Home » Poems » Peter Onyancha » Armed With Wine

Armed With Wine

I swing into action
Armed with wine 
The spirit willing, really for anything
Watch the Drama

Fire in my eye, dry throat, cracking lip
I stammer a little, with Socratic confidence 
I am stinking of words, ammunition from hell
Most haunting jargon, charging and burning
Listen, you mortals
The making of a warrior, Galloping commando
I tremble with tenor, who shall call the media?
Write the headline, Front page fury 
A tribute to the King, the King of my Party 
He insulted you, hiccup

When I reached the spot, he was missing
I waited, but I kept stoking my anger
	
Rehearsal now

How dare you, calling my party King a thing?
A thing, I hear myself roar...

I held the image of him in the air, like a thing
Who do think you are? Facial expression
Oh, Master-steps of Black Belt heroes
I do an upper cut to the air, hiccup
A Shotokan swarm of tornados, Samurai
Confucius lecture of blows,
     “i-Ichi” for One, 
     “n-Ni” for two, 
     “s-San” for three, 
     “s-Shi” and more till “ju” for ten
I fling stuff to the air, I tear space 
With a spell of my claws, Summon Armageddon 
Shred him and scatter his pieces
On the floor, Breathing out
A one man army, Full fanged brigade 
      -	the power of imagination

I fell to the left and let an orgiastic yell 
	Blackout
	You broke the collar bone, says the doc
	You breached the rule, says the cop
	You lost the code, says the boss
	You are a sheep, says the Bishop

My crest has fallen like Ozymandias
My wine is gone, my bone is gone
My white collar too, and the spirit evaporated
I hear the echoes of my fiancée’s heels
She carries the empty bottle, I left behind
The charmeuse wedding gown on the right
Sore eyes and washed hands
She stares at me like a crossword puzzle
On bended knee, next to my breath
Her lip only speaks 
      I told you, did I not?
      Our boho vibe wedding is tomorrow
      They blessed your dickey-bow and my tiara 
      The cathedral is busy
I am Sorry, I say, this time for real...

What shall the Bishop say, when you wail in jail
Your workmates know, you lost the Job
They too, returned the cards
The Bishop lost hope, returned the cross
      Now
You expect me to wait, for you, for life?
You may now kiss the bribe
What you have spewed together
Nun shall put asunder!

      Her footsteps fade to the convent
      Forbidding our Covenant

What remains, I want to bargain again
But the writing is plain, the train has left
With the bestman too

Tell me
Does the King know this?
The King of My Party!

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.