The Monarchs.

Photo source

Summer’s scorching reign was over, and the world finally became a stage for the succeeding princess. High hopes were held of her and the events of her coronation as documented in a lost journal reads;

As the sun crowned autumn,

with a fitting tiara bathed in gold,

whistling winds blew their bagpipes,

tree twigs swayed softly in the melodious aura,

and lush leaves fell fatuously

in deference to her majesty;

Alas, not all subjects agreed to bend the knee,

for they feared the land’s drought may never cease,

and how did the new queen respond?

Well, she sicced her soldiers on them.

Cheemnonso™

Ode to Music

I’ve seen the colour of music;

yellow like a budding sunflower,

with blotted petals clothed in tumeric;

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I’ve treaded her country, so idyllic;

where love and lust tastes sweet and sour,

and the dreams bequeathed inspire moments of magic;

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I’ve heard her melody, so angelic;

easing my nightmares in the darkest hour

as the crickets chirp a solemn panegyric;

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and when I feared my world grew paralytic,

with pain urging me to cower,

she became a soothing analgesic;

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Alas, the tale she tells can sometimes seem cryptic,

as her throbbing pulses conceal its true power,

and her wordings can sometimes be toxic,

like a fierce fanged hound geared to devour;

still, I’ll forever be in awe of her alluring mystique,

for she has given me a thousand reasons to stay poetic.

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Cheemnonso™

A Letter to Humanity. (Free Verse)

Dear humanity,
I write this to ask you,
How did we drift so askew,
to the point where
the vain is inanely adored,
and the sane is insanely abhorred?

Why do the colours that make rainbows smile
and give the auroras her alluring style,
no longer ignite beauty sparks on faces,
but smear the tracks of individual races?

Why do we worship the elitists
at their altar of greed,
but ignore the sinister cysts,
sprouting on those in need?

Why do we still play the game called fame,
whilst our high-scores keep putting us to shame?

When did everyone suddenly become so fickle,
leaving us to trust only the Reaper’s thrusting sickle?

If you’re reading this, I need some answers,
I really do,
because the world slowly sinks into hate’s murky gutter,
and I need to know how to keep my head above water.

Regards,

Cheemnonso

Amara. (Panegyric)

Sitting in the back pew,

within walls shrouded in lew,

I beheld this wonderful creature,

with a smile belighting all of nature;

Her skin knitted in fine threads of gold,

unspooling from looms in Midas’ hold,

and her tress flowing like the river Rhine,

in ways so slithery, so serpentine;

Alas, my heart’s chalice yearned a fill,

but I feared it may drown in its overspill,

so, there I sat ogling away,

hoping to have this dream another day.

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Cheemnonso™

The Genesis. (Villanelle)

Here comes the dawn of a new year,

and the heavens echo, my friend:

withering flowers will bloom, sad hearts will cheer.

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and we shall not cower in fear,

in times when ripples need be amend,

because here comes the dawn of a new year.

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a little odd some days may appear,

a little low we beings may descend,

but, withering flowers will bloom, sad hearts will cheer.

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remove the mask, burn the veneer,

for upon ourselves we may depend,

because here comes the dawn of a new year.

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and as we go, bleak may seem the atmosphere,

with each road posing a dead end,

yet, withering flowers will bloom, sad hearts will cheer.

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For we shall dream less and toil more, my dear,

and the fruits we reap, we may not comprehend,

because here comes the dawn of a new year,

where withering flowers will bloom, sad hearts will cheer.

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Cheemnonso

Cliffhanger

It’s been eons since you left,

but, your perfume still lingers in the attic;

the sun sleeps,

the dark creeps,

and as each day passes,

our past evanesces,

now, memories of you are

as thin as a knife’s edge,

and the more I cling unto them,

the more I bleed out,

so, it’s time I let go.

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Cheemnonso

Happy Birthday

That moment when the hands of time stood still,

beknownst to me, a salient star is born,

brimming with joy from her head to her heel,

in a world prepossesed in angst and scorn;

I saw her for who she was to become,

not even a single sane soul could compare,

with her beauty rendering Aphrodite numb,

and her mien as cold as Medussa’s stare;

Fifteen seeds festooned in her garden by God,

fifteen years it took the first to germinate,

umpteen fruits harvested from thy first pod,

umpteen souls her Midas touch will make sate;

Really pleased blood strangled us with its ties,

leaving us with good times and not goodbyes.

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Cheemnonso ✍️✍️