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Spoonful

Just like the cream,
In coffee and teas,
Rises to the top,
In the glass cup…

It is conspicuous
I got a rather die
Hovering around
And over my head.

Do not get it twisted
Behind the dark clouds
The sky is always blue
When they come through…

Like a mother hen
And a mountain gorilla
Underneath the sky
Rivers never runs dry,

Whether bedazzled or not,
It is never by chance
They prepared the ground,
Grounds on which I stand.

At times I wonder,
Why I am so blessed…
I will never bend a lip
For if I were to worship

Any mortal being,
My amazing parents
Would be whom I
Would always lift high…

Don’t get it twisted
I believe in God
And I am grateful
For a heaped spoonful.

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

24 August 1953 (Happy birthday to my dad)

Lawrence Egun Onyeche

A breathe, on me you blew
And gave my pay a dew…
So rare, so not a few;

Blood, yet a friend,
Bond that never bends;
Type that never breaks.

My frame and my elbow
My thick wire and cable
Placed food on my table…

Sixty four more than a number
It marks an unending ladder
You are, truly a born leader

God grant your wishes today
Fail to plan, plan to fail
That’s what you often say,

I am the candle, you gave a flame
You hit the hammer on my nail
There is legacy in your name…

Today; you were a droplet,
Now you are an ocean outlet
Everyone envy your jet…

In sun, you never melt
In ice, you are so warmth
A father, heaven sent

My pride, hands on my chest!
Your voice has an impact
It is forever felt.

Hip, hip… Hurray!!! Happy birthday,
In health, long life to you; daddy
Happy birthday, to you daddy.

Dads’ revolting old 504 automobile

Green, grey, multicoloured automobile
When it rains, it showers on the supposed roofed seats
Floating on water, the wind shield wiper has gone pre history
Crying out to be flung, tilted revolting old 504 automobile

Hotwire ride, giver of the family morning exercise
Did the engine airborne poor witches overnight
Or has the witches dead beaten its efficiency
Always failing break, Dads’ desert warrior and pit combatant

Tires worn, rearview mirror and headlights travelled to exile,
‘Are you blind, get out!’ voices are blown instead of horns
Only if the roads could speak
At the peak of disappointment spiteful is to the throttle cable.

On motion the gust of wind howls and tears
Gushing out dust and muddy sands,
Exhaust attempts hunting the flying birds
Be not frightened by the shrill sound of Dads’ old 504 automobile.

By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka
© 2009 http://www.vinzpoetry.wordpress.com

By Onyeche Vincent Onyeka
(c) 2011 http://onyecheonyeka.wordpress

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