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Best Poems Written by Osinachi Richard

Below are the all-time best Osinachi Richard poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Black Sheep

Their blisters 
and cracked lips 
can only be imagined; 
in dire thirst 
and wants,
came those starving seasons
to strip them of pride 
and heritage.
Bound in chains 
across storming seas, 
however they survived
in those plantations,

they reaped so dearly
from man’s inhumanity.

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Bread Fruits

As I watched some bread fruits fall, 
I thought of friends answering heaven's call:
Like flowering plants were the youth and rigidity- 
Of these gems full with virility.
But in the sudden wake of a season
Appeared the ghoul to lead one into death's prison.

I bemoan the day of such sad news 
That sealed the mouth and tied the tongue of my muse,
Blinding all senses without no reason
With percolated thoughts of the past and near seasons
Stirring the head with the winds of memorable years
Most, I will forever remember with falling tears.

Forlorn dreams, faded with the dark clouds
Before the thundering grew so loud
A cold easterly already spreads her wings
Whistling sober tunes as she flies and sings
A valedictory song to all
Within gaze, as bread fruits fall.

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Tears of the Sun

Tears of the Sun
Rarely does she stand, watching the clouds take their leave
The white clouds hurrying after the dark
The day growing gloomy like faces that grieve
The sky hastening to wear her garment of lilac
Yet she stands, in her dimmed eyes watching
As the winds become restive
From zephyr to monsoon, now storming
Segments of nature become disruptive
A wonder, a miracle, an omen
Which is which that this day bewitch?
O men and women
Masters of wizards and witches
Ponder no plunder for wars leave the earth bald
Deserts feast on the soul of earth
Summers, winters and seasons may never abide
Forgiveness wears the crown of hate
East, west, south and north bear the ears of fears
Come the day the earth behold “the tears of the sun”

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When a Lion Loses His Strength

When a lion loses his strength,
he looks up to the hilly lengths 
to watch the sturdy sun as it dies,
and then from afar, he shakes his head and smiles;
aware of the singing doves
and the days the reindeer loves.

The sinews of an old King
fall short of ears at duty's wring
to raid a lot and reign Supreme.
Once hero of a man, now lives in a dream.
Like a growing child leaning on the future
with pages of history and collections of pictures.

A memorable life, an old lion would say
marked with such prowess few could display.
But a season entreats all to blossom and to fade;
the unfading flowers finding solace in shades
the days coming to live and die rightly,
just to bring all to rest; the weak and the mighty.

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Writers' Tale

Words are immortals
Rivers flowing endlessly
On ink and paper

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Transition

We can't help but fear the inevitable end
Of all whose beginning is now,
And to those who have met this end
Folks do wish they are here somehow.

Like trees on the wings of seasons
Mindless of the passing clime,
We oft watch with wondering reasons
As the earth devour mankind.

Behind is that day of the old,
When dauntless youths of age go wild
As they strive to leave prints so bold;
With the feet of a grown up child.

In the future lies a life unborn,
That lives in the arms of history
Unaware that the living sojourns;
And a lifetime is ever transitory.

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Models of Old

I nurse a dream of being a poet
Writing like Frosts, Shakespeares and Poes
Yet each glance at old works of poets
Sees my tall dream standing on its toe

Reading the lines so old and new
I marvel at arts which sweet words paint 
How so subtle their sharp curves hue
Fair etiquettes on a soulful chant 

I stand before the picture of my dream
Watching its shadow meet the face of the sun
With sparkles and glitters in streams
Words of old have my dream reborn

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Those Dirty Hands of Goodbye

Huge drops escape 
at each blink of the eye,
leaving streaks behind
as they hurry to kiss
the face of her letter,
to wash off;
those dirty hands of goodbye.