LYING AHEAD


It may look like lies,
The kind that stinks to the invitation of flies
But there is a bigger you ahead
And I’m not just talking height cred.

No, it has nothing to do with advancement in years
There will be hot tears
But after it, trust me, shall come the cool rain
Cooling your bones and soothing the pain.

Walk a little more
Yes, your feet may be sore
Crawl if you must
But remain not in the dust.

Otherwise you miss out on what’s lying ahead
And all the celebration at the hall of mead.

MR. SPECTACULAR

KING OF THIEVES

Born into a criminal kin
He grew & learnt the way of this sin
Saw it as the only way he could in life win.
Instead of throwing the bad attributes in the bin,
He continues in this path.

Following in the footstep, every inch
He makes sure everyone around him feels a pinch
His name Finch
Whenever he spoke, the world would in fear, flinch
Like the wind, he could not be caught to be lynched

Every day that was new
He, in the level of crime, grew
Oh, how high he flew
Soon he became Bishop Of The Pew
But he was soon to wish that path he did eschew.

On one of the deals he had got
It was like taking candy from a baby’s cot
Definitely the mother would be, in the chase,hot
Till she retrieves the baby’s lot
And teach a lesson one would not ,in a hurry, blot

On this particular event,
He walks into the place like a gent
For a suspicion, he wanted to prevent
So he could his prey, circumvent
And then strike till his heart is content.

Approaching the master of the place
He threatens with a gun, his face.
In order to hasten the operation’s pace
That before the arrival of the authorities, he is gone without a trace
And into a safe hiding place.

However fate had other plans for this fellow
One that is gauranteed to wipe off his glow
And with just one blow,
Cause him to be mellow
Whilst with his head on a stony pillow.

He could have just surrendered with the police in sight
But he was determined not to go down without a fight.
His parents had taught him that that was right
Hence it was the wind beneath his life’s kite
And he would use this lesson on this site.

Putting out his gun
He begins shooting with an intent to stun.
Hoping it would make the authorities run
But he was as wrong as the expression “a brothel’s nun”
And the consequences, oh were not fun.

After the gun battle with the police so long
The police sing a sad song
Rolling out the death’s gong.
For many of their officers did, death’s table, throng
With the bullets Finch’s ammunition flung.

At the time the battle is over for Finch’s exhausted fire power
They move in on him like a disabled electrified tower,
And like the case of a sower,
He is snatched & into the prison soil put lower
At the mercy of reconstruction’s mower

To trim his danger element
And his humanity, augment
That he may be less of a torment
And more of the community’s excitement
But oh, he was head deep in this garment.

He is granted bail
But with a condition that if he should at responsibility, fail
The law would have him once more in jail
Or worse still they would, his person, to death, nail
Advised is he by the judge to make a good sail.

But he thought
“I am the king of crime, I could have whatever crime, wrought”
This said, some ammunition he bought
And to cause havoc, he desperately sought
Hell to earth, he in one day, brought

As he maimed & butchered so much.
Never had the town ever witnessed such
But again the police, after the 500th was given the grim reaper’s touch,
Step in to give anymore of such, a botch.

They come very ready this time
To smoothly put an end to the actions of this king of crime
Make him feel the brunt of being under hardship’s clime
And regret ever stealing his first dime

Before finally putting him to the sword
Severing between life and himself, the linking cord
That he may to the land of the dead, ford
Since he had rejected listening to the many-a-remand-word.

Tortured is he for four days,
Each day’s torture is done in different ways.
Then on the fourth day, before the rising of the sun’s rays,
The ultimate price he finally pays.

He is put in the path of an armoured tank
And crushed while his blood into the ground sank
Finally he receives his greatest salary from repercussion’s bank
As the highest in crime’s rank.

His remains are burnt black
Finally, this town enjoys a peace they did once lack.

CHINONSO SAMUEL ONYEBUENYI
(MR. SPECTACULAR)(EWP)
09068670838, 08113849107
excellenceworksofthepen@gmail.com

JUST DUST

Sometimes, my mind has a thousand thoughts juggled.
By these thoughts so troubling, my mental store room is burgled
And my peace is smuggled
I lose my calm.

We are often told we are but mud
But something about this hits my mind with a great thud,
Wrapping my mind around the sense behind it is dud
It confounds me greatly.

If we are but silt
Why do we have mansions built?
Why do we tend to, toward the paper, tilt?
Of what use is it to us if we really are just dust?

We are told that from dust we came
And we shall return to same
But we do close to nothing to remind ourselves that there is an end in the game,
Rather, we live as though the game never ends

What then shall be our gain
When finally, we are in the same dust lain?

EXCELLENCE WORKS OF THE PEN

©2020

LONG WALK TO ROYALTY

This is how I rose to this life I now live,
Extremely tiny were the holes on the sieve.
My looks now may deceive
But the scars & abrasions of that experience make me grieve.

Yes I am a man so opulent
But by the process I have been bent.
So tasking were they that I wished to have my clothes rent
When I was on the mission for the crown sent.

We were called, hundred in number
By our king Mulumba
Who looked really sombre
Like one who had lost some expensive timber.

We all were eager to know his grudge
But he would not immediately budge.
After about one hour of keeping us standing in his lodge,
He finally discloses the issue from his gorge.

Telling us Kayla,the Princess had been abducted by unknown fellows
And he was afraid that if nothing was done she would be put to the gallows.
Our tasks was to show the abductors why we are called The Land That Swallows,
Why we are not a land that, in pity, wallows.

We were all energized,
We were not with the enemy, fraternized.
Hence we were eager to have them paralysed
And their happiness, completely bastardized.

Each of us give the king our word,
Each man takes up his sword
And into the forest we ford
At the instruction of his majesty, our lord.

We were not going to get so easily, the princess
Because the hoodlums were ready to stand against this success.
Armed to the teeth, they were ready to press.
Of us, they made a mess.

A hundred men were reduced by twenty to ten.
This happenstance none of us did ken.
I guess that’s why it’s called an ambush then.
For a lot of us were angrily murdered in the bush by these men.

Hundred of us found their haven,
We were not in any way even.
They had weapons more sophisticated even though they were just ten and seven.
By these weapons, they sent most of us to heaven.

However four of us came back with the princess who sustained some few injuries
As a result of the penuries
She was put through by the criminals furies.
She told us such stories.

On the day of our return,
Various packages of appreciation the king does churn.
It is all fun
Till the setting of the sun.

The next day our king comes up again,
Assembling us in the rain
But our cool we maintain.
Our loyalty cannot for any reason, wane.

There, he tells us there is another criterion for who would wear the crown
And strut in the royal gown.
He titles the contest “The Man Of The Town”.
The loser would be made a laughing stock, a clown.

Two out of the four of us back out of the contest.
To them, it was something they did detest.
Hence they do not give this request a behest
They were not about to give the shame-ride, a test.

Down to just us two,
His majesty fixes a date for the drinking of the wrestling brew
To determine to whom the throne was due
And who, to the wall of shame, would be given a glue.

The day of the match arrives.
The arena buzzes with onlookers like beehives.
We begin the first round
Both of us giving each other a good pound.

After about the round of nine
The ground welcomes my opponent’s spine.
Victory is now mine
What’s more? One so fine.

To royalty here, was a painful long walk on broken glass.
But with my new level & class,
It was worth every bit of pain
And if I have to, I would do it all over again.

EXCELLENCE WORKS OF THE PEN
©2020

HE MADE ME HIMSELF

Yesterday I discovered something that changed my life as a whole.
I shall now undertake a very tasking role,
Fitting my little self
Into a shoe so big, I’d feel like a little book in an empty large shelf.

All the while, I had beaten myself up for being so different,
Like a weird creature not fit for this tent.
I injured my mind, thinking I was nothing significant,
About how I didn’t like this difference I’d always rant

But with an episode that occured just yesterday,
A lot will definitely change in my mental pathway.
I thought such could only occur in stories of fiction
But yesterday brought my thought’s contradiction.

I am seated in my room, on my head is silt,
Beating myself up for being so built.
All of sudden, joining me in the room & I kid you not
Is the greatest super hero the world has got.

The One Himself,
The biggest deal on the superhero shelf.
His face shines more than the sun so I do not recognize him
Hence in shock I scream

But he asks that I calm down
He takes a seat by me in his flowing lit gown.
Part of me is terrified
Another has joy in it, nidified.

A part of me goes “wow, I have my superhero before me”.
Another part goes “How real can this be?”
Grabbing my hand, he says to me
Son, your heart I do see.

It is greatly grieved.
It has been the wrongest of impressions, conceived.
You think of you as powerless,
You think of you as worthless

But let me tell you something that’s very true
You are among the blessed few.
Son, look at me
What do you see?

I see a light so bright
It almost blinds my sight.
Have you seen anything as bright as this on this planet
Not yet, I bet?

Where does that situate your complaint?
Yes, you look quaint
That’s because you are not made to be uniform
Heroes have their own form.

Hence the reason you see me, your hero, as strange
Because heroes and regular operate not on same range.
Son you were so created this way
Because your mission as a member of the hero league requires you make here in this enclave, a stay.

It’s your supersuit
Taking it off would make you for the duties ahead, unfit.
Please enjoy your place, son
You have my image, protect it with all you’ve got.

I chose you, please disappoint me not.
With that, He is gone.
He made me this way himself
So I may join him on the Heroes Shelf.

EXCELLENCE WORKS OF THE PEN

©2020

MY DEER

In the wilderness, I had been for months.
To the shame of all my hunting stunts,
I had made no bull’s eye on my target
That dryness & futility of my hunt I can never forget

But there is a sudden rustle in the bushes.
Through the leaves therein, something pushes.
Cocking my gun, I make ready to take the shot
On my trigger, I was hot.

In a short while, this harmless deer from the bushes, appears
In my eyes are tears.
Tears of joy, I guess
I mean finally I could go home after this month of stress.

I aim for the kill
But this deer approaches still.
I must admit, I am beyond petrified,
Utterly terrified.

Before long, she is standing by me
As if to say, you need not shoot me.
I’ll follow you to your home instead
What follows, was to say a least, a shocking thread.

She struts before me
Instead of making a flee.
We both walk for a few hours into the forest
And then I’m led into what I would love to call Joy’s nest,

Like an Eden of sort.
For everything, I was of, short
I found in this place.
This deer put such a wide smile on my face.

This deer is not just a deer
But a dear deer.

EXCELLENCE WORKS OF THE PEN

©2020

THE NOTE

School was just over
I could not wait to go home to my lover.
I had been thinking of her all day
Now, it was time to go meet her. Yay

My students were in their droves, running out of the class hall.
Some were headed for rest, others to the field to play ball.
It was beautiful seeing them that way cause it brought back memories,
Memories that reminded me of when I had less worries

But now, a professor, I have papers to write
And papers to right.
I could not have the time for such frivolities
More concerned was I now with the pen and paper activities.

I stroll through the class as I always do to clear all forgotten items for return the next day.
While on this task, I stumble on something really terrifying I must say,
It is one of my student’s books
Lurking in one of the hall’s crannies and nooks.

Picking it up, I open it.
What I would later see would pound my heart to grit.
Taking it up to my office,
I read through every crevice.

Here’s what I read,
It is something you’d definitely dread.
And to think this was written by an eighteen year old boy,
You would know he is void of joy.

He wrote: I hate me,
Why should I be allowed the next day to see.
I wish I could just drop-dead,
Why can’t I, death, wed?

It would make everything better
Because right now, I’m making everyone around me bitter,
Even though it is not with intent.
I’m like to their life’s vehicles, a deep dent.

I bet if they could have me returned, they would without a second thought;
For enough to last a lifetime is the damage my life has wrought
And I have only been here for a little while.
My execution, the grim-rippers counsel should file

So they could all have some rest
Or maybe I could do it, because it is best.
It’s best I leave their lives alone
For I am to their throat, a bone.”

I look at the book’s cover
So I can the owner, discover.
It belongs the Martins Desmond
The young man is an intelligence pond.

Why would he want to end his existence
Such would be of what essence?
And with lightening speed
I run out to fulfill concern’s need.

Accosting him, I ask that he comes with me
On the basis that there was something I wanted him to see.
He follows me but some great confusion in his mind.
Entering into my office, we shut the door in on our behind.

I offer him a chair
And a conversation I begin between our pair.
Desmond, why do you want to have yourself, killed
When for a future so bright, you’ve been billed.

Talk to me. I’m all ears
If need be, let out the tears
Just make sure you let go of all the pains on your chest,
For I am here to bring you rest.

Sir, what are you talking about?
I have no pains or worries to let out.
I am at peace with myself a hundred percent
With my life, I’m very content.

But you wrote these, didn’t you?
Come on spill those nuts that are hard to chew.
Let me help you have them blended to paste
So you can enjoy with much lesser pain, its pleasant taste.

Sir, I honestly didn’t write this.
This is obviously of someone lacking bliss
And I certainly am not one of such kind.
No, I would never think of giving my life a deliberate upwind.

Hmm, then who could it be Desmond?
Who could have, flowing in him or her, such a bitter pond
And what reason would warrant such a thought
Like this fellow has sought?

Sir, I have no idea.
I want to say I don’t care
But that would be, on my part, cruelty so grave.
This fellow should be afforded a quick save.

Well, we do not know the writer
So how can be his or her grim ripper fantasy’s fighter.
Sir, I think I recognize the autograph,
This must be Ralph.

Ok, so do you know where he is at the moment,
For he needs rescue from his torment.
Oh I saw him recently, he said he was going to the loo,
He did not look blue.

Alright Desmond. When he comes out, ask him to see me,
I need to know how I can restore his glee.
Just then, heard from boys loo is a loud yell
The reason, neither myself nor Desmond could tell.

Into my office, comes a fellow staff, requesting my presence at the bathroom,
I wonder what trouble does loom.
Getting there, I am astonished at what meets my sight,
It gives me such a fright.

It’s Ralph’s bloodied body stabbed by a knife
He had taken his own life.
I burst into tears.
How did I not see this coming after I had been his lecturer for two years?

CHINONSO SAMUEL ONYEBUENYI

(MR. SPECTACULAR)(EWP)

08113849107, 09068670838

conyebuenyi34@gmail.com

excellenceworksofthepen@gmail.com

GIVE ME A HELLO

To her station I had gone
To get my belly singing happily in the highest sone-zone.
Being attended to by her colleague at the counter,
To her colleague’s duty station she took a saunter.

Already negotiating with her colleague,
She gave me a stare that was goodly oblique
As though she had missed seeing my face
And was glad to be honoured now with this rare grace.

I didn’t pay to the glance, much attention,
Rather I played pretention.
Then she spoke out, a jovial fellow
Smiling playfully, “Won’t you say hello?”

By this action was I stunned.
By disbelief, I was gunned
Maybe I was blushing
My blood seemed to be rushing

I smiled back at her like a child
She was so mild
I then gave her the hello
Her reaction made my heart feel as though it were listening to a playing cello

We hit a conversation, very short
But sweet of some sort
My order is ready,
I pick it up slow & steady.

While I take my leave, she flashes another smile
That makes my heart runs a mile.
I scurry off like a hare
But truth be laid bare

She touched, so warmly, my heart.
I cannot wait to re-act this part

CHINONSO SAMUEL ONYEBUENYI

(EWP)(MR. SPECTACULAR)

08113849107, 09068670838

excellenceworksofthepen@gmail.com

conyebuenyi34@gmail.com

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

The whole Earth is in gyration.
Ecstatic are they to see the new year.
Finally the previous year is gone with the many-a-tear
And myriads of frustration.

Everyone can already smell the air of twenty twenty.
In its double refreshing flavour
A dish they can’t wait to savour
Dreams, hopes & aspirations are plenty.

The list would be endless,
If it were to be compiled.
“Much more, no less”
Would be the principle, here, applied

Would you blame them anyway?
Everyone loves to be with a genuine smile.
2019 may not, for them, have been that way,
Hence they are looking to 2020 for a year to take them on that track, the extra-mile.

I am no prophet
But may your 2020 be twenty twenty
As good as it can get
That it may wipe away those moments that made your 2019 tear-ducts, sweaty

May your 2020 be triumphant
May the challenges that may come your way
Be crushed by your weight like an ant
And peace be with you each & everyday

May your joy flow like water from a well-dug well
And hope like a fountain that never runs dry.
In the pool of victory, may you dwell
And a conquering of every land you espy.

Troubles may come, no doubt
But on you or any of yours,
They shall have no clout.
Tranquil tours

Around the best experiences the year has to offer,
Shall you & all yours take.
Indeed, this year shall positively differ.
Enjoy this freshly baked year-cake.

Cheers

EXCELLENCE WORKS OF THE PEN

©2020

excellenceworksofthepen@gmail.com

08113849107

COMING HOME

At least, that was what was conceived
In his mental faculty,
But what had him received
Was a home in the casualty.
The entirety was anything but organised,
Split from within.
For some reason, he still hadn’t, the situation realized,
He regarded it as trash from the bin.

The reality is seriously mean
That it may never recover from this comatose
Hard as a crustacean,
It hits him in the face with a double dose.
Now he sits,
Wondering which home he was so ecstatic to come to.

Excellence Works of the Pen

©2019

excellenceworksofthepen@gmail.com

08113849107