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The stream (all workshops)

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Life at the Peaks

You’ve seen me in the valley
On the edge of a fell
A black hanging rock
My face is rough and bleak
My hair is wild heather
My jawline is sharp and rugged
If you stand on my head and look down
It’s a thousand feet drop to the bottom
Grass grows on my chin
The wind has pounded my body over many years
The rain has pelted me very hard
The weather shows me no mercy
Still I sit here petrified
Silent as a stone
Like a survivor

Midnight Road

I once walked down a midnight road
Heard a croak from a single toad
Fires burned out on that night
Erratic bats in flight
Saints burnt down in the streets of old

Time's Oblivion

Today is someone's
a gift of a poem
of his today

Glory and Grief
are relatives

Two of my best poetry
fans and mentors

passed away in sleep
but I don't weep

glory and gory
have short lives only

I too will
a part of history be

till such time

Abide with me


She could not see the flowers
as an act of kindness,
as a thank you for sharing
some of her time with me

The expensive bouquet
was still there on the counter
Monday morning when she left

The roses, azaleas, and carnations,
even the inanimate vase,
seemed saddened and troubled
at having been seen as an apology
for a crime where no charges
had yet been leveled

The Man Nnamdi Kanu (Ohamadike)

Whenever I see your face, I stand.
Whenever I hear your voice, I stand.
When they say your name, I stand.
When they ban your name, still I stand.

Honor, they say, give to whom it's due,
And then I ask:
Where lies the greatest honor
For a man in all times the greatest?

A man about whom many years ago I dreamed,
A man by whom the shackles away shall melt.
Many tears of Ndi-Igbo joy shall become,
And all the voiceless people shall their voice regain.

The House Waits (October Contest)

The glamour is fading - not a minor concern.
The spires stand rigid and tight. Porch
cushions can't disguise they're a
mound of dead flies. The scent
of pie is too spoiled to lure.

The House down the lane
is trying so hard to
draw the wary and
keep the scary

is a hunger
for innocence and
terror. The spirits all
restless and cursed. So angry
at life and the living they abhor,
eating souls is what quenches their thirst.

That Innocent child

She seems so distant, so far away
It is strange to see a genuine smile
Ever stumbling along day by day
The zombies are here, our souls in exile

We are the demons the source of privation
I am polluted and defiled
Has earth become my eternal damnation
I miss her, that innocent child

I see the decorations, ornaments and frill
This malignity should be forgotten and estranged
Their cackaling laughter and mischievous shrill
My agony labeled as mentally deranged

Lonely Sun Comes

The sun was feeling lonely
in the laden skies
no love making with humans
clouds besides
sun warmed up
clouds blushed and melted
squeezed the water out
rained freely
humans thought 'twas like pee
but were happy

sun fired each individually
Covid went to sleep
now I'm warmed up
sun has been so free
ah so lovely with me

now who will come
let me know

Lovely Afternoon

She sits at the table
working on a puzzle
I rise from my chair
to pour us some wine

She suddenly asks me
if I might ever come up to her
and tell her I no longer want her

(this happened to a character
in a book she's been reading)

My brief pause causes her
more angst than she can
comfortably carry without
the help of my answer

I tell her I want to stay
as long as the nights
keep chasing after the days

She smiles and sips her wine
and places another piece
in her puzzle


She flies into a rage
when he addresses her needs
Simply put, she wants to be alone
He minds, but knows enough not to say so

She knows that she is being unreasonable
but in the moment, she doesn't care
Her pain causes flashbacks
And he is there, a target for her barbs

It is unfortunate, that she cannot "just get over it"
He loves her more on her 'good days'
but, tries hard on the bad ones too
A victim, quite by circumstance


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