this long red tunic
hides her battle scars well.
centuries of fighting incarnations of cunning lucifer

her eyes sea blue,
her lips blood red,
the crescent moon on her forehead
witness to her numerous accolades.

in the continuing saga of good vs evil,
her next battle begins.....
this warrior goddess of exquisite beauty
pauses to smile,
just for you and me.

with this gifted diamond earring
now worn
as her cosmic amulet,
her ultimate victory is near certain!


© 2021

The great pines stand
Laden with heavy snow
Waters flow unseen
Hidden below thick sheets of ice
I caught a glimpse of her once
Or at least I believe I did
That woman long golden hair
Who walks barefoot in the snow
Signing her odd melodies
I have heard nothing like it
In all my many years
Oft I sit at the end of the woods
By the wide river bank
Hoping to hear her
Somewhere off in the distance
On but two occasions in my life
Were my ears so lucky
To be graced by her voice
I was in awe of her
And yet I was fearful
For I know she was not one of us
The old stories say she came from heaven
From a place above the sky
I do not pretend to know
Nor do I care, I simply wish
To catch a glimpse of her again
To lock with her peircing blue eyes
Brighter and fresher
Than a spring time stream
To witness her one last time
And to hear her song in full
A faint Aria in the snow

This is not a solace
This is not a relapse
This is not her loosing her guard
But this is freedom

Freedom from a cold hard heart
Freedom to rise above the tempest
Freedom to rejuvenate
Freedom like Mata Hari

-Justice Eberechi

when already in his mind
he'd dusted himself off like a rooster
run down the hotel stairs
gotten on the train
to quickly
escape from her
to where the black pepper grows

she, snuggling up to
him with both eyes firmly closed
had already built with them
a house
smelling of dinner
and fresh children
to which he'd just come running
up the stairs

(in reality
he and she had slept
together for the first time
and lying
keep silent about this precisely
in two foreign
mutually unknown
languages)

Tonight, she taught me the nature of healing summer rains
Whimsical descriptions of dancing in puddles, but
Metaphors only serve to drown her pain
Dry on the surface, swearing inside the drought sustains
But dew droplets in her eyes betray her restraint
The morning after, the storm remains

Little flower, bent at the stem
Oversaturated by the self-absorbed
Her waterlogged roots weighing her down, but
In fields of bloom they still look to you
See, the weak reach for the easily used green and blue tulip hues
But her yellow petals require strength to be pulled from the meadow

There is nothing more
powerful than a woman
who's realized her worth

10:15 AM
12/8/21