Archive for poem

Heart of a lover

Posted in poems with tags , , , , , , on January 23, 2016 by Charles Bernard

wnj

Come home my handsome lord
The moon is out to seek lovers
Come! let’s delight in its light
Forget the warm bosom of virgins

Nectar is sweet only for a while
Honey soothes the body and mind
Leave the drunks at their table
Come feast on a royal table

Forget philosophers and their words
Would they ever understand Love?
Come and hear of your future glories
In my bosom your happiness lies

Even without riches of gold
Or the features of your body
I will be by you my love
Steady and strong

Smiling and telling you
Sweet life stories all barren years
Till the rain returns
To our heart’s delight

You are my moon and my bloom
My rain and my rainbow
My tears and my laughter
My strength and my love

 

Broken Spell

Posted in poems with tags , , , , , , , , , on January 18, 2016 by Charles Bernard

broken spell

Life is a miracle and love a myth
Finding the perfect one is the magic
Plenty perfect faces in the crowd
Coming and going in a frenzy
Once the spell is cast
The magic begins to take toll
 
You re-live in your head
Every little moment spent together
Even your dreams and thoughts
Becomes a theater for her show
Reality merges with illusions
Then slowly you are drown
Deep down the toxic ocean of love
 
At dawn, it is her voice you crave
At dusk, it is her arms and lips
Beneath the moonlight
Her eyes sparkle like no other
At the first hint of sunlight
Her thoughts sets the day off
 
Life is a miracle and love is magic
Endlessly you spun poems about her
Singing love songs with vivid images
You see beauty in everything
Even shadows take an abstract beauty
Such is the power of love’s spell
 
One morning you wake alone
A stale smell of sweat from the nightmare oozes
You start to remember it all
How it went down crumbling
The little fights and without warning
She had fled!
 
#greendiarynotes

Posted in poems with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on January 16, 2016 by Charles Bernard

mothss

An Africa mother’s Advice

 

Where heads you my son?

Tonight witches shall gather

Soon the sun will go to bed

Ndubisi my son come home

Come lay in your mother’s arm

Let my love protect you

Till dawn in my warmth

 

Come my son

The moon is full tonight

Let me tell you stories

The morals you must hold

Close to your heart all your life

Let them guide your thoughts

Leading you through life’s path

 

My son

You’re a prince

Like an ant be wise

Let your judgment be sound

Let your heart be filled with mercy

Give alms to the poor

Give food to the hungry

 

My son

Fear the woman

Her love is sweet

Her heart is dark

Keep your strength

For the love you shall find

And you shall be fruitful

 

My son

I have watched you grow

Your temper is quick

I fear it would destroy you

Hold it in check

Say but a few words

Let them be your bonds

 

 

My son

Your are my strength

Do not forget me when am old

Remember the breast that fed you

And the back that carried you

Let my old bones cling unto you

Let my dry skin feel your warmth

 

My son, soon

I will be gone from here

Uphold your father’s name

Let not his legacies die

Do me proud in your deeds

From the spirit land I will smile

For even in death I will watch you

#greendiarynotes

Mother, my first love

Posted in poems with tags , , , , , , , , , , on January 11, 2016 by Charles Bernard

mmm

Mother has always been there

My first images of the world

Were her pair of beautiful eyes

It keenly watched me since

Never too rebuking nor approving

They just shone on like a beacon

 

Mother was the first concept of beauty

My mind recognized on earth

Her features soft and comforting

Hers; was the first voice that sang to me

The first smile that shone on me

The first fingers that trickled me

 

Mother taught me to speak kind words

Corrected me till I made perfect sounds

Never tiring of my meaningless babbles

Always ready to hear and smile

Many mornings she woke me before twilight

And read me bibles verses till twilight

 

Mother was my first instructor

She taught me to read time

The hours, minutes and seconds

When to eat, play and sleep

She taught me the changes of weather

The myths behind storms and rainbows

 

Mother guided me through my first steps

She held and steadied me

Till I was strong and firm

I watched her closely everyday

And imitated her facial expressions

Her smiles, laughter and rebuke

 

Mother prepared my first meals

And for many years too

So her dishes formed my taste buds

How I always hunger for those manna

Mother was my first everything

My friend, my confident and my lover

 

 

The policemen and the bus driver

Posted in poems with tags , , , , , , , , , on January 6, 2016 by Charles Bernard

They live on this particular street Just further down after a junction One big family of boggling belle men Clothed in black and strapped with rusty guns Here they make separate laws Every passerby must pay tax Through same route the bus driver Ply his trade, seeking daily bread With his bundle of painted metals That threaten to always fall apart With all his might and strength, he hustles Struggling all the way to make ends meet Each time the bus driver passes, he pays Without checking papers and luggage The men in black wave him on Happy and contented with their loot The driver mumbles as he drives away Wondering what he had paid for? Over the years, the looting became a norm Norm the men in black took serious Come what may (Condemnations and counter laws) They fend off the other man’s meager income Yet leave him at the mercy of real criminals A duty, duly paid for. . One day the bus driver had nothing to give He begged and begged, but the other men refused Hardhearted and in-movable they stood Angry, the bus driver turned on his ignition Angry the men in black cocked their rusty guns He shifted gears, they pulled their triggers

They live on this particular street
Just further down after a junction
One big family of boggling belle men
Clothed in black and strapped with rusty guns
Here they make separate laws
Every passerby must pay tax

Through same route the bus driver
Ply his trade, seeking daily bread
With his bundle of painted metals
That threaten to always fall apart
With all his might and strength, he hustles
Struggling all the way to make ends meet

Each time the bus driver passes, he pays
Without checking papers and luggage
The men in black wave him on
Happy and contented with their loot
The driver mumbles as he drives away
Wondering what he had paid for?

Over the years, the looting became a norm
Norm the men in black took serious
Come what may (Condemnations and counter laws)
They fend off the other man’s meager income
Yet leave him at the mercy of real criminals
A duty, duly paid for. .

One day the bus driver had nothing to give
He begged and begged, but the other men refused
Hardhearted and in-movable they stood
Angry, the bus driver turned on his ignition
Angry the men in black cocked their rusty guns
He shifted gears, they pulled their triggers

Never too young never too old

Posted in random, Saint immortal poems collection with tags , , , , , , on February 19, 2014 by Charles Bernard

Never too young never too old

Just like the amber fierce fire
Like the stars that never fade
Like the white snow at winter seasons
Like the rose in the spring
Like the warm summer
I feel you in my heat
I smell you around me
I feel your touch in the air
I see you in my Visions
Years of laughter
Tears of sorrows
Songs of love
Your sudden departure without warning
Like the green leaf  I stare out to the sun
For though you were never too young
You were never too old to die

Saint immortal

One day

Posted in random with tags , , , , , , , , on January 23, 2013 by Charles Bernard

One day

One day I will go mad
I will shed these clothes and walk free
I wouldn’t care if it makes you glad
one day I would go mad

It won’t matter if I had a college degree
I would just be another insane lad
One day I will go mad
I will shed these clothes and walk free

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