She turns sixteen one cold December clime
He strings dissembling lover’s thorns so girthed
The sprouts of pristine virtue split by crime
The core is sore, this shriveled Rose is birthed
Though frigid Rose, she seeks to now resorb
In her befuddled plight, she mopes the night
Unless she grips the dim celestine orb,
This missy won’t discern the course to light
For limpid routes unveil the flourished trees
The cue this Rose reckoned to spring to growth
With flower buds resurging strong in breeze
The core once sore is now in timely blowth
She’s now eighteen one blissful, springy morn
Before the world, this blossomed Rose is born
Lost in summer of freedom,
locked in thrall to frenzy!
Life blooms in her May;
wilts as blaze bears down;
dims with sun at the crossing
in gold, purple, and rainbow.
Stars take the stage at night,
winking: Hi, how was the day?
All's quiet but the dumb hum of a graveyard!
© Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
Dec 2022
THEY MADE ME FALL IN LOVE WITH CHELSEA
Color blue...
Dan Petrescu...
Capi Dennis Wise,
UEFA the biggest price,
Celestine Babayaro,
Still remember him like tomorrow.
Zola definitely lure me
As honey attracts the bee.
Y'all remember Tore Andre Flo?
Our football was a masterful flow...
Then comes a flash from flanks,
Robben does the wing robbery with silky pranks,
The Duffer those it from the left flank,
Damien Duff dust-off defenders off the rank.
Witness the power of thunderbolt Hasselbaink:
Jimmy the Floyd playing the dummy
then ball rolls out like a mummy,
Straight to Bolo Zenden for a cut back
through the acute angel of the pitch arc
to the rocketed-feets of Lampard into the net.
Now, watch the replay; the spectacule is set.
Never underestimate the blue army clan,
These heroes & more made me a lifelong fan.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Copyright© 7th January, 2020.
#OnTheSpotPoetry #InspiredByTheCaption #___MadeMeFallinLoveWithChelsea?? #ChelseaFC #poetking #poeticsoul #PoetSkills #poetrychallenge #poetsofinstagram #follow @vicki_dee1 #instagram #poet #vickmanuelpoetry #OnFacebook #vmp
There's an inimical solemnity
dissipating the last day of spring,
I sought solitude from the very beginning,
but this sudden farewell won't depart from me!
Along the solitary roads so shady,
I pick strawberries fragrant and dandy;
these are the gifts of Nature handed out
to grateful hands never allowing doubt!
Gentle butterflies swirl frantically and flapping,
then land not distant from where I'm standing;
I drop some strawberries on the bench as they
taste their sweetness without rush or dismay!
Winding paths with lilies lead me to open meadows
overlooked by celestine skies, here one is truly free
to cavalcade while exploring the awesome wilderness...
when a discovery could turn into an unexpected glee!
Life is a flowing stream heading to a dumb past—a tittle on timeline—too brief for a whim, too fluid to fondle. Yet with an uncanny haste I flinch at horrors or wince at hurts. Can’t gel fleeting dreams that soon layer in memory’s folds, or litter like dry bones in the valley.
Each moment, I dream afresh, preening the feathers mirrored in a mirage. All’s dream, dream, a passing dream of a morrow cuddle a bouquet of roses—the fruit sifted from pondering the essence of life. I’ve seen many sun’s; day and night ever speaking.
I look for today, but find myself in limbo, in a swirl, hyped up by hope, yet clutching the wind and a slimy crag. Thus I follow the hollow tales about morrow with cautious hope, squinting as time taunts and recedes to a vanishing point. Life slips away mindlessly in bits till my sun sets in grey or gold.
Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
January 5, 2019
There was once a Dragon in my mind,
soaring her levy through it's eerie wind.
On water's dipole and Tau's ring of Pi,
she coiled her tail around my axis of pride.
The invisible Dragon with a lustrous hide;
elating the ego in synesthetic stride.
Preying on the petty with adamant jowls.
Her eyes are red ablaze with amour, rage, and self-acknowledgement.
She kisses my thoughts with her rhythmic muse,
ambient qualia ensues.
She carries my soul with her amable claws.
A story is told through standard candle trails;
worshiped in a celestine shrine.
Lights known to wake the vale of men to the advected advent of love.
Her long tangled body swims through space in a propagating line.
Anharmonic; her tail points in its own direction,
spanning the enigmatic vector of time.
The bee knows to find pollens;
the spider, to bridge a gorge—
driven, as in the blood.
Stream follows a slope
and locates the sea
in a rustling meander,
gathering moss, throwing up gloss.
None can stymie the racing sun,
or slow the course
that providence set
till decked with a garland
of purple rose.
It's in the blood;
in a genetic transmutation
wrought by the ageless hand
that sculptured and hungq
floating moon and winking stars.
The sun cuts through dense jungle,
drills a way in pitch darkness;
he sucks honey from rock,
draws the fury of fleas in the lea.
Cry against his blazing rays,
the scotching heat,
but hug the warmth lest
winter whines while summer
flees for lack of spring.
© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi
Grace granted us a say on our knees:
a thousand pleas pummeled the sky,
stirred the heavens. The Lord moved,
gentle thunder rumbled:
My daughter's back home!
Our hearts sank, too heavy to bear,
for Janet was a sweetheart, a mother
we've hugged for twenty years and more—
never saw anger crease her comely face
or her girth tinged with the pride of life.
Janet exudes the glow of midsummer noon.
With a voice that strikes heaven's chords,
she thrills songbirds to spin at sessions—
at Shekinah Nights while sky dresses in gold.
Now, birds hush! Whither our songstress?
She's gone!! A while longer would've been
our joy, sharing the dainties of Janet's large heart.
But how long will we mortals hold up the call,
knowing a day of death is set at birth?
The Lord has done His good pleasure—we bow.
So, we wish you Goodnight Mama Janet,
in hope of the Glorious Morning.
Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
March 2019
Saddens when strength fritters, muscles run to flab with age;
a once smooth surface wrinkles bold etchings of joy and sorrows
while rough landscape seizes the trophy, buries beauty beneath
creases and squinting eyes and drooping girth and jarring joints.
Look at a mirror—you're yet you at heart though reflection feigns.
Beauty is forever, not strength, not health. Life has a bell-shaped
trajectory—a sure-fire sine curve, though the sonic boom pales
at prime. Blurred vision fails to see the diminishing present
or the long haul ahead; ought to, and so cuddle the rhythm,
bound up to breast the finish line. Else gamble at summer's crest;
winter in the trough with a wobble. What an old age with sighs
and stings, peace paling with aching joints and flabby muscles!
Robbed of youthful verve, a pain prick twitches the nerves.
What a youth spent as if now's forever! We all need a brace ahead
of when the frail frame fails at nine or ninety... or in between!
The wise may think otherwise. Maybe!! The pudding has proof.
All I know: Old age is divine!
© Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
4 February, 2019
A friend and I in a chat down a winding road,
I said, "Who can give me life, I mean real life?"
He smiled: You've life already, fully yours.
"So it seems," I said, "soon taken from me."
"No! It's yours, enjoy it to the fullest."
"Yes, on a short lease, not truly mine."
His face creased: scorn, sneer, snub;
then a sulky pout: Off his mind.
At a T we turned right—a road less taken.
On a hill, Jesus hung on the Cross, arms open.
We squinted at a bold inscription:
Here's a life for life; price fully paid.
We gaped at each other: Strange indeed!
Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
15 April 2019
For her backsplash style, I used cobalt tile.
Her sapphire eyes bold cast me away cold.
My heart dipped right to benitoite night.
Hot to drown in brew and sad boleite blues.
Yet I put on my new turquoise suede shoes.
My topaz car I drove to Rockies far
There to glorify in azurite sky
And lakes nearby of lapis lazuli.
I waited with tunes a celestine moon.
At dawn, cyanite jays curst me away.
And my sapphire blues at last I did lose.
I hear a soft voice amidst
deafening din of daily grind:
Where's the forest dark and dense;
the mountain high as heavens--
its shadow, a looming doom?
Where's the valley that dews
dawn to dusk, too deep to fill?
Or the gulley wide and yawning?
Or the sea fathomless, bottomless,
a home for leviathans, a womb
for tsunamis; frothing and foaming,
howling, humping to the shore
where a tiny grain wiggles,
scoffing the scorching glare.
The grain jiggles on the beach
sparkling in the sun. His voice rings
a deafening roar: I'm F-A-I-T-H.
I'm higher than heavens, wider
than earth; deeper than the deeps...
Creation stills, cowering at his voice.
Trees wither; rocks shear off in splinters,
tumbling down in clouds of dust, spraying
shrapnel on persons away from the voice.
Out of my spell, I crawl to the beach.
© 2018 Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
No matter how dark the shadow
or hurting the unholy fears,
the pains are pangs of joy
revealed in the manger.
Up, the lone star winks,
pointing through dark thickets
of a mangled world to a shack
where our future lies.
From there we find the Way,
in Him we find the Truth
and the Life worth holding
in hope of eternal glory.
How marvellous His love!
How gracious His coming!
Our all is found in the manger
swaddled in perfect peace.
© Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
21 December 2018
On a chilly night
while humanity snored,
love stormed
the world without a whisper.
With soft trumpet sound
Heaven chimed a melody,
pricking psychic ears.
Three men in the fields nudged
their flock, floated East
led by a winking star…
to a shack of manger.
Joy poured from their hearts,
gifts from their bags; heads Salaamed.
The thrilled night stilled
as the shepherds sailed back
under smiling stars,
rhyming with Heaven’s
tuneful song of the Lord:
Unto us a child is born;
Unto us a son is given...
It was on a chilly night
while humanity wintered
Love summered in a manger,
flooding the world with light.
© 2017 Celestine S Ikwuamaesi
Confused world, complex challenges,
contracting earth, climate changes;
conflicting cultures coalesce.
Booms, bangs, shrills, shrapnels
flood the air; blood clots in the street.
Shredded homes float for sheltered
peace: victims of greed that weathered
the world in her wallows. Who dares
pull back lust or freedom marchers?
Who cares for the mammoth flotsam--
dregs of a fractured world that ripples
under quakes and storms to an unknown?
What a pursuit of freedom that leaves
the world in rubbles--her future forlorn!
When restraint relents, lust screams.
Wilting, yet nations hail wealth,
not weather; consumption or ruination?
Impel moderation or hug implosion.
Celestine S. Ikwuamaesi
(Feb 24, 2018)
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