I am like the bee,
gives you honey,
so sweet but
stings as you
cross allowed boundaries.
I am like
the rose flower,
gives my fragrance
freely but careful
you must be.
I'm not without
my torns and
will pirece your
fingers for
your carelessness.
I'm a gentle loner
just like the scorpion,
don't walk all
over me or
step on me
as if I'm
a weakling or
pick me up
because of my fragile
nature or I'll be your
near death experience.
I'm like the
stinging nettle,
I'll decorate your skin
with my deadly marks
and make you dance
even when there's
no music playing.
And like the
beautiful ivy flower,
poisonous and deadly,
don't ever harrass me
by plucking my leaves,
to feed on
or you'll be dead
in a second.
Stop messing with
everything in sight
just because you think
you are superior.
Even the little porcupine
can chase away
the strongest lion.
Even as i'm tiny
as corona virus,
I'm able to
chase everyone into
their homes and
lockdown the whole world.
All the weapons
fashioned by man
is useless against me.
And woe betide you
if you dare show
your face outside.
I'm as selective
if you keep
and maintain a
social distance.
You must maintain
asepsis by proper
handwashing and wear
your ninja mask.
And when i
see your blood,
i may have mercy
and passover you
by reason of your
bloodtype and immune system.
©2020,Emeka Mokeme.

They are the sun;
irreplaceable;
only one.
They will shine for eternity:
alighting infinity.
Without their gold-
a world of grey,
mark my words
they are the sun.

And nothing brings more light than the sun
no thing nor being brighter than thus
could **** with it's touch,
Deceases the darkness
with the warm glow
that emits from its face
touching you-
body and soul,
with every trace
Naturally;
effortlessly;
completely unaware of its ability
to so wholeheartedly
sooth ones soul
By existing.

They’re the sunlights’ magic
existing as human bones
through glimmering rays of honey tones
they are the sun,

they are the sun.

It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

let’s live suddenly without thinking

under honest trees,
                        a stream
does.the brain of cleverly-crinkling
-water pursues the angry dream
of the shore. By midnight,
                                a moon
scratches the skin of the organised hills

an edged nothing begins to prune

let’s live like the light that kills
and let’s as silence,
                            because Whirl’s after all:
(after me)love,and after you.
I occasionally feel vague how
vague idon’t know tenuous Now-
spears and The Then-arrows making do
our mouths something red,something tall