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Sonnets: Sucking her breast

When a mother carries her child
She carries him like a treasure found.

Picture me, giggling, all that time
When I was little; yes, she is mine.

Restless I was, guess she knew it
Hence, she striped herself so I have it

Private and public demands; ah
Was I a child who abash her?

No pride in starvation, I guess
Why sit on my tod as does the guests?

Pinching jaws, my claws meant no harm
On my bottom, resting on her arms

Against her breast, I couldn’t buck
As a baby, all her milk I sucked.

©2019 http://Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Her million strides

Many mistakes may be made
But none permanently fades
If we eternally fail to recall
Sources of our umbilical cord…

Our ecclesiastic and our only bank
Our mother whose drain we drank
Along the aisle of these tall trees
No piece of cake blew like a breeze.

We never begged stew for jellof
Though thoroughfare was tough
And rough, all she gave was enough
For us to never forget the buffs …

While our mates were after the saps
She showed us how to climb and tap
From both boughs and boughless trees
That was how, she geed us to hills.

Pictures may not show the lagoon
She jumped to bring home the bacon
All these years of million strides
She gave us an impeccable ride

Not fast wagons, nor the jumbo jets
But all her sweats, bloods and strengths
If we eternally fail to recall all she did
Then we must be impractical indeed.

©2018 http://Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

SUBMITED TO SAMSON ABANNI POETRY CONTEST

Supermom

I have a mother like no other
She is the greatest thing since sliced bread
Just believe me and do not bother
To hide creepy acts from my mother.

Yes, my amazing dad may see faster
But my mother would look deeper
In between every lines she shall read
Spotting errors that makes us wonder.

A bag of breathe and flowing blood but a drone
Every day she multitask, just to care for the home
She shreds herself like a soap and its foam
Cooking, feeding for us, even while on phone.

What will the kids eat next, in her head questions roam
She is a supermom, in all coners of our home
Making her children sit on throne
As a man among men, now and when they are grown.

©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Bumps to birth

It is in womb breathe edifies
Lion to cubs, and fish to fries
Love then grows in mothers eye
All day and night, she often cry.

To succumb pain she did comply
To change of shapes, arm and thigh
Just to bring forth butterflies
Onto these world of cover sky

The milk build up to never dry
Belle bump shows like stained dye
Result from humps starts to fly
Foetus kick, God be glorified

For her child, she may choose to die
Until it crawls, jump and fly
Thou shall never falsify
A mother’s true love for her child.

©2017 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

My mother knew

Verse I

I am a child
My mother held
My siblings hand

She did not sleep
When we were sick
She snake her lips

Till we were heal
On her soft ribs
Our heads we rest

She gave safe sighs
Guiding the trips
Of our eclipse.

Verse II

The homes we went
She bats an eye
We dare not eat,

From plates or flakes
Nor cakes they baked
Her gaze pushed brakes…

It had these stop
Hey, close your trap
Or open the wrap…

Hot ice disrupt
My mind corrupt
At staring shop.

Verse III

In silent nopessssss
My blathered hopes
Made the hills slope

To places of yes
Until or else
She tasted the sauce.

The frown I drew
The tricks I threw
To all my clues

For tasty stew
My mother knew
The old and new.

Motherhood

Poetry is in all and sundry
From the moment of entry
Into eggs, bumps and wombs
Till placenta is discarded by midwives.

Round the clock, on a mother’s hand,
Is an innocent looking child
Crying,  so sad like the world
Is about to come to an end.

She pets and worries all night,
She stretches her breast out
Then the child drinks and rest
On her heavenly milky chest…

She bathes and clothes her pretty child,
She is a designer, nurse, therapist, 
And teacher, teaching the toddlers
How to talk, crawl and run.

Dusty flu comes and grabs her child
Using her sweet lovely honey mouth
She sucks and sniffs the catarrh out
From the nose of her innocent child.

Under her shadows, her child gets shaded
When hiding from the hot burning rays..
The love of a mother for her child
Is an old story that never dies.

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