Angel Tears II. (Haiku)

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when heavens’ tears cease,
as groundwater banks plummet,
scorched roses still pray.

So my dear beloved, keep the faith; for He’s risen.

Feel free to read my first version of Angel Tears, as you bask in the splendor of the Easter season. Stay blessed and blissful.

Cheemnonso

The Thousandth Mile.

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It has been two years and some months since I launched this blog, and I vividly remember my first blogpost which was a limerick of some sort that goes like this:

consumed by pride, envy and scorn,

the feeble veil of my heart is torn,

one which no golden needle and silver thread can mend,

one which only the agape love from persons can tend,

salving all wounds from dusk till dawn.

Love (Adapted)

The poem very much typified my emotional state at the time and how I held all kinds of feelings bottled up, searching for meaning and answers in our nature. However, interest from a few persons piqued gradually and my world began to morph artistically. With the gradual growth of the blog, I have been able to find my channel of catharsis with some areas botched in shades of gray, and others smeared in resplendent hues. As such, many thanks to you all who have literally given me a thousand reasons to be grateful for the interest, love and support rendered towards the achievement of this milestone.

As always, it will remain a tremendous pleasure to keep putting smiles on your faces through my works as you have done so effortlessly on mine. Cheers to our next artistic adventure, and a thousand hugs and kisses to each and every one of you. Happy blogging.

Cheemnonso

A New Dawn II

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A short story

As her world spun still,
dreamy days flew by,
and the Earth slowly grew giddy.

With defenses now laying bare,
space-grey goblins came scything down her core,
and every milky taste she once had of her galaxy
became a forlorn memory.

Darkness crescendoed
and, alas,
from her seven siblings,
she became estranged.

However, there lived a being;
a bright beaming being,
who always stood firm by her,
and ran circles around her adversities,
thence,
illuminating her dimming mien,
and after three sixty six days
of twirling and courtship,
a new child is born.

A Happy New year to you, and may all your wishes yearned come true🥳🙏.

Cheemnonso

The Macaw’s Perch. (Sketch)

Sketchbook: Arteza Drawing pad (80lb)

Media: Arteza Coloured pencils, 3B Graphite

Inspired by a lot of talented artists lately, I finally decided to have my first animal study (a very brief break from portraiture), and it’s no other than my favorite poetic bird; Macaws, particularly, the Scarlet Macaw. If you’re conversant with my works, you’d discover I’ve used her reference in some poems of mine including The Spree, The Parade and most recently in The Beauts, and these I really enjoyed writing.

What I particularly love about this bird is how her plumage exudes different colours, so much that one could sense rainbows getting jealous. Sadly though, blending these colors could actually prove difficult as colour segue could take time to be properly administered on the sketch.

However, I’m okay with how this drawing turned out and I look forward to hearing your favourite bird and how it rivals a Macaw’s beauty (Still undisputed though).

Cheemnonso

The Beauts

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There’s the graceful allure of august auroras,
and the radiance of a splendid sun,
seeing through the teardrops of heaven;

There’s the ravishing bloom of pink cherry blossoms,
and the artsy resplendence,
weaved into the plumes of swirling macaws;

There’s the last golden smile of a summer sunset,
and the stunning dazzle of the moon and stars,
enlivening the gorgeous collage of the night sky;

but, of all the beauties mother nature has borne,
you, my dear, will forever be second to none.

Cheemnonso

Ode to Music

I’ve seen the colour of music;

yellow like a budding sunflower,

with blotted petals clothed in tumeric;

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I’ve treaded her country, so idyllic;

where love and lust tastes sweet and sour,

and the dreams bequeathed inspire moments of magic;

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I’ve heard her melody, so angelic;

easing my nightmares in the darkest hour

as the crickets chirp a solemn panegyric;

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and when I feared my world grew paralytic,

with pain urging me to cower,

she became a soothing analgesic;

.

Alas, the tale she tells can sometimes seem cryptic,

as her throbbing pulses conceal its true power,

and her wordings can sometimes be toxic,

like a fierce fanged hound geared to devour;

still, I’ll forever be in awe of her alluring mystique,

for she has given me a thousand reasons to stay poetic.

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Cheemnonso™

The Gift. (Sketch)

So it’s Christmas, yay! A season where the atmosphere brims with joy and the love is so palpable. As it would be, this day happens to celebrate the birth of some special people including baby Jesus and guess who, (whispers) my brother.

After drawing my sister a few months ago, I had to make a promise of sketching him before his birthday; I mean, who wouldn’t want to have a pencil depiction of someone celebrated by the whole world.

I’m very happy to have finished this sketch before the year runs out, as it means I’ve completed the sketches of the best things that happened to me this decade.

So with this, I’d like to say happy birthday brother and a Merry Christmas to everyone!

Cheemnonso

The Bow Baby. (Sketch)

Sunday Strathmore Sketchbook – Page 6

Here’s a sketch of this cute baby I came across while scrolling through Pinterest just the other day.

Immediately I saw her, I began to imagine the quirky world babies immerse themselves in. A world where tantrums aren’t ignored but cared for. A world where one could wear a smile for days and not think much about its laundry. A world where everyone’s so eager to hear the first words of your story. A world where there’s no deriding of one’s incessant mistakes but always a helping hand. Simply put, a world without worries; at least I think.

What most will give to be in this version of the world every moment.

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Cheemnonso

A Letter to Humanity. (Free Verse)

Dear humanity,
I write this to ask you,
How did we drift so askew,
to the point where
the vain is inanely adored,
and the sane is insanely abhorred?

Why do the colours that make rainbows smile
and give the auroras her alluring style,
no longer ignite beauty sparks on faces,
but smear the tracks of individual races?

Why do we worship the elitists
at their altar of greed,
but ignore the sinister cysts,
sprouting on those in need?

Why do we still play the game called fame,
whilst our high-scores keep putting us to shame?

When did everyone suddenly become so fickle,
leaving us to trust only the Reaper’s thrusting sickle?

If you’re reading this, I need some answers,
I really do,
because the world slowly sinks into hate’s murky gutter,
and I need to know how to keep my head above water.

Regards,

Cheemnonso

Ugochi. (Sketch)

Sunday Strathmore Sketchbook – Page 4

Over the course of last fourteen months , I’ve had three drawings of my baby sister, who, by the way, happens to celebrate her birthday today. Woo hoo!

With her beguiling smile, charm and a little bit of petulance, she was able to lure me into this recent drawing of her, which I very much enjoyed to say the least. She has also been one of my dynamic references who I can actually attribute her real time growth to my artistic growth, so, I can’t thank her enough.

After attempts one and two, I’m quite tempted to say that “the third time’s the charm”, but looking back at it, I can only be amazed at the progress from each of them, hoping for more development in the coming years.

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Cheemnonso

Ralph and Vanellope. (Sketch)

Page 2 of my sketchbook

Last year, the world witnessed some wonderful animated movies including Spiderman: Into the Spiderverse, Isle of Dogs, The Incredibles 2, Smallfoot, The Grinch, Mirai and the likes, but, one that particularly stood out for me was Ralph Breaks the Internet. The way its plot relayed the real world social media to an in-game fantasy sphere was second to none.

So, here’s my portrayal of its protagonists (Ralph and Vanellope von Schweetz) in HB.

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Cheemnonso™

Amara. (Panegyric)

Sitting in the back pew,

within walls shrouded in lew,

I beheld this wonderful creature,

with a smile belighting all of nature;

Her skin knitted in fine threads of gold,

unspooling from looms in Midas’ hold,

and her tress flowing like the river Rhine,

in ways so slithery, so serpentine;

Alas, my heart’s chalice yearned a fill,

but I feared it may drown in its overspill,

so, there I sat ogling away,

hoping to have this dream another day.

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Cheemnonso™

The Genesis. (Villanelle)

Here comes the dawn of a new year,

and the heavens echo, my friend:

withering flowers will bloom, sad hearts will cheer.

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and we shall not cower in fear,

in times when ripples need be amend,

because here comes the dawn of a new year.

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a little odd some days may appear,

a little low we beings may descend,

but, withering flowers will bloom, sad hearts will cheer.

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remove the mask, burn the veneer,

for upon ourselves we may depend,

because here comes the dawn of a new year.

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and as we go, bleak may seem the atmosphere,

with each road posing a dead end,

yet, withering flowers will bloom, sad hearts will cheer.

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For we shall dream less and toil more, my dear,

and the fruits we reap, we may not comprehend,

because here comes the dawn of a new year,

where withering flowers will bloom, sad hearts will cheer.

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Cheemnonso

Cliffhanger

It’s been eons since you left,

but, your perfume still lingers in the attic;

the sun sleeps,

the dark creeps,

and as each day passes,

our past evanesces,

now, memories of you are

as thin as a knife’s edge,

and the more I cling unto them,

the more I bleed out,

so, it’s time I let go.

.

Cheemnonso

Freedom

Trapped in solitude, I see freedom,

Freedom to know when to utter and stutter,

Freedom to know when to leap and be leaped on,

Freedom to save by spending,

Freedom to eat my food for thought,

Freedom to be the extroverted introvert,

Freedom to move mountains while sitting,

Freedom to walk on water while sleeping,

Freedom to cuss through life’s courses,

Freedom to know what’s right and abhor what’s left,

Freedom to write my sweet sorrows,

Freedom to sketch my beautiful messes,

Freedom to sway and sway to freedom,

Moreso, I see the freedom to be free.

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Cheemnonso ✍️✍️✍️