Tag: #poetry

Tale of two gods.

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Source: Pixabay

A short, playful and somewhat true story.

…as the jagged talons of religious conflict ripped through earth’s coat of many colors, she struggled for what to believe in, thus condemning her ways to the eerie bliss of karma and the beguiling warmth of morality. Alas, she decided to pen an open letter to the world, pronouncing her new-found faith.

As the nothingness of the blank pages and her steel blue eyes embarked on a cold staring contest, imaginary quills swiveling between thoughts began etching words on her mindscape saying:

By the virtue of karma,

we get what we give,

thus,

when the sun sets on the once soaring butterfly,

as the gale’s burden rests upon her fragile wings

thence, plummeting her to the abyss,

she has to give up,

just so she gets up;

so, tell me

on what bed does your belief lay?

Karma?

or the poetry dressed in pun’s prowess?

Have a lovely and playful week ahead.

Cheemnonso

After Dark. (Sketch/Quatrain)

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Graphite drawing of Ninõ on vellum.

Sketchbook: Bienfang Bristol Vellum paper

Media: STÆDTLER graphite pencils

Earlier this year, I indicated that the theme of my portrait sketches in 2021 would exude more expressions/emotions with some interludes pending striking inspirations, and my recent study seems to suggest we are on the right track.

Like always, I came across my recent portrait study on Pinterest, all monochromatic, and the wisest option was to approach this drawing using graphite pencils on a vellum surface. What particular piqued my interest in this study was my long-dreaded fear of going too dark in shading and drawing drops of water. I found this crying child or Ninõ (as dubbed by Pedro Luis Raota, the actual photographer, in 1970) encapsulating all I have always feared in drawing; thus, I decided to take on the challenge.

Initially, things went smooth, but I had not even gotten to the teardrops and my 8B pencils were already toast because of the number of dark areas I had to cover; however, I had to improvise with my other pencil grades.

Although likeness suffered a bit, one key takeaway from the drawing was that the bigger the size, the better the details you capture in your portraits, so these enabled shading the teardrops fairly easy.

Overall, I was somewhat pleased with the drawing, if, for anything, its successful completion and I look forward to taking on more expressive portraits before the year runs out.

Lastly, do imbibe this quatrain I wrote as inspired by the drawing, and take it with you as you enjoy your lovely days ahead. Cheers!

Though the dark’s mouth may spew sorrow,

with our limbs caught ‘tween its jaws of pain,

always remember there is a dance tomorrow,

where our teardrops elope with the rain.

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 Monarchs.

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Summer’s scorching reign was over, and the world finally became a stage for the succeeding princess. High hopes were held of her and the events of her coronation as documented in a lost journal reads;

As the sun crowned autumn,

with a fitting tiara bathed in gold,

whistling winds blew their bagpipes,

tree twigs swayed softly in the melodious aura,

and lush leaves fell fatuously

in deference to her majesty;

Alas, not all subjects agreed to bend the knee,

for they feared the land’s drought may never cease,

and how did the new queen respond?

Well, she sicced her soldiers on them.

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

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I’ve seen the colour of music;

yellow like a budding sunflower,

with blotted petals clothed in tumeric;

.

I’ve treaded her country, so idyllic;

where love and lust tastes sweet and sour,

and the dreams bequeathed inspire moments of magic;

.

I’ve heard her melody, so angelic;

easing my nightmares in the darkest hour

as the crickets chirp a solemn panegyric;

.

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.

.

Cheemnonso™

A Letter to Humanity. (Free Verse)

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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™

Amara. (Panegyric)

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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.

.

Cheemnonso™

Baby Steps to Realism

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Page 1 of my sketchbook:

It’s been a while since I sketched something, so, I got hold of this sketchbook and a couple pencils, then decided to portray Arya from the Game of Thrones series.

Still off by a long shot, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Let’s see where these baby steps to realism lead and how many souls I’ll draw out from the walls of these blank pages.
.

Cheemnonso™

The Genesis. (Villanelle)

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Here comes the dawn of a new year,

and the heavens echo, my friend:

withering flowers will bloom, sad hearts will cheer.

.

and we shall not cower in fear,

in times when ripples need be amend,

because here comes the dawn of a new year.

.

a little odd some days may appear,

a little low we beings may descend,

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

.

remove the mask, burn the veneer,

for upon ourselves we may depend,

because here comes the dawn of a new year.

.

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.

.

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.

.

Cheemnonso™

Cliffhanger

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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™

Happy Birthday

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That moment when the hands of time stood still,

beknownst to me, a salient star is born,

brimming with joy from her head to her heel,

in a world prepossesed in angst and scorn;

I saw her for who she was to become,

not even a single sane soul could compare,

with her beauty rendering Aphrodite numb,

and her mien as cold as Medussa’s stare;

Fifteen seeds festooned in her garden by God,

fifteen years it took the first to germinate,

umpteen fruits harvested from thy first pod,

umpteen souls her Midas touch will make sate;

Really pleased blood strangled us with its ties,

leaving us with good times and not goodbyes.

.

Cheemnonso ✍️✍️

Freedom

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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.

.

Cheemnonso ✍️✍️✍️