Chukuemeka Akpe

Chukuemeka Akpe Poems

They adorn these walls as ugly ornaments:
Invisible trails of vermin
Painted with the bile of bitterness
for all to see.
...

A patchwork of decorated combatant lords
Stitched together with diverse fragile cords
Into a tapestry of nations hung on frail words.
...

A decade of decadent silence
Voided by errant memories:
A prayer on wheels to muzzle fear,
The demon pounding at life’s chamber.
...

A precious Gift
Wrought by the tenderest of Hands:
Eyes that behold love in every face,
Too pure and ignorant of evil.
...

Judas staked his life for pittance in avarice
Joisted on a beam for derision and dishonor
Juxtaposed with thieves to corrupt his piety
Javelin taunts ribbed him of water and blood
...

The one at war with self
Seeks the peace with world;
The heart shrivelled with fear
Puffs out a hot air of bravery;
...

A dome of dark, gloomy clouds caps this landscape.
But, not for rain.
A cacophony of thunderous applause shakes the land.
But, not for rain.
...

Infringing thoughts thunder in this cave of lonesomeness
Incarcerating with deafening peals of anguish and sorrow.
Inharmonious rhythms of yesterday’s esteemed dance steps
Invoke now wriggling fervours to blind and muted séances.
...

Years have rolled by
gathering sweet memories
forging strong bonds of sisterhood.
...

Ancient customs girded the Harbinger of Death
In loin cloth, hairy barrel chest and a husky voice.
Taboo is deaf to the hip-swinging trump of death,
Scowling and seething at all infringing trespassers.
...

I.

The dressage of all these mares and stallions
Never fails to hold the world in rapt attention
...

A pantheon of moulded images
Figurines of gold with clay feet
Pottered in a frenzy of adulation
Hailed in theatres of absurdities.
...

Accolades of Acolytes dance across banners to gongs,

drums and cheers.
...

An ensemble overtly assembled with armoured tanks
Blared to a quaking audience with dull marshal notes
Cantatas of steel-voiced, stern-faced friendly soloists.
...

Unseen hands swat metal birds from our skies
Plunging them to earth as disemboweled flies
Dark earth crimsons from ever-tender wounds
Of serrated hearts and scars of mortal wounds
...

A graveyard of stoic soldiers:
Charred carcasses of Baobabs
Scarred bodies of wrinkled Palms
Vanquished with flaming swords;
...

Ninjas armed with flying swords
noble offerings on ignoble wings
temples of blood on towers of strength
nightmare at dawn.
...

N ewborn pushed out by long dialogues
in anaemic rush to the road to freedom
umbilical tethered to a sovereign staff.
...

This covey of benighted knights
Enamoured of endless hurrahs
Jousted for fame on gold stallions
Sovereign chest gouged in unison.
...

A cavalcade of styled Messiahs
A stampede of unfitted Heroes.
Bright candle lights blown out
Scouring the land with blood.
...

Chukuemeka Akpe Biography

I started writing poems in 2003. My first poem was 'August 24' written in memory of my brother who passed away on that day in 1999. Writing, I have found, is a soothing balm against the unrelenting aches and pains that society subjects you to daily. It gives a voice where muteness is foisted on you.)

The Best Poem Of Chukuemeka Akpe

A House Is Not A Home

They adorn these walls as ugly ornaments:
Invisible trails of vermin
Painted with the bile of bitterness
for all to see.

The roof is a dome of cobwebs
Spun with entangled filial threads
that trap the sun’s warmth
Plunging the enclave in perpetual cold.

Its fragile foundation,
quaked by a split along maternal lines
that displaced brethren into separate camps,
still records intrigues and suspicions as after-shocks.

The patriarch wears a mask of anger
to scare off domestic intruders
and hide the wrinkles of frustrations
Etched so deeply on his forehead.

His smiles are as rare as comets.
They brighten this chasm of darkness in a flash
then disappear into oblivion
with a furious blaze.

The pain of deprivation sears like hot knife
threatening to rend soul and spirit
Hurting relationships with peers
Dulling the senses to learning.

The wind howls in sympathy
to mournful tales of vineyard trees:
Wilted leaves and gaunt branches
Yearning for the refreshments of fertile soils.






January 2005©

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