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Witchery Folklores

When there is an extra day
In February so to say
Disasters comes in the year
With folklores we never lear…

Most business in our world
Comes home with the spoils of war
We rejoice while thanking God
Forgetting we raised our sword.

As soon as the tide and flood
Makes our sail so rough and bad
We often point our fingers
As we cry us a River.

In the midst of our fears
We conceptualize our tears
That they are pricked by bad birds
Making profits on our heads.

And from the spoil of our breads
They flap wings and turn clean
Like vultures that they are
All the way home from afar.

Their sharp ears hear; so we lie
And refuse to knee and cry
Forward gazing from oak trees
They are busy like the bees.

©2017 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Macbeth’s fall


Macbeth was someone I liked
Aspiring with magic wand
He sat on a stolen throne,
Surrounded by magnetic field
That turned him into a clown
So he renews charms as shield
Gushing tears in clan and crown.

Macbeth was someone I liked
Dukes were safe, until they found
Blood and guts, with tears that rust
In heart of unending greed
Ambitious like sauce so sweet
Replacing seeds with wild weed
Yet clans yell, all hail Macbeth.

Macbeth was someone I liked
Karma couldn’t just be blind
But recreate tragic event
On the royal staff and ward
So the golden forces retract
From black owls center bred
That was when; things fell apart.

©2017 Vinzpoetry.wordpress.com
Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu

Eyin-Nta

Eyin-nta, Eyin-nta
A tree witches don’t perch on
From as far as a child’s parent great grandparents
Standing rigid on the sands of thy fathers
Looking ordinary way beyond its protections
Mulish to all the evil acts and suggestions
Mystic says: witches don’t perch on it.

Eyin-nta, Eyin-nta
Spreading branches wide and long
On it, only god-birds sings a song
Sunny or rainy: its leaf drops
Like tears and sweat drops
From its fierce elastic stems
Mystic says: witches don’t perch on it.

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