Best Oma Poems
The first magical breath of life,
Such a tiny bundle of joy to behold.
Proud and ecstatic Mom and Dad,
Tears of joy from Oma, Grandma, and Papa.
Constant wonder with the growing years,
This child so sensitive and so caring.
Any loss of life bringing a deluge of tears,
Streaming profusely from those delicate blue eyes.
And then, meeting the love of his dreams,
A beautiful and thoughtful wife, and her dear family.
Soon, the first magical breath of life again,
Such a tiny bundle of joy to behold.
Proud and ecstatic Mom and Dad,
Tears of joy flowing from this loving family.
The happiest time of all.
Yet, a dark, menacing cloud looms everywhere.
Suddenly, a call to serve our great country;
So quickly thrust into the jaws of a senseless war,
Into the chaos of a vicious, lawless, and distant world,
This new father--so young, sensitive and unprepared.
Superheroes cannot be found in sports,
Or the movies, books, or politics.
They are men and women much like our son, Kevin,
Who will stand and fight-- spirit and soul,
With a heartfelt belief in the American dream.
Categories:
oma, war, mom, joy, life,
Form:
Free verse
NNEM AMAKA
Nnem amaka,
Nnem bu udala mmicha,
Ukwu nwanyi Owerri;
O bu ihe madu nile na eri.
Nnem bu ukwu nnu na mmanu anu.
Ezigbo nwayi oma na ala ezigbo,
Pino-pino nwa na ala igbo,
ukpara na eti mmanwu.
Obukwa kpakpandu elu igwe,
Utara dachiri olu umuokoro ma ha
Furu ya na anya nke ukwuu.
Nnem bu onwa na etiti na ala igbo,
Osuofia ezigbo na ala Nkporo.
Elu igwe nke ato ndi madu na
Ele anya ka nwa nke chukwu.
Nnem bu ude ocha, nnem amaka.
Nnem makarachara mmuo miri nma;
Pino-pino nwa na ezigbo.
(C) John Chizoba Vincent
Voice Of Vincent 2016
Categories:
oma, africa,
Form:
Blank verse
Some things are lost along the line
Some things, beautiful and fine
Driving down the lone road to the stream in my hamlet
It’s like yesterday; like catching birds from their nest
I giggled as I drove by
Mothers breast feeding babies and singing lullaby
Naked boys rolling condemned tires, and
Ripped virgins with little cloths coverings, as attires
I giggled as I drove by. It’s just like yesterday
I remember Jerome and others as we gathered to play
There was the moonlight rendezvous
Where we all gathered, boys, and girls, all of us
There was the tales by the moonlight,
Ancestral heritages, sacrifices and the Lion’s might
The Lion’s might, yet he falls beneath the crafty tortoise
I still can hear the choruses; I hear my youthful voice
I loved folklore songs. Wars songs for strong sons
Let me try seeing if I can still sing one more;
Yes! I still can sing “Omalingwo”
Omalingwo, Omalingwo tee …… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo nwam…… Omalingwo
Omalingwo, Omalingwo dia …… Omalingwo
Nne nei di na Otutu-aja-o………..Omalingwo
Elikwue ma yu atuna ngwo ji ……Omalingwo
Ngwo, ngwo onye oma………….Omalingwo
My God, I feel new!
I can still sing it! Oh God I knew!
Omalingwo! Story of the child of a deprived mother
Jealous king’s wives over ready for murder
Murder and deprivation if that will give them a son
To sit on the king’s throne and shine forth like the sun
Story of good over evil. Omalingwo!
A deprived mother’s son.
I giggled as I drove along,
Remembering my tiny breasts, when they formed
And more fortunate girls laughing me to scorn
I remember these things till sadness beclouded me
I am fully grown now; nostalgia overshadow me
My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
We can’t assemble again, just like broken pot in pieces
Oh! The Eve’s tempting apple of white collar jobs
I heard Jerome lived and then died in Jos
Killed by religious rioters with missions unjust.
I heard Nwasombia is a head dresser is Lagos
At 52 and still searching? Celibacy is obvious
I heard Nosike is in aviation, head of pilots
Even Chima is now in parliament in Cyprus
Chima, who spoke big English like “opprobrious”
My age mates, plus me, all gone to the cities
No more gatherings, just like broken pot in pieces
Still driving along the lone road to the hamlet stream
Still thinking of beautiful things
The beautiful hamlet serene things.
Categories:
oma, black african american, childhood,
Form:
Prose Poetry
They say that time heals all
Yet there never seems enough
To say the words, to give your love
A mother always dies too soon
You try to make it linger
As her age increases yearly
You pray that God will spare her
Because you love her dearly
But when the days get tedious
She’s sick, alone and weary
You pray that God may take her
Because you love her dearly
Mother, we will miss you,
Your love, your care and support
You have given us your all
And triumphantly defied life’s challenges
You were so busy caring for others
That you forgot about yourself
In honour and in gratefulness, we say
Sweet mother, dearest oma*, may you rest in peace
Rest peacefully now your time has come
May angels guide your way
The time has come...yet 'tis oh so hard
To see you on your way
*Oma is dutch for Grandmother
Categories:
oma, funeral, memory, mother, people,
Form:
Quatrain
Ich sehe dich an
im Sterben
du wartest nur ab
nichts essen
Mir wirst du fehlen
Mir ist doch langweilig
Du magst Gedichte
und Ingwer
ich liebe dich
Wir warten ab
nichts essen
weil wir dir Gesellschaft leisten
du brauchst sie aber nicht
denn du schläfst
wirst nie erwachen
du träumst
für die Ewigkeit
vom Dunkel
ich liebe dich
du bist gestorben
Vater war bei dir
Er ist leer
seine Tränen tragen die Last
von den letzten drei Jahren ab
ich soll traurig sein
ich will weinen
ich weine nicht
du mochtest Gedichte
und Ingwer
ich liebe dich
du wirst beerdigt
wieder bei deinem Mann
wir singen
werfen Rosen ins Grab
sie leben noch
alle weinen
will ich auch
ich soll weinen
bin traurig
ich schäme mich
ich liebe dich
alle sind gegangen
unterwegs
ich bleibe allein
und weine
du mochtest Gedichte
und Ingwer
ich liebe dich
Categories:
oma, miss you,
Form:
Free verse
It is not
sickness that I
am afraid of
It is not
disease that
makes
me tingle
It is not the
number of
days
months and
periods I go
hungry that
makes me
shiver
It is your
demise
that makes
me dizzy
I never knew
I had this
feelings
for you until
now
I never knew
how
invaluable
you are until
the eyes of
my pen was
opened
I never knew
I was living
with a god
in the form of
a man
I never knew
I was dining
with a human
God
many people
think your
death
is a serious
tragedy to this
land
many think it
is the wrong
time for
our hero to
die
many are
already
envisaging
retribution in
the land
but a few
persons
know that
you are not
dead
my family
loves you
my kindred
adores you
my villagers
reverence
you
my town
cherishes you
and
my state
magnifies you
The news
about your
demise
infuriated me
an epitome
of peace
has departed
literature par
excellence
is gone
quintesscence
of justice
is gone
aboard of
wisdom
is gone
Ojezuru mba
has passed on
Even the
dead are
aware
that you are
a paragon
"We don't
need you
here
now"... They
quipped
"those over
there are
wailling"
they repeated
Why must this
tree
that has no
replica
be allowed to
fall?
It is well
Even in the
well
You are ever
revered
the great one
Ije oma
A tribute to a
great literary
scholar,
Chinua
Achebe.
Categories:
oma, adventureme, , literature,
Form:
Free verse
Though still as loving, still as kind and gentle, still as beautiful as they were in days of yore…
today’s grandmas are a different breed than the grandmas who came before.
Although they still share some similarities…the love they freely give…that twinkle in their eye…
the ways we use to think of grandmas…those old cliches…
to modern grandma’s don’t apply…
Grandmas of old were called Grandma…only Grandma…
at least all the grandmas I ever knew…
today we call them Nana, Gigi, Oma and YaYa just to name a few.
Grandmas were once characterized sitting in rocking chairs,
smiling crocheting with other grandmas…their needles kept neatly in a tin…
Today’s grandmas still smile while they sing and dance
and now…rock any chair they happen to be sitting in.
Grandmas were known for baking cookies…and driving slow…like they were in a coma…
Today’s grandmas still bake awesome cookies but drive like they’re at Indianapolis or Daytona.
Grandmas were once depicted as old ladies…wearing glasses with their white hair in a bun…
Today’s grandmas let their hair down…and are all about the fun.
We didn’t think old grandmas ever took a drink…
they were too busy knitting…or talking to one another
Today’s grandmas can be found with a cocktail in one hand
and their grand-baby in the other.
Yes, although modern grandmas some new skills and behaviors have amassed
they still share some important qualities…with our grandmas of the past.
Nothing will ever replace the feeling of a Grandma’s hug
or wonder of a Grandma’s smile…
and love, generosity and caring will never go out of style.
We learned this from our old grandmas…
saw the love and the magic in their resolve….
and isn’t it wonderful to see in our modern grandmas
how that love and magic has evolved.
Categories:
oma, grandmother,
Form:
Rhyme
What a phlox in you I find,
What a Rose Flower, oh babe:
Bright like early morning sun of xmas.
Succulent “things” like the rightly ripe pawpaw at my backyard.
Oh Babe what a beauty you are to behold –
Making gawping heads not able to eyes hold back,
Goggling eyes round whole streets turning in ogle –
Stupefying sensations sending down signals into phallic organs!
And can I contain this fire of desire?
Down my frame, too electrifying, feelings ductile,
And whole system holding spellbound, as in phantasmagoria,
A deep chill of early harmattan morning.
Oh Babe, I can see the fiery flies of love
In your luscious orbs flying, beckoning for a dear.
But can I be your bee? my sweet sixteen!
To your sweet red nipplenectars suck? like a suckling?
What a phlox in you I find,
Oh Babe, what a beauty you are to behold.
And can I contain this fire of desire?
Oh Babe, I can see fiery flies of love,
In your luscious orbs flying, beckoning for a dear,
Down my frame, too electrifying, feelings ductile,
Making gawping heads not able to eyes hold back.
What a Rose Flower, oh Babe:
Bright like early morning sun of Xmas,
Goggling eyes round whole streets turning in ogle –
And whole system holding spellbound, as in phantasmagoria.
But can I be your bee? my sweet sixteen!
To your sweet red nipplenectars suck? like a suckling.
A deep chill of early harmattan morning,
Stupefying sensations sending down signals into phallic organs!
Succulent “things” like rightly ripe pawpaw at my backyard:
Nwanyi oma, my sweet Asaba Queen: delicious Xmas stew,
I sing your conspicuous beauty, your deserving love: for am no philistine:
What a feeling too conquering to contend, aphrodisiac! –
A philter too difficult to contain, down my vein, my marrow!
Sweetie, I adore your fine phizog amatory. Wow.
A wonderful mien irresistible, cloud nine delirium tremens
Down my pliant spine killing ardour sent. Figure -8
What a towering pulchritude, a pleasant statistics!
Categories:
oma, girlfriend-boyfriend, sweet, beauty, fire,
Form:
Romanticism
This is a tale of a broken heart
This is the news that was whispered in the market.
When I saw the maid from Mazi Nduka's house
I dreamt she was my spouse
So that my melancholy days were no more
That gentle sadness, which began when mama whom I adore
Joined our ancestors, my heart now abhor.
Asam, my comely maid is the delicious soup
Everyone wants a taste of it, I am the owner
Of the three storey building near my father's compound
In Amuzo.
I acted like a child who had a new cloth, I waited
Under the mango tree, for the maid whose sight abated
My ache, my pain. I called her nwam, my baby. nwam oma; fine baby
She smiled. she laughed.
Her black skin shone from the palm kernel oil, mmanuaki
Her grandma had made.
Her eyes is a mirror; the glorious stars's abode
Her hair is the thick forest of Amuzo
I held her hands and told her the story my mother told me
How the princess of Amuzo long ago
Became fair to look upon because she danced well
At the festival of the new yam.
My Asam laughed and whispered to me
She whispered to me she was as innocent as the day she was born
That the wall between her legs were waiting for me
In three market days, kola nuts and palm wine
Shall see the kinsmen of my beloved
My father shall say we want the beautiful
Flower in Mazi Nduka's house
Or the she goat in his compound.
I like the proverbs of my people,
But I love our prospective conjugal right
My mind envisions.
Last night, I heard the gong of the town crier
Every one went to the town hall;
Three maidens must cross the river of Amuzo
That river which turns red at night, and
Swallows the girl who losses her shoe
Three pure maidens, must bring a pink pebble
From the bank of the river, or be married to the king
My departed fever jumped into me
Next thing I saw my self seated beside
My ancestors. Then like a scene seen from afar
I beheld my Asam, thrust a metal blade
Into her flesh.
Categories:
oma, death, loss, love, river,
Form:
Narrative
I heard many times before
When sad and emotional
the mothers become trees
And cloud, when they get more sorrow
And a piece of rosary
when they are more than sorry
I knew long ago, the Annas and Paisas
that grandmother carried at partition time
are stale coins now
Like country, like the river Padma
mothers are being divided and exhausted
And they used to sacrifice
I have seen many times before
Lighting evening lamps at holy basil base
Praying before the divine mother Laxmi
Spraying river water after immolation of idols
And chanting 'Oma Santi' hymns ...
Mothers always wish prosperity
I thought long ago that
Jerusalem via Nabadwip is a long distance
And the journey is impossible beyond border
Yes, I have seen a mother's womb and
Mother Teresa as well
Mothers are God, become God in the Order
Categories:
oma, loneliness, mom, mother, pain,
Form:
Free verse
Ezi enyi amaka na uwa
Ezi enyi ka nwanne ojo
Lezie enyi gi anya oge nile
Ahabula ya ka onwu na nsogbu.
Owere enyi ka nwanne ma
Obu ikwu na ibe gi na uwa
Mgbe nsogbu di ono ya,
Na oganihu ono gi na akuku
Lezie enyi gi anya nke oma.
Okeosisi na agba egwu na ukwu ya
Ka ona enye nsogbu make ka na
Ukwu ga eji ya out ubochi na abia
Ogologo ndu ka madu nile na ayo
Lezie enyi gi anya ka isi hu owu gi anya.
Ekwe kwala ka ihire mee enyi gi
Kpowe ya ha okuku is ekpo nwa ha
Tinyere ya aka na oge nsogbu
Make na ezi enyi ka nwanne.
Categories:
oma, africa,
Form:
Epigram
natural forces, living things dwell, spawn
azure dome masks the sky, Her layered veil
magenta-tip magnolias Her lawn
whimsical Mother Nature, sings a tale
ancient as sage, sea salt, oma, grand ’mere
cradle us asleep, with your gentle waves
majestic sails, devoted seas adhere
protect us from your sprinkled sandy graves
mother us with breeze kisses, cool us down
giving what is needed through the seasons
then material waste clogs, makes Her frown
mankind’s catastrophic way, what reasons?
the destroyers of water, land, and air
will harmful ways ever end, can’t be sure
watching what has been done, for She is there
always greed, for this is human nature
Categories:
oma, humanity, nature,
Form:
Quatrain
O'DI EGWU
O' di egwu ihe anya na ahu
Odi egwu ihe isi na ebu
Onye ma mgbe oga ala
Onye ma ihe ga egbu ya
Madu ta, ozu echi na abia
Onye na nke ya na uwa oma a
O'di egwu ihe na eme na uwa a
Egbe na achu ego, mbe na achu ego
Madu ka ana aria, onye ma onye oma ya.
O'di egwu ihe anya na ahu
Uwa di egwu na nke ya
Uwa na eme ntuhari
Odikwa egwu.
Categories:
oma, africa,
Form:
Ballad
On coining an acronym for the neologism 'occult microaggresion'
'OM' is right,
But might get the Buddhists backs up....
OMA, WTAF? What about OMA?
Its German for granny, but I've no objection to teutonic geriatrics,
Unless they take hat tricks;
They can be surprisingly elastic -
Vorsprung durch plastic!
What's that you say, too bombastic?
I'll curtail the doggerel,
With a couple of matchsticks,
That used to work on the beatniks,
Although, Ginsberg could be slippery
When incensed by casual vivipiary,
'I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by....
Sticklebricks' (sic).
It's such a minefield, this identity real politik;
As Trotsky said to Stalin:
'Josef Besarionis Jughashvili,
the proletariat can be real pricks',
And, as the Stranglers pointed out,
One of them finished him off with an ice pick!
But, as Galileo observed,
Maybe that's just the fate in store for bigoted denizens
Of this rotund and heliocentric
Planet; 'eppur si muove' he muttered,
And, although a trifle bucolic,
It seems a fitting epitaph for the Pisan melanancholic.
I apologise for this diatribe didactic,
The current pandemic has rendered me
in urgent need of a linguistic immunoelectrophoretic
Categories:
oma, irony,
Form:
Light Verse
O wind thou art mighty
Mightier than the mightiest
Invisible as death
You gives human life and plant are not forsaken
With you birds soar higher and eagle moves swiftly
o beautiful and pretty wind that has no enemy
Trees waves their hands in appreciation as you pass by
You can leave stupid women naked in the market place
I salute you might one
Who could behold your strength and power?
Ikuku Ndu, who toss things around in merriment
i praise and adore you, your majesty
O wind, the maker of rain
salute to the greatest of all creature
You are beyond man visibility and touch
yet you never disobey thy maker
Who made thee with such power?
The field moves back and forth and,
flapping hands of the Birds delight the day
You increase the burning fire in the field
Above the sky so high
You brighten the day and make things cold
pretty as you are,
You make the royal sun smiles and all lips smiles
Beneath the glories silence of the glowing city
You make things dry and handsomely rewarded
No one seems to notice your work
without you, we would be shrouded in mist of grief
You are beyond man's power
terrible beast like men of Nkporo
Dalu, Dalu, dalu, nwoke oma
The birds boast at home repeatedly for your sake
O wind, praise named Ogazuruoha
You temper justice with mercy and,
No discrimination between the rich and the poor
The good and the bad you forget not
All hail the wind
All hail Ogzuruoha
When happy the earth smiles
and when angry, the whole earth terrible
Hard work is your legacy but,
Men seems not to notice and appreciate you.
Categories:
oma, light,
Form:
Epigram