Have you ever met Morta, in the forest,
Then you’ll know, life isn’t short but brief.
Her breath is what iron needs to rust,
All females heart beats, faster than men.
Here we float on her temporary crust,
Praying she is light, with a note or a pen.
Have you seen the heads inside her chest,
Medics are there, she’s everybody’s wife.
Hope she’s a beauty with milky breast too,
Death seductive, cutting the threads of life.
Her body must be large, hot and cold too,
Wired with a blade; from a dreadful knife.
Heaven knows, she’s an inevitable path,
That loves violence, conflicts and strife.
Her admirations are both dull and bright,
She’s a version of bad, domestic, wildlife.
However, she’s good to all beams and ray,
Rotating in clubs, as the life of nightlife.
Home she comes, when the blacks are grey
Then shall there be, a room for all of us.
There’s a girl, at sixteen she’s a bronze,
Twentyfive; she’s a glittering silver in clothes,
Thirty; she’s as valuable as minas of golds
They say, her beauty and halo never folds.
Dam at forty; away she still steals my breath!
Deeply deep down, drowning dock depth,
Daring and violating, my lungs and heart,
Downtown with sexuality of natural fit.
Fifty, she’s an object of great astonishment,
Forever, she is a rising accomplishment
Flowing in Ocean, Sea, Stream and River,
Fluorescing; her presence blows my cover.
Sixtyfold, out of the nice ice cold shower,
She’s still that leaf of my cover and clover,
She’s my passion, red rose and flower,
She’s my crush and emotionally trusted partner.
Seventy; she’s snow white in my cold frost,
Sweet grey, a diamond in my treasure crest
So kneeling to her for a finger ring is no regret,
Since she’s still that rose with a pleasant scent.
Eighty; she tweaks her tenderness of sweet sixteen
Erotically sensational, so sweet and clean;
End to end, I see not through her lovely sight
Especially while reading her mind and heart.
Ninety; she’s still that lovely township girl
Nest of sweet rural pleasantries, hot as hell,
Now we sit, underneath the moon and tell
Nose to the skies, in melodies of jingle bell.
Hundred; she’s my ride home to snowy ice
Huge marginal figure, bride and apple of my eyes,
Honestly; she still have same sound and sight,
Her humour still rocks and shine so bright.
A hundred and fifty; we shall still hug and kiss
As the World spines; and rattlesnakes hiss,
Allowing shadows to know eternal flames
Along this allusion, I shall wish, to see how deep it is.
Author : Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu
We all have our individual chance
To share the ranch or break a branch
When we are put on a very hot spot.
We all have fell down on our knees
Pleading to remain young, wild and free
To our youth and needs, wishes we sent.
We all have love that panders some times
Wondering if we are alone in this universe
Only to get blank, in that awlful moment.
We are in a field, our desire is in a glass
Hopes on fire, sets flames across the grass
Leaving clouds behind, in our heavy heart.
We do know, these things we’ve lost in fire
Are fading in tandems over a rotating tyre
But we wish to know, reasons the ice do melt.
We all have asked, what and why we dream
We’ve held doubts, dubbed faith to cream
Pondering what next, when we all turn ghost.
Candles lit for the past
Brings memories ripped apart,
In solaces, tears on a pillow
Soundless plays the radio
My hopes died in this town;
The moment the flag went down
Half mast by an hero came a dew,
Mentors are great compass for the new;
In solace, on thy bed, thy pray
To make thee more of thy by day.
But these winds from the window
Keeps cleaning thy darkest shadow
Such that thy fierce images and frames
Can’t be lost down memory lanes,
For thy has become an household name
Thy fallen heroes and glory days are same.
Thy sees a dirty flake
On the back
Of a comedy ant,
Or crack nor shake
Thy lovely past.
God gives and take
Wet thy pillows
With tears that choke
But on thy grave,
Don’t breakdown and poke…
We are like a candle wax
We shine and melt
But just incase
I don’t make it back tonight,
Tighten thy lace
And begin thy race.