Shared Vision


I know what you want from me

And I defiantly know I want it too

We are aiming for the same goal

And both of our hearts are true


So you want me to be better

At everything I do

Well I see your bet and I raise it

Because my heart is true


I will be yours, and only yours

So we can see what we'll be

I know that you want this as bad

As I do, so we'll see


What its like to have the best

Yet, I am already there

Just because I have found the one

That everything, we will share



Written on 

October 12, 2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Yea, I thought it ould be forever, but I was seriously mistaken.

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Windy Whiplash





Blessed are those

In the eye of the downpour,

Basking in the sun's warm rays,

Where others see only devastation

From the storm.




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Mi Abuelito Chepe's Poem

I would not be me without him!

The poet before you is because of him!!

For you see, he thought me how to read

and write; a writer himself. I recall mi

abuelito Chepe would write for hours and

at times I would ask him,

“Abuelito, que escribe?” “Mijo escribo

pensamientos!” he replied.

I always thought he had some long thoughts!

However, this is not the way mi abuelito

Chepe’s poem begins—it begins with the

letters “A..E..I..O..U,” the vowels of the

alphabet; the first day we began practicing mi

abuelito Chepe brought a white leather belt to

the dinner table; that’s where we ate, my dad

would pay the bills, and where my abuelo

Chepe thought me my vowels  “A..E..I..O..U’s”

I quickly learned why the white belt?

Mi abuelito Chepe would  pronounce the

vowels once before practice, then I started, “A,”

“La proxima,” mi abuelo Chepe commanded…

I said, “B,” and before I could catch my breath

again, I felt the whip across my back. “Es, E.”

he said.

I started from the beginning again, “A, E, C...”

but as the letter ‘C’ was becoming a sound, I felt

the white belt lingering in the air above, striking

my back like a snakes bite! Or a bumblebee’s

stinger! Then the tears started rolling. “No estes

llorando!” Mi abuelito Chepe directed at me.

“Es para tu propio bien, y porque te quiero te aporrio!”

He added. As far as I can recall that was the first and

only time mi abuelito Chepe  had said to me these

words. “Because he loves me, he discipline me!”

He continues to tell me, “Cuando te apriendas las

vocales bien, las vas a decir haci de rapido, “AEIOU!”

No pauses, or letter breaks, only one long ass vowel,



 After the first practice every practice was the same.

He said, “A.” I would say “P.”—the white belt,

“Yeah, it was there too, it never went unused! Sadly,

I miss the belt, because it reminds me of mi abuelito

Chepe’s strong hands, a leathery feel…harsh, not soft!

When mi abuelo Chepe arrived home from work as a

security guard, he would first put his uniform away,

before he even ate dinner, he would call out to me,

“Sergio, traime el cincho!” “Bring me the belt!” Just

the thought of the whip on my back was enough for

me to shed a tear.

He would be waiting at the dinner table, I would hand

him the belt, and sit next to him; practice began with

‘A’ smile from mi abuelito Chepe, and ended with ‘U’

finding it hard to believe I was reading and writing in

less than two months. It was the fear of Jose Lopez in


In first grade myself and another little girl were the

only two whom knew the ‘A..E..I..O..U’s’ of the

alphabet; the very little we knew, her and I shared

with our classmates.

In the third grade, I wrote six childrens books, which

won a couple of classmates and myself a trip to Ms.

Robin’s home to watch all three of the Star Wars

movies back in 1986…

since that day I have yet to leave heaven!

This could be the Ode’ of Jose Eulalio Lopez-Mejia,

but it wasn’t his commands that made my knees

buckle or the hairs on my neck shiver; it was the

sound of the leather belt breaking wind upon my skin.

The welts it left on my back ached as I lay to sleep,

sometimes I would cry myself to sleep. My days

seemed like neverending, anticipating mi abuelito

Chepe’s arrival from work; practices felt like military

training. He was the General, and I was his cadet.

I thank him for the discipline he bestowed on me back

in the day when I began learning my vowels. I say my

vowels, because I earned them the hard way. I own the

vowels ‘A,E,I,O,U!’


I thank my mother for not teaching me my vowels; she

tried but I didn’t listen. So she called her father! Mi

Abuelito Chepe!

Today, I bleed these vowels and the rest of the alphabet

upon pages, napkins, receipts, even dollar bills—

I created an image he laid the foundation for;

Soulcriticpoet... Rise!!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Because of Jose Eulalio Lopez Mejia, I am Sergio Valencia!

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Twisted Vision

Little twips,
Envious snips,
Ill equipped,
Worried about things out of their league,
For the sake of intrigue,
Must be so sad for them,
Only viciousness shone,
Cold to the bone,
Their illusory throne,



It's a real pity,
I'm not being witty,
Monotonous city,
A wall of deceit that's not pretty,
A haggard old snotnose committee,
Unhappiness clouding,
Their lives full of doubting,
Oh my, how they dare,
I can't say I care,
No, not one itty,


© 2013

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Ever Changing Eyes

Thinking on the dew of a just-born day, what today seems so vibrant, tomorrow grey?
For now the shapes they bend into figures and ornaments wrapping and surrounding me like their purpose is only to supply a place where new smiles on my face can grow. The colors, they twist and crackle, they sparkle and gleam, jumping for point to place dancing, dipping and diving all around sparking flames of brilliance not unlike the ones prayer’s followers hope to unite with.
How long can this continue on before these colors, these shapes, this myriad of dreamscapes turn from twists and bends to writhing and seizing. The colors glowing so brightly they block out the timid beauty of the sun, the tender calling of the ocean’s decadent rainbow. The shapes, like the leaves of fall, stumble and crack against the wind of time, dying out and falling just short of another beautiful cycle.
Perhaps though, in this life’s bliss less downfall, in it’s breaking and fading apart, a new ending will become far away; objects forming worlds as the tumble together from their end to an elegant new beginning. The bright whites and gleaming colors collapsing into each other so as to splinter and fracture, molding and forming just to show it’s not how bright they were, it’s how well they responded to each other. It’s not how the shapes fell together, but how with dignity they fall apart. It’s not that the sun was gone, it’s just that sometimes the singing and dancing make for a better view…


My Work

Vulture's thirst,
rapier vision.
Grace reversed,
Stoic mass,
Upper class,

Poisoned weather,
breath is tiring.
Clung together,
mute inquiring.

In formation,
hunger blinds.
Sweet oblation,
blood is wine.
Helpless screams,
rendered faint.
Crimson dreams,
splattered paint.

Jealous treasure,
wounded beast.
Sate your pleasure,
in the feast.

We won't pardon,
those who transgress,
God's special wardens,
when they won't confess.

So can we the guilty,
in His Court today,
deny we're as filthy,
as dark birds of prey?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Judge not.....

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Land of the Eagle

Ugonna Wachuku 


There is a dream far from 

the land of my soul.


There are tearful streams

of thought caressing the

yearning warmth of my being.


Windfull trees sway to the

rhythm of nature's heart-beat

in the eye of the me that

I am.


This new dawn, I walk your path

with handsome hope and tear-drops

on my right hand.


This new day, I yearn to see

new landscapes and new beginnings.

But the day is misty, the landscape



Yet I am heaven's hopeful child.

And I must dream beautiful, new

dreams on this land of the eagle.


This new day, let me be created

anew with love on this land of

the eagle beyond my dreams.


Let me be who I must be for the

good of all humanity. Just let

me be made whole on this land

of the eagle.


This new day, there

is a dream far from

the land of my

yearning soul.

Help me Lord!


This new day, let me be

created anew with living

hope and strength on this

lush land of the eagle!


Land of the Eagle
~ Critiques/Comments ~

Valerie Jochum
Each day does indeed hold new beginnings.  When we try to view tomrrow
from yesterdays point of view, those new beginnings do look misty.
Even if we try to see the newness in the early dawn, there is mist.
We are unable to see the plans which God lays before us each day, for
his plans are much different than what we could ever imagine.  I think
we are only to know that His plans for us is for a new day, a promise,
and our chance to remember He is the commander in chief of our soul.
With that, we are created anew and refreshed.  We may keep our dreams,
for those are what he gives us to pursue.  Dreams are like ships
floating captainless along the sea of our mind.  Dreams, waiting for
us to permit Him to come aboard to sail them into their port where
their reality will manifest. Ugonna, this poem was splendid!

Charisma *T.A.* Makatita-P
Misty days within new hope, new beginnings within dreams. You captured
these things and feelings very good in "Land of the Eagle" Thanks for
sharing.  Charisma

Farah D
wow! this is inspirational stuff! I was feeling pretty low when I got
here and I must stay it has really lifted my spirit! Excellent

Misty Lackey
loved your poem it gave a sense of freedom along the wings of a
eagle.. good job!  

Patricia Jones
This is musical and sublime; it reads like a long, euphoric sigh. Well done.
2002-11-15 11:01:11

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The Road

Ugonna Wachuku



You are the road.
I am the seeker.
Then, show me
the way.  


You are the river.
I am the boat.
Then, float me to 



You are the wind.
I am the eagle.
Then, glide me to
towering clouds and
unseen mountain tops.


You are the rain.
I am the flower.
Then, give me water
to grow.


You are the flower.
I am the butterfly.
Then, let me touch
your ripe, blue bud
with a kiss.


You are the tree.
I am humankind.
Then, show me how
to climb.


Remember, you are the
road. I am the seeker.
Then, show me the way.


You are angel.
Then show me heaven.
Yet, you are the road.
I am the simple seeker.  


The Road  


~ Critiques/Comments ~ 


Gwendrina Howe

Dear Ugonna,  again, this poem brings me truth and spiritual pleasure. "You are the road, I am the seeker" - how wonderfully stated! Your analogies are drawn from the depth and simplicity of nature's beauty to make the reader enlightened by this path of knowledge. This verse fills me with deep peace and renewed hope. Thank you, Wendy


Helen Schmidt

A lovely poem, Ugonna!  You illustrate so clearly how interdependent the various aspects of life are upon one another. We are always searching for answers, and so many of them lie in nature. Beautiful words!  



Rachelle Wiegand

Came here from your interview with Deborah, Ugonna :) Wonderful interview, wonderful poetics!  Thank you for sharing!!  :)


Ken Corbett

This is my favorite work of yours, so far. You are skilled at using the small words to great advantage.

The pictures you paint here are clear and strong.  



Tim / manatee Marshall 

HI~like we said in the hipie days (HEAVY MAN) lol A+,your writings are like songs and i'm using what someone told me 

it plays at the very best time to go along with what i'm already thinking simular thoughts of,thank you

2002-05-02 17:10:48  


Netta Jack

Love the simplicity yet deep message in this piece. Very nice work. Thanks for sharing.

2003-01-21 18:21:18


Jayati Gupta

Man seeks God provides! Wonderful poems you write.

2004-09-27 14:41:41  


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