To stop picking paper over cracks…

On a wrong foot I might have stood firm
I am sorry it was all my fault
In life, there are few things I regret
But not the words blurted out in poems.

©2021 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

The masses are also the problem

It is no news that the pigs are fat
As a result of the embezzlements
Taking politics as a personal farm
Eating from the labors of the ants…

I haven’t crossed the shores for sure
But I will place a bet, that wouldn’t fret
Or retract, having seen Eagles crawl
Passing piggery genes unto eaglets.

Accustomed to suffering and smiling
Whereas they hold the key to end the pains
Instead, they chose, fixing and buying
Assets for pigs to whom bills and taxes are paid.

©2021 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Let’s not go back to 2020

There was blood between two greens,
After the peace and unity disagreed
The young bloods came out singing
With purpose as they were marching.

The birds hummed promises to fix the error
Yet they changed the name “error” to “terror”
Was it that, the protest had no direction?
Or was it just another, pull them down syndrome?

Answers came from centres that began to tear
Forming thick black fumes in the air
As properties and structures were set ablaze
Insane it was, seeing anyone truly amazed.

Many young bloods came out stretching their claws
In a once peaceful protest turned to war…
Lost was the hope that was left
After the trained turtles sprayed bullets.

Indeed tempos arose, in all directions
The birds announced there would be sanctions
But the rage of terror never ceased
Into the streets, more turtles were lunched

To calm things down, and maybe to shoot again…
In all, the greens and white were in pains
Seeing their characters loss global integrity
As the pawns were out absolutely in disunity

Those who had, and had nothing to lose brought knives
And most behaved like they had nine lives
Beheaded, but survived the many lies
From the birds, who sang, “no pawn ever died”

Politicians are all the same over the world
But for humanity we ought to build great walls
With peace and progress, yet we take a wrong path
Whereas just two Kings in chessboard is a still mate.

©2021 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Hazel’s Diary: Childcare

Childcare is deeper than an affair
You don’t need yours to be aware,
Staring at my own lovely Hazel
Within a moment you will be ensnared

Like a wildfire the affection smears
Spreading all over your head
Unbreakable, it is so clear
I love my daughter Hazel.

Few times really loud she cried
Pouring out those innocent tears
And whenever she finally smiles
I bet you, a broken bone is repaired.

Mom a nurse, most times she ain’t here
To change the diapers and nightwear
T’s not so easy I must swear
While babysitting, I don’t fear…

Other than mom’s more to bear
Hazel and I, got no love to spare,
Though most times it seem so unfair
But that’s what you get being ensnared.

“E’ gwun” and “Da… da…” the first words she ever said
Odd, but indeed none can compare
With Dad’s sweet happy baby girl
“I love you so much”, darling Hazel.

©2021 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

In the hands of the pigs

Down the streets, I see fierce men in blacks
Throwing punches and spraying bullets back
On both the dead guilty and the innocent
From such grief no man becomes a saint…

Down the streets, I pass everyday
There are a lot my eyes see and lips can’t say
If I were to write, I will run out of pages
It has been on since the rock of ages…

I see torn rags, I see fat pigs, I see hawks
I see ugly vultures perking clean rotten foods
I see little ants queueing for shrunken and fat pigs
Though most times the results are rigged…

At the other end where the grasses are green
I see different faces but the same within
For as they wear the authority band
The little ants and gullible expect a hand

A helping hand, but the route to end injustice,
Alongside corruption and malpractice
Causing sufferings to large extent
And institutionalized Government,

Making every under the roof look so dumb
As well as embezzlements in all forms,
Are the same routes fat pigs themselves pass
On a regularly on their way flying first class.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Wonderful Vincent

Around me, there is this solace like a twilight
With intensity like the tropical Sunlight

When I am down, I believe a break of dawn
Would spring forth through the paths my faith has drawn

I believe tomorrow is as beautiful as the stars
Whether the unsaved tears never dries from my eyes

Challenges are mischievous like Satan’s storm fart
But it carves me, into a wonderful piece of art.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Secrets of sprinklers

Watch the company you keep
Sweep fairweather if you can
Let go of an excess weight
Appreciate every wingspan.

Like an iron and the magnets,
Carrots and the rabbits
Attract what wouldn’t pretend
Or hide facts, that your face has dirts.

Most times it isn’t the nudity
But fecundity by another,
Fecundity as in creativity
And ability to grow together.

©2020 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Avoid me

Please stay clear away from me
There are clouds following me
Dark and heavy, whirl and wild.

To the round drawing table
Back I go, when I tumble
Yet I fumble more and more.

Heaven joined, to renounce
Driving me into doghouse
Left to my own devices…

When I fail, I cry and try
But the tears refuse dry
Flushing me back into hell

I no longer take a chance
Since mountain labor gave mouse
As outcome each time I climb

Life has reduced me to tears
People too good, are my fears
So stay clear; away from me.

©2020 http://vinzpoetry.WordPress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu
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