POETRY TITLE: A FAULT IN OUR BEAUTY.

• 

There is fault in our beauty.
A huge flaw in our rainbow.
There are unmatched patterns in our striation,
And a big scorn in our Creator’s heart.

For we were numbed by our father’s breath;
Unity was bartered at their death beds!
We are a people of different shades;
Our hearts are beleaguered by unsaid wraths.

As three feathers were birthed by a Potter’s whirl;
One was used to adorn the thrones;
The other, a Pillow, for the King’s rest.
The later, a cartridge for his foot prints.

That’s the fairness of our pulchritude;
That’s the clime of our co-existence.
That’s the peace the Hypocrites preach;
The one that seeks to enslave the heart.

There is so much fault in our beauty.
And so much more flaw in our rainbow.
There is a scar in our conscience;
The kind that doesn’t let us sleep at night.

Author: Maverique Richard
Picture Credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/743094007238283410/

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POETRY TITLE: CHEAP BARGAIN

Why are we wilfully
making death come so cheap??
Why are we suddenly befriending a dreaded foe?
Why do we seek comfort at the greater beyond?
And have chosen to drag our bodies painfully below the earth?

Why do we travel a path whose feel we can’t explain,
Why do we experiment with treasures we can’t replace?
Why do we suffer our bodies for sins they don’t own?
And have chosen to sour our entrails with fluids[things] that promised death?

I know, we could find a way, if’d stayed for whiles more ?
Or maybe, we might ne’er, but should at least give Nature her chance?
Why do we feel so strange, and so ‘unbelonging’?
On a planet where even the moths roamed in comfort?

Have we got problems whose weight entirely outweighs the world?
Or have got questions which we think had answers at Shoel?
Have our ‘unbeliefs’ really made us worth nothing before the eyes?
Why do we hasten for a taste of the aliens Caramel?
And have in response, quickened to make ourselves a waste of Cum?

Whatever happened to patience,
Whatever happened to Hope,
Whatever happened to knowledge,
…but not wisdom;
That it compels man to sufficiently lay their lives for her vain quest?

Whatever had made the storm seem unbearable to brave warlocks?
Whatever made the earth to spin from the vantage point,
Whatever whispers evil to unruly ears of the unborn?
On whose shoulder lies, in abandon, most of the world’s greatness?

Take a deep breath,
…I know there’s hope for mankind, but it ain’t suicide.

POETRY TITLE: BED OF ROSES

I chose silence over loudness,
I chose calmness over rage,
I chose humility over pride,
I chose peace over war,
I chose struggle over comfort,
For the later robs the mind of grace,
Cheap gains are no good than pain,
Pride precedes a man’s downfall
Hard work worth’s its weight in gold
So, I chose hands over mouth,
And chose sunshine over rainfall
I chose wisdom over wealth,
I chose passion over pay
I chose mind over body
And prime stress over distress.

I chose repeat over defeat,
I chose normalcy over superfluity,
I chose mistakes over perfection,
And enemies over friends,
As with foes, I am conscious
With friends, my defences loose
Then they rip me into piece,
By their pats and warm kisses.

I chose light over darkness,
I chose benevolence over gratitude,
I chose conscience over religion,
And favour justness over righteousness,
I chose love over hatred,
I chose courage over regrets
I chose bravery over foolery
And hope over despondence

Sometimes,
I choose tomorrow over today,
And chose mornings over nights
I choose man over angels,
And choose devil over saints.
I choose morality over insanity,
I choose realism over optimism
Though my choices be faulted,
My soul shall by these earn rest beside Abram’s nestle,
Where I would lay my head to rest,
Without batter, without anguish;
Bearing smiles,
Making merry,
For a life well lived on earth.

POETRY TITLE: THE RIPPED HEART (BIAFRA COME!)

Image Courtesy: DailyTrust.com.ng

Cast me, brethren far away!
To a place where I shall forever lay,
For peace would not mend our piece;
Be not kind to me this time.

Suffer not my heart to live;
In the comfort of wandering bullets,
Where I can only learn to live;
In the worry of thine breathing rods.

So I clamour, Biafra come!
Dearest fatherland, please return;
For l have refuse to suckle the breast;
Which mammoths have sapped of milk.

Oh May the ocean part her banks,
And make me an outcast of will,
May it blow and never still;
Till I am led to my heroes past;

So I could shield their hearts with cast;
Of pure onyx, diamonds and brass
So I could nurse their bleeding sours,
And caress their aching joints

For I no longer could bear,
The chasms from thine kindnesses
Forgiving all thine madnesses
As I watch cattle become man;

So, cast me out so far away;
That I could perhaps have my way,
So we both could remain free;
And I won’t have to trouble your sleep.

Trade me brother, for a silver piece;
To the Egyptians and have me sail,
Let me no more favour find,
before thine graciously meted sight.

Covert my treasures;
And not life,
Marry my daughters;
Not fathers,
Be Sparing enough to trace my feet;
Nearer to where you’d buried the ghost;
Of my dearest father’s fore.

#LetBiafraCome!

POETRY TITLE: EGO SUM [I am]

Life is to no limits, fair
Nature, cloudless to same vein
We are the sailors of our Lot
The antsy seductress of Kismet

For lo, would the lame bewail
Their limbs, as the deities bane
The Blind unceasingly blend their pain,
On the piety of their sights
But the surplus ethers of breath
Perceives dearly their gruntled throe,
And gave gains for each mischief
Baring unto their hearts to see;
That She rewards dearly the spasms of Will,
Not the melodies of their brooded tears.

Pour parti pris endormi par la vérité,
Humans, are the salts of their fate
The prideful seedlings of the idly thoughts,
Which they acted not upon.
—————————————

Verse
•Salt = Captain/Sailor
•Throe = Pains
•Pour parti pris endormi par la vérité = Bais deadened by the truth

Tip:
Life and Nature are entirely fair.
It depends however on what one chooses to believe in
We bring upon ourselves, what we conceive in our hearts,
As the antsy seductress of Kismet.[The power believed to control all things]

Also that, she, nature does not mind your inabilities, because she has fairly given you other abilities to explore,
If you’re careful and discerning,
And so would not listen to your cries, or alibis
But would reward dearly the works of your hand, or those of creative thinking.

POETRY TITLE: AGITÉ (RESTLESS)

Image Credit: Energy Times.

While I toil before the earth,
Heartily, I bang away
Seeking corals in the pond
Pickling the moulds from the muds
Yet, I survive my dying entrails
With a portion of my flesh,
Strongly smiling to outline the pain
And perhaps outlive today.

While I crutch on a sickly bed,
‘Hurtingly’, my spirit writhes
On the harbourage of failing limbs
It flourish through the darkness
Faltering and fluttering across
the nooks of ghastly ghostly steads
As it prays for one more day
And solemnly wish to stay
Refusing the clarion call,
The eventual promise of rest.

While I am lowered to rest;
In the warmth of ethereal dust,
Caressed by the whips of fate
Groped dearly by the fangs of death
Assuredly, do I still fade
In fear, that I could forever lay
Knowing not more than the days
When my blood spluttered on cut
Before the mildness of the sun,
While I toiled my breathe away.

Verse:
We are literally restless while healthily alive, in sickness or even in death.
For even though we sweat to keep alive, we still hope to keep sweating each breathe, hence we are not sure of our fates in death.
We all fear to cease living forever.

POETRY TITLE: STRONGER THAN PAIN

Image Credit: Glyn Dewis

What goes with men,
When their life fades away
What becomes of their soul
When their passion goes astray
What picks their noble heart
And unduly resurrect their whole
From the misty dogged mire
Which rages of brine and rust

What becomes of men,
Who indiscriminately had chose to chase;
The pacing tireless hare
Who for fun always way fare
How much more water
Can they with their baskets fetch
Out from the depthless pits
Of their raging greed.

Let passion lead
That the earth may take heed,
Let the uncouth veil across the brides face,
Be sprung off
Let all humans reconcile
With their dying conscience
For like they always say;
Love is much stronger than pain.

Verse: Let passion lead for humans are nothing without their flairs.

#✍🏿…
By Maveriqué Richard
©2018

POETRY TITLE: SOMEWHERE IN AFRICA

There is a place in Africa
Where Vixens trudge about in defeat
Each clutching tightly within it’s fist
Talents rebelliously towered to meet the clouds
That perchance, before it’s dying breath fleets
The Godhead should on it’s cursed course see
How the ungodly cannibals of maternal descent
Compels it’s Kits to on stenchy meat, feast
And how her loving spouse in all fairness
Have been lowered to drudge to death.

There is a place in Africa
Where it is customarily wrong to be right
And by every attempt,
The prying eyes shoots
The ‘fairiest’ human who by deed conceives
Being exactly nothing but rot.

I know somewhere in Africa
Where vultures perch each wearing a bib
And bearing a straw keenly laced to it’s beak
That they may from the citizenry pots
Draw nectars to their encrusted caves
Each depositing in boundless piles
Into the depthless pits of greed
Where it had earthened the nations treasury
And have spread fine bedclothes to conceal its bulge.

A distance further in Africa
I still could see,
Nestling songbirds which hungrily bawl
To the sudden quietus of their parents
Who they’d watched cautiously flown towards
The decaying loaves scattered in the bloating vultures cave
But have had arrows planted their feet
Strongly to the barks of the Pisonia
From whence livelihood could’ve been eked.

POETRY TITLE: SHADES OF GRAY

There are two sides to a coin;
And many different shades of gray,
Colors blend from various rays;
To give rainbows in a deep blue sky.

There is a fox in every man;
A shadowing demon,
And a Mona Lisa,
A tender heart and the devil’s loin;
Strong emotions paired in despair.

He is like a nerveless thorn;
Running freely on a glowing rose,
A steep ocean of inestimable depth;
A lowland of mountains and hills.

He is kindness with a stint of pain,
Sweetness and tinctures of sour,
An Island of boundless contours;
Depending on which Ox is gored.

POETRY TITLE: I’LL RISE

I know someday I would rise;
Earlier than the cock would crow,
For with the deafening of each dawn;
Are saddled cascades of daily woes.

I know someday I would rise;
Without the thoughts of where I’d been;
For with every seepage from the precipitous clouds;
Are showers of eternal hope.

I know someday I would rise;
Above the bounds of sublunary might,
And the unrestrained stains of guilt,
Which incessantly behoves my whole.

I know someday I would rise;
Eased of all obliviousness;
So I’d perceive the pitched voice of the dumb,
Buried sparsely within my mouth;
That I may by the waddling of the tongue,
Sprout wisdom from the abysmal depths.

I know someday I would rise;
To the birth of a heavenly bliss,
Freed dearly from a constrained will;
Relieved of all ignorances;
And with the sturdiness of ethereal bravery;
Would my heart dauntlessly wriggle it’s way;
Far beyond the shackles of earthliness;
Further away from her dampening fist.

____________________________________
Verse: Be firm for there is always a twinkling of hope at the end of the tunnel. Do not be discouraged by what seem to have been, for indeed Someday, you’d RISE! 💪

POETRY TITLE: A WORLD NOT MINE.

I stand alone,
In a world not mine;
Like a nail cast into the depths of rustiness;
I stroll in hopes,
and so earnestly strive;
Shrinking and twisting for moist farly displaced.

I am a lichen on a dead fungus;
A mistletoe, freely hanging on a lifeless fern;
I am like pain groaning in the giants fist;
So strongly built,
but readily could burst.

I am a beautiful rose,
placed within the desert’s heart;
Like a crowned prince,
whose kingdom could never come;
But I rejoice however,
In all my follies;
For time heals,
and so does every storm still.

I am like a vulture toiling in a forage farm;
And have so very keenly,
wished for more than not;
A ray of light,
to signal my dear relief;
That soon, I could be freed
from a crime I didn’t cause.
And to be forgiven,
for the choices I could not make.

Verse: Do children commit crimes for being born to poor parents?.

POETRY: BE WISE

Hurt me, and I would forever hunt thee;
Bleed my nose, and I shall be twice as nice.
Dash my head strongly against the wall;
And on my stomach would I plot your fall.

Drown me abundantly with undeserved kindness;
Grace my heart keenly with uncommon mildness;
Teach me, wherefore, the way to live,
And I shall forever not be free.

Deafen your ears to the bird that chirps;
Guard your mouth with the rarest might.
Be nice, and indiscriminately wise;
For not as much could see through your eyes.

Forgive, and like always remember my sins;
Not so, you could pass a pin through my vein;
But remember therefore, that tomorrow is near;
And that we only steer consciously towards her rear.

Verse: Be careful what you wish for; Be mindful for so little could mean so much.

POETRY TITLE: SO LITTLE, SO MUCH.

Give me heavily lofty loaves;
Sandwiches surfeited with strawberry paste;
Offer diamonds in golden racks;
Tailor each with unrivalled quest.

Squiggle Haven before my head;
Make me picturesque of Utopia
With might; squeeze them through my breast;
Firmly, that my emotions may thrive.

Drag my thoughts to meet the sky;
Bury minty kisses to my neck,
With balsam, caress my filthy feet;
When its dawn, I’d still contempt.

What I don’t own – I do not want;
Where I can’t reach; I do not wish.
Vain desperation; I strongly loathe,
Unworthy emotions; I don’t credit.

For my hopes, are all cheapened;
My beloved mind keenly chastised;
By sweet melodies that sank deeply;
And the hurricane that swept it feet.

So dearly have I learnt to nurse;
Only the grains within my palms;
I do not wish for gold aloud;
In silence alone, I trace my feet.

POETRY TITLE: SOMEDAY

Someday, I would cease to live;
Under the brute surveillance of the sun,
My soul would eternally depart,
With all it’s trespasses forgone.

I would be relieved of all earthly woes;
Beyond the undying whips of fate,
My life shall take different twist,
As my soul to dust returns.

Then all men would of me perceive;
As ash, robbed of sights and zests;
All my fleshly plagues would heal,
And my spirit lowered to rest.

I shall never traverse life’s path;
For I would be impregnated by death,
And would only freely roam;
Never again, would worries overwhelm me.

The sun will not smite my head;
Neither would my clothing drip;
I shall love, but would not show.
And would speak with muted voice.

Only bear me within thine breast.
Remember me when it’s dawn,
For with the glow of each twilight;
Surely, would I come to greet.

POETRY: THINK ME NOT MORE; NOT LESS

If my hand should dribble of blood,
And my clothing of slime and mud,
If I gird my thighs with bows,
See me, but speak not howbeit.
For I do not rob souls of their coats,
Nor set them afloat on boats,
I do not glory in tears and grief
Only fetch cichlids;
From the ungodly ponds.

For life served beef from cadaverous bull;
And have crowned Princes;
With thorns, so thick
She’d fed sour wines to the Nazarenes,
Have built skyscrapers in Cimmerian shores,
But I no longer could her heartbreaks, nurse;
I’d rather will I declaw the Cat;
Hence I can’t hold strong,
Nor hold steadfast,
The virtues mother taught;
With each breakfast.

So, I blow kisses before thick clouds;
Now that all their mercies abound,
So, think me not more,
Think me not less,
For I worth not more than a bunch of scum;
Think me not less,
Think me not more,
For the Inglorious hearts;
And the flippant tongue,
Shall both own no home in Abram’s tomb.

POETRY TITLE: A FAULT IN OUR BEAUTY.

Read my poem about Nigeria and her peaceful coexistence.

The Versemongers' Place

• 

There is fault in our beauty.
A huge flaw in our rainbow.
There are unmatched patterns in our striation,
And a big scorn in our Creator’s heart.

For we were numbed by our father’s breath;
Unity was bartered at their death beds!
We are a people of different shades;
Our hearts are beleaguered by unsaid wraths.

As three feathers were birthed by a Potter’s whirl;
One was used to adorn the thrones;
The other, a Pillow, for the King’s rest.
The later, a cartridge for his foot prints.

That’s the fairness of our pulchritude;
That’s the clime of our co-existence.
That’s the peace the Hypocrites preach;
The one that seeks to enslave the heart.

There is so much fault in our beauty.
And so much more flaw in our rainbow.
There is a scar in our conscience;
The kind that doesn’t let us sleep at night.

Author: Maverique Richard
Picture…

View original post 2 more words

POETRY TITLE: COULD IT BE US.

Hello Aryann!
Tell me kindly,
Could the moon go still for our course,
Touch me warmly,
More assuredly,
That at least, it might just be us.
Together like the lilies,
Fair like the dairies,
Lying lowly,
Yet in abandon,
Like figs that had dropped on it time,
Rolling like babies,
Loving like gods,
Doting stronger than a mother for her child.

Tell me, warmly
Dearest lovely,
For all the good times,
And all the bad.
Tell me assuredly,
Very likely,
Forgiving all the bravery,
I could not show.
Dearest El Dorado,
Sweeter cane sugar,
Forgive,all the love,
I’d borne but not tell.
Tell me squarely,
Very directly,
That I could man the lovely chariots in your heart.

So,
Tell me you forgave,
At the slightest chance.
Tell me you forgave all the tingles in my gut,
Forgive me as well,
For all the times I lost my words.
Make me feel these butterflies run through my head.
Tell me kindly,
This time,gently
That it could at least it be us for a day,
Tell me bluntly,
This time, frankly
That we could be together,
Forever or for never more.

POETRY TITLE: BE SAD

Be sad,
For the times life serve grapes in motley foils,
Be sad,
When she make porridges with your heart,
Be sad,
If she plant ungodly kisses to your cheeks,
Be sad,
And gently savour each with delight
Flood your pillows,
Tear your shorts,
Rip your garments
And sweetly feel hurt,
For It’s only normal when you do;
And so rewarding when you don’t deserve to,
It’s like a sore beneath ones breast;
A malignant tumour to ones prestige;
It tickles,
But you mustn’t scratch on;
Lest you dig gullies within your skin.

That’s how bad life’s sauce could hurt.
That’s how nice her kisses could mean;
But in all fairness,
Let your nimble heart know
There’s just got’ a limit somewhere.
There’s just got’ a musketeer
Signalling in strange voices
How much pain you could and should nurse.
Listen kindly and then ask which;
Exactly which foot should best go next.
Cry if you must,
But in your slumber
Find strength;
Mourn your loses,
But not for life.

Maveriqué Richard
©2018