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Native fly: Grandma’s Pot

Oh what more do I crave
Than a delicious soup,
Awakening my kindred spirit.

Any time, I see or taste
An u’juju soup made
From veronica comforter

It always takes me
Back in time; remembering
My grandmother’s pot.

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

Love of a palm wine tapper

A palm wine tapper
Goes an extra mile
Climbing; risking it all
For the love and joy.

He understands pain
And makes the most
From cuts flowers
Of a palm tree…

He doesn’t hate
But improves tastes,
By fermenting
Giving sap a life.

Even when trees fall
He understand all
And extract tears
Into kegs of life…

He immortalizes
The names of trees
And kills fear
In souls that taste.

Dear, if you wish
To die for love
Don’t die in arms
Of a rich man…

Yes, he loves you
But soon as you ghost
Activities would,
Make him erase you.

Don’t die in hands
Of a poor man too
His mentality
Would drag you to mud.

But like a writer
A palm wine tapper
Would bring you to life
Like he does the fallen trees.

© 2018 https://vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Go away! Get lost!

Hey…! enough of the on and off
No more switch, no more jagged knife
Take it far away from my life…
Including words that made me fall
Take the sweet cherries, take them all,
Enough of being just your sex doll.

Spreading my knees, chest you shove
Mounting on me your weight in clove
Mumbling aloud; I love… love… love
Grabbing my waist like pillows
Thrusting and banging my window
Ejaculating moaning; I love the limbo…

Not sooner comes the creamy milk
You remove your long joystick
Then zip up and away you walk
To return when you want another wreck
And after drilling into my body lake
You tell me; “babe, let’s take a break”.

Hey…! enough of the on and off
No more switch, no more jagged knife
Take it far away from my life…
Including words that made me fall
Take the sweet cherries, take them all,
Enough of being just your sex doll.

©2018 http://www.vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Tone: Unloved Love Poet


I know of a Poet
So gifted in his craft
But can not write poems
Subject on passion
Or with theme of love
Outside notes and pen.


His verses always smile
Whereas his heart cries
And tears separates
Lines written by blood
Dropping as the inks
With tone cool and calm.


His good choice of words
And imagery,
Like fountain of youths
Often restores health
And thus portrays him
As the king of joy…


Audiences gives applause
To the sweet, perfect
Well structured form,
Of joyful feelings
Dancing in the inks
Of his filtered words.


But he is solo
Riding in the art
Of his perfection
Blood gush inside him
Tears burst within him
But he writes love poems.


©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Retiring Poet

If I am to stop writing poems today
I must make sure, I have written
About love, and my unending love
For the unquestionable nature
And an unequivocal culture we share.


I must make sure, I have written
About the identity of human being
The true beautiful African skin
And the attractiveness of all races
That thus grace this small world.


I must make sure, I have written
Praising God and the deities served
For creating things pure and clean
With sexuality to reckon with
As a true phenomenal being.


I must make sure, I have written
All of the memories in my head
Wealth in knowledge and in pockets
Of the family I carved out from it
Down running time; called history.


I must make sure, I have written
About the politicians and politics
The bold lies they love to tell
And the unshamed long nose
That led to many self discovery…


I must make sure, I have written
All about the innocence of a dove
The experience of the sun and rain
And the misunderstand conflicts
And the reasons no one burry hatchets.


I must make sure, I have written
About the realities we term death
And the fake deceits of life
Why male chauvinism hurt wife
Holding spoon we see as jagged knife.


©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Poem’s Poetry Poet


In the belly of an art
Mixing great stuffs in sounds or sight


Poems are but a pool of blood
That flows from umbilical cord.


In labour room with midwives
Pushing out an entire new life


Poetry is a mother’s vein
A melting pot with so much brain


Shedding for the lo and hi
Whispering please stop, with a sigh


While the Poet is a mother,
Carrying all; relentlessly.


©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

A symphonic poet


With an objective lens
You sit on the fence


Detesting harmony
All find so amazing


Your chest has no beat
Your flights have no feet


There are many twist
In your music gist


Snorting noises of snore
And a lions roar


Are symphonic poems
You write in solemn.


©2018 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

#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.

Talking to myself

Title: Talking to myself
Authour:Onyeche Vincent Onyeka

Keywords:

Africa, I, Life, Success And Failure


Theme: Self-Motivation
Contact: WhatsApp (+2347081613455)  Instagram @nyekyvinpella


Hey! I know you are me, from the block
Same black leather, same soil and rock;
But I so don’t get it, in fact you suck…
All I want is a good reward and luck.

Hey! dear me, you are my only limitation
And obviously, my band of admiration;
Swinging from the ink of imperfections;
Scrawling from my mixed reactions.

Hey! I’m talking to you, put me in mind
As you seek intelligence, don’t be blind;
If it grows before it falls, then it is pride
Don’t be overambitious, make me proud.

Hey! life isn’t about bouquet of flowers
Neither about the toilets and showers;
Flushing and cooling my burning desire,
So perk me with an unquenchable fire.

Well good poetry will nourish your heart
Should love melt down, turn off the heat,
Right the wrong, as my defending knight;
Honor and remission; are the ways out.

We have seen through the lies and truth,
Did you plant this troublesome root…?
Don’t waste our carrots on a rabbit’s sight
To make it see clearer than an rivalry cat.

Wisdom isn’t all about going to schools
But about proper use of available tools;
Success isn’t about a perfect pull through
So don’t be scared to fall, dare to rise too.

We should be known, you are my kind,
Spirit and soul, I am your thinking mind;
Hello dear; just dare me, to my dire need
So I set it off, before I leave, this life I live.


By Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu


Out door vinz

Vinzpoetry.wordpress

Vinz & a childhood friend

Vinz & a friend

Vinz and friends

Curious Vinz

Vinz as a Reseacher

VinX

Passionate Vinz

African VinX

Vinz on his chess board

Vinz and very close friends

Vinz the Poet

Vinz and Friend since childhood

Vinz as a Biochemist

Vinz Research

Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Unveiling her (16th Sunday)

Do you remember the African lady
I once said her beauty never dies?

She brings me comfort, by the bay
She is my sweet sanctuary lane;

I love her not for her gorgeousness
But because of who she is…

She is the cathedral of my soul
Compelling me to eternal flame;

She is my sugar, she is my fame,
She is my pleasure, she is my pain;

She is my lightening, she is my bulb
She is my pride in this affection job

She is my friend, sister, mother and twin,
Unveiling her, for she is my thick and thin

Evil and her can’t dwell in a sentence
She is my key and she is my lock

She is my celibacy changing status
She is my wife from April the 16th sunday.

Author: Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu
(C) April, 2017.

Dedicated to my sister (Onyeche J. Ify) who weds next Sunday (April 16th, 2017).

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