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Spoken Word

I do not claim ownership to any poem on the, "Spoken Word", page. Links on this page may send you to other site.
Thank you.

To watch an unlimited number of Spoken word video click the YouTube button on the bar at the bottom of the blog: 
ie:

 

Currently I don't do Spoken Word Poetry but these are some of my favorites


1. Oblogo Concerto by Professor Atukwei Okai




2. X-Ray by Mutombo Da Poet




3. Falling by Yom Nfojoh 






4. Before the Time of Bayonets by Prof Kofi Anyidoho





5. Ghana, Where I'm From  by Mutombo Da Poet




6. Just Another Black Boy by Mutombo Da Poet



7. Black Star Rising (In Memory of Luck Dube) by Mutombo Da Poet




8. Poetry Saved My Life by Mutombo Da Poet



9. My Old Home by Mutombo Da Poet



10. Sweet Memories by Mutombo Da Poet



find Mutombo Da Poet on twitter @MutomboDaPoet


11. Mission Possible by Yom feat C-Real




12. If I Was a Top notch Poet by Linton Kwesi Johnson



 13. TamaraŹ¼s Opus by Joshua Bennett



14. Un Poco Loco by Amiri Baraka


for more Spoken Word Poetry, click on YouTube button on the bar at the bottom of this blog. Its a direct feed for Spoken Word Poetry



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Bats at 37

When bats at 37 take to flight, At a quarter past four Or, whatever time Accra heralds the night,

When bats at 37 take to flight, For me, there's not a more beautiful sight Of creatures, imagined or real, That lay claim to these glorious skies.

When bats at 37 take to flight, With fevered screeches that punctuate the night When by sheer numbers they darken the skies And, below, people of a superstitious disposition Can not be bothered, I am reminded that, Given enough time all things cease to be strange.

When bats at 37 take to flight, Devoid of vibrant plumes unlike most things that fly, Rising like Legion and the hordes of hell, In defiance of extermination attempts, Above the Hospital in elusive figurativeness, Haphazardly, in sync, over constipated traffic There is not a doubt who owns the peppered night.

When bats at 37 take to flight;

Hero Worship

The air is thin And the landing narrow, Up, on the dizzying heights, Where we set our heroes.
There, gusty winds Neither holds brief Nor relief As they threaten to Humble all things that elevate themselves.
When like prayers We've offered flattery On altars of unrealistic expectations And our heroes, like golden calves, Glisten with pride, Know this, There surely is a reckoning When they come tumbling down.
We were the mob at the foot of the mountain Elevating them in adulation
We are the mob at the foot of the mountain Now shouting CRUCIFY HIM, CRUCIFY HIM, CRUCIFY HIM