Biography of Ceejon Ezinwoke
Lover of everything art.
Started writing poems at the early age of nine.
A staunch fan of good music, a lyricist, and a petti writer who dreams and works toward being a big one.
Ceejon is a graduate of Philosophy.
Ceejon Ezinwoke Poems
The Woman I Used To Love
She was perfect in my eyes I didn't have cataract at all It was love that I felt for her With this throbbing heart of mine
On whose wings the winds were made The feathered one of the esteemed sky Through frosts and coasts you did invade You alone can the vast sky ply
'Hush', I said And the crickets ceased to whistle This night can't be dark, it should't I will tell the moon and her shiny friends, To keep vigil and watch you darling friend I will go fetch you some cool sea breeze,
Until You Return
Painstakingly, In semi-mindless pretence I am tossing you away You, beautiful beloved baby
One Legged Dancer
A lone foot beneath a joyful soul Like a boy-master of a macho man ‘Tim tim tim' the thumping goes Mercilessly on an arid soil
And More Nails
The signs so illustrious As N diligently did his do Standing up and falling again Looking past mocking fingers
The Squirrel Boy
Kumbe's friend is not a boy Yet he brings him plenty joy It pleases him and not annoy They call him the squirrel boy
We Have All Come
We have all come, An assembly to a great call An ear-deafening cue As the clapperboard claps
Your Enemies' Faces
After the grumbling came the weary chants The young men of not distant a blessed land Then a metal resolution to uncover the truth To know why trees of theirs bear no fruits
The More I Know You
I have known you now for donkey days I have seen your shadow cast on roses It was lovely a sight to behold Your smiles and laughter drip juices
Catch The Tigress
Catch the tiger's tigress Dinner is long overdue The fire that nwizu made Is burning out and cold
From Where Do We Begin?
From where do we begin? Nights are no longer dark as should be The old moon has learned again to glow Yesterday, we hated the muddy road, oh!
Nineteen Moons And Eight Days
It's been nineteen moons and eight hard days Since the prodigal son left his father's base No more corns for the urban stray pigeons Not even a broken grain as his own feeding
If This Love Was Love
If this love was love True and soft; like a virgin cotton embracing her seed Joy will be all it will crave
Until You Return
In semi-mindless pretence
I am tossing you away
You, beautiful beloved baby
Sadly, into the Ezize stream.
Just a trifle blame for the gods
Until you return