Literary Place.
On this page are excerpts from my literary efforts -
Some Poetry and an excerpt from one of my novels -
The Hangman Waits.
The Voice.
There is a voice I hear,
When my grief, too hard to bear,
Constricts my feeble attempts at breath,
Unsettling, and threatening my inner hearth.
There is a voice I hear
When my loss, too much I fear.
There is a voice that cools,
As my unbidden tears, gently pool
Around a cupped hand on my warm cheek,
Meandering, unhurriedly into a cascading creek.
There is a small voice that cools
Even to a galloping sorrow, it fools.
There is a voice that soothes the affray,
As it caresses my pain away,
Filled with the warmth of a sunny day, love, tender.
I know not where it hails but nothing grows fonder
Than a voice I hear
When my loss, too much I fear.
©® Oby Onyioha.
Where is My Father??
My very core,
Soul they call it, asks, nay, demands in silent agony,
And strains,
Ears cupped, listening intently, in case,
Don’t want to miss a sound, a whisper, of an echoing response,
His voice calling out to me,
Eyes darting wildly in case I miss a fleeting vision or spectre,
An imperceptible movement,
Waiting and desperate in hope and desire.
Daa-ddy, are you there? Can you hear me?
Two years.
A nightmare unto eternity,
A gripping grief, vicelike, around my heart,
That will not let go,
Overwhelmed, breathless,
As I imagine a flicker out of the corners of my eyes,
Then a feathery stroke on my right cheek,
A gentle breeze all around me, warm, oily,
No imagination this.
I felt my father, Daa-ddy,
He is not far away; he is here, as he always has been.
Copyright. Oby Onyioha.
My Family.
My Father is my rock on whom I lean, immovable, solid.
My mother is my pillow, my blanket, soft, warm comforting,
My sisters are my friends –
As playful as puppies in a litter basket,
gossip mates, and confidantes.
My brothers are my warriors and shield against a hostile world.
And me?
The lucky recipient!
Copyright.
Oby Onyioha.
​
Imperfect World.
IMPERFECT
In a perfect world, I would like the lame to walk,
The dumb to talk:
In a perfect world, I would like the blind to see
the flora, fauna and even a stinging bee,
In a perfect world, I would like the deaf to hear
The deafening wuthering of the wind in an ear:
Alas!
For now, feeling fear for sounds unseen,
Unspoken silence, for dumb where tongue had been,
The other deafened to its shrieking whirling pool,
And another rooted, too lame to walk, yet not a fool,
For still hearing with a knowing and grieving mirth,
It has never been perfect since its birth.
​
Copyright.
Oby Onyioha.
Allow A room.
​
For the Children of Our Father, hearken unto this.
When you allow a room for good in your heart,
Great things happen my friends.
You find incredible strength in adversity,
You find an indomitable spirit that stares down evil and cruelty,
You find love and tolerance for fellow creatures,
You find sweet peace in your reborn tranquility,
Lo! you become as one with God, my friends.
Copyright
Oby Onyioha.
​