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Showing posts from January, 2012

Turbulent Waters

Once the sea took our land somewhere, Where Mami Water, 
between jagged reefs,
dances the forbidden dance And crabs, with pincers for scalpels,  
Scuttle over scattered shells, to Perform postmortem on drowned spirits.
I have a fleeting memory Of a tribe that once stood tall, Now the waves wash ashore, Sweeping away memories, people and all.

My nights are haunted by,
Dark dreams, Women wailing for warriors lost at sea, the restlessness of ancestors with leaky graves.
We had sojourned to faraway lands To escape our nightmares,   Severe and diverse, ‘twas an attempt to escape our shadows But the ghosts would not rest.
The rainbow held no promise Of release from the turbulent waters So we've come back home, The pieces of our broken heart, So small, They passed through the eye of a needle.
The hungry sea, It fed on our people;

Tides are rising 
And, the sea, it will be back for seconds... 
*****12th May 2004*****
For the people of Keta and all who experienced the wrath of the Sea

The End Time Church

We say a hurried prayer To cover our multitude of sins, It was time to listen to the Preacher, He’d bless us and say all the right things King James’ version, “Blessed art thou”.
Deacons like Businessmen, They sit behind the Podium Smack their lips, Flex well-cut suits And perform Mathematical Miracles; Addition, Multiplication, Division of congregational offertory:
Impeccably gowned and groomed, The Choir sings;  “Hallelujah, Hallelujah”, With excess crescendos of Sopranos; Congregation is inspired, The Kingdom of God is to be desired. Tone deaf children sing along, Elderly citizens sing their own song, Perfect discord, The Choirmaster is pleased.
The pews are filled, Saints-to-be, Saints, and Ex-Saints Still dripping from baptismal waters, The Pastor is pleased, Just look at the size of their pockets.
The Youth is supercharged, Holy Ghost fired, Divinely inspired, Riding high on Drugs; Long hairs, Crewcuts, and Skinheads, Maxi, Mini, Micro skirts, With wide eyes, a Boy catches a glimpse of a lad…

The Poem I didn't Write

The poem I didn't write, it would have been, an altar to my unappreciated talent, a tapestry of words which my heart will lament, it would be soulful and move you to tears, and you'll say, “how did his name not reach our ears?”. And I'd have called it, “the shadows and talents”.
The poem I didn't write, it was about how our motherland betrayed us, how we went to the University to get an education, and how we came back with just a Degree, it would have been about job hunting frustration, applications after application and updated CVs, how our fathers had it cheap, and I'd have called it, “The Woes of a Gold Coast Graduate”.
The poem I didn't write, it was long, very long, it would have bridged the boundless expanse that separates you from me, it would be from the nadir of my anguish, to the zenith of my pleasure, about how we betrayed our love, many times, it would put twinkles in your eyes, and they'll call me a hopeless romantics, blessed by Apollo, lovestruck, I'd have called it…

Give Me Meat

Give me meat;
That is what true men, hunters, eat. Don’t tell me what is not good for my health; Let it be charcoal grilled and well spiced, Slowly cooked till I’m sinfully enticed, Then tease me till I shamelessly beg for a bite.
Don’t give me bones; Bones are for dogs, beggars, who have no choice. Why give me something I can’t eat? Give me a double portion of what mama gave, That I may not look like a malnourished slave For what use is there in eating bones, When meat at home abounds like stones.
Let its aroma waft through the window, Slowly and tantalizingly tickling me silly, And may it cause the annoying neighbors to salivate, Let it be tempting far beyond endurance, Till I happily break my rather forced fast.
Give me, Lean meat, Dark meat, Bushmeat, Fatty meat, Give me mmmmmm, Really, it doesn’t matter, Just let it be meat.
Serve me with meat; I’ll have it on a stick, Make it colorful; tease my eyes, Then sit with me, let me teach you The proper and many ways to feast like a king.
Give me an African Woman wi…

The Palm Wine Seller's Daughter

The thought of sharing secret passions with her,
Is worth the wrath I’d incur should I dare,
To in lust rub against her milk chocolate skin,
And suck upon one perfect orb and not its twin.

Her teeth, as white as the froth on my palm wine,
And full honeyed lips that must be twice as sweet,
They tell of insight I’d discern should we entwine
Our bodies till we are weak in the tropical heat.

When carelessly she swings her rounded hips,
The fire in my loin burns and every man sighs,
I raise the calabash to my lips and take sweet sips,
And dream of treasures at the meeting of her thighs.

The sassiness in her laughter is my demise,
The elegance and grace in her gait my delight,
And if by accident there’s a meeting of our eyes,
Dear Lord, I implore you don’t let me expire tonight.

As I drain the sweet nectar from my calabash,
My eyes follow her every twist and turn,
And I envisage her in ecstasy whispering my name,
It is for this reason and more every night I must return.

*****July 02, 2009**…

I Refuse to be Ignored

I am not a pure white dove, a vision almost like heaven above, Naaa, I am not a vain peacock, mesmerize you till your eyes lock on the rainbow colours of my royal plume, Naaa, I am, a Screeching Owl, disturbing your sleep with irritating shrieks, startling you till your heart skips a beat, my fevered scream, rudely interrupting your dreams, I refuse to be ignored!
I am not an imposing mountain, snow-covered peak piercing the heavens, Naaa, I am not a boulder, obstinate, unmovable, unbreakable, Naaa, I am a tiny pebble in your shoe, that vexation that won't go away, an aggravation that demands you stop, at least for a while, I win, I refuse to be ignored!
I am not tranquillity, a soothing feeling, your spirit at rest, Naaa, I am not serenity, the peace in your soul at its best, Naaa, I am, knee trembling, mind boggling, jaw-dropping, sweat dripping, me riding, you panting, I am, Volcanic, Orgasmic, leaving you screaming, yes, yes, yes, because I am he who would not be ignored.
******December 29, 2010*****

Our Brother Was an Idiot

We left our brother in the open out to dry,
Watched as white ants ate their way through his house
It’s not like he stood there and he didn’t try,
But his exterminators were a divided house.

They painted his life in a tragic comedy,
And they cast a fool as him, the Pantomime Villain,
And though he was our brother we called him enemy,
And clapped as some alien played the Greek Hero.

Our loud mouth brother was our own brother,
Our pig-headed brother was still our brother,
Our misguided brother tried the only way he knew how,
Our brother trusted us and we stood by and let him fall.

Our brother did not learn from the mistakes of others,
Our brother thought his brothers were unlike Joseph’s brothers,
Our brother was an idiot to think blood was thicker than water,
So maybe our brother is a mirror reflecting our soulless land.

Our brother might have been idiot to dare them,
To build a house of wood next to white ant nests,
But our brother was an even bigger idiot,
To think his other brothers would help fight th…

Sinners and Saints

If we rudely barge into God's domain,
to read the script of Sinners and Saints;
if the worth of a man is measured in death and pain,
then Sinners and Saints are one and the same.

To one he gave wings and called a Dove,
and men gaze upon it and think of peace and love,
to another, he gave wings and called a Bat,
we looked with trepidation and a cheerless heart.

If men are judged by other men and not their worth,
and their breath and sweat are toils with no aim,
if destiny was sown at Earth's sacred birth,
then Sinners and Saints are not to blame.

One called him Sinner another called him Saint,
we are Angel or Demon if love or hate should paint,
but if should I in a fair mind try to decide, alas,
and try as I might, I suffer the fate of Buridan's ass.

Once they whispered his name with hallowed fondness,
once they painted him in whiteness and nary a taint,
once they called him Maestro, Conqueror,
none is remembered when now he's Sinner not Saint.

Sinners and Saint are one…