Victor Mochere


By: Victor Mochere | January 31, 2018

I walked into a museum,

To see the python of a snake,

Of the devil I saw,

Walking aimlessly on the pavement,

A unique lass,

Bearing a nice figure,

With no point but to please,

Glued to my prey,

My prey to scoff,

I followed her like a pet to her master,

All the while admiring,

The unique creature behold,

One of the few to exist,

In deed God is a master artist,

She turned,

An eye contact was made,

I felt shy,

She boldly smiled and licked her lips,

So desirable that my body froze,

I felt the urgent urge to advance,

I approached her,

Oh she was into me too,

My prey eager to be gobbled,

The mutual feeling struck,

Deep down into our hearts,

Before I knew it,

She was in my 80m2 bed-sitter,

Nakedly sitting on my bed,

She moved close,

Her ...

Category: Poems 

Tags: Whore 

By: Victor Mochere | November 06, 2017

A while back, I found my torn soul slowly healing and reforming, in the shape of a wolf. I ate poor unsuspecting sheep in my wake. See, I had just come from my Sinai, my relationship up in the smoke, my hormones raging and trust incomprehensible to a lost me.

She as always took her time to learn me, ask questions and stomach the insults there were. That was how I ended up in the arms of a well known, yet inaccessible young beautiful lady. We shared, we laughed. I fell, fast, faster and soon she was my beb. That was not the peak though...

She had her eyes on you, a very exquisite lass. She told it to me and I nursed my hurt in silence, urging her on. Your praises were sung by the page and soon I faded into a shadow in the night. I nearly ...

Category: Poems 

Tags: Love 

By: Victor Mochere | September 19, 2017

I'm sorry I married a church girl,
I saw angel wings beneath that long white dress,
And her voice made me see the gates of Heaven,
I once asked if she would take me there,
She nodded with a holy smile.

As I write this I see my death,
She went last year and sent me my ticket,
She called me yes,
Donno if its to Heaven or Hades,
My head is the only fat thing that remains of your son.

She was a pretty church girl,
Born and raised in the church,
Her father ruled and watched over her,
He chose her friends and places she went,
When she joined the big school away from home,
She moved away from lock and grace.

She carried her generosity along,
She opened doors in the day and legs at night,
She basked in the mornin...

Category: Poems 

Tags: Mama