Sunday, December 30, 2012


It all started when Asom Dwe (@saygyka on twitter) tweeted a line starting with "I write.." at me(@kwamewrite), I replied by following suit and it got more entertaining as creativity flowed like an open tap..

Empress @Saygyka
I write, etching on the rounded corners of your heart - first bloody then scar healed - so that long after i am gone, I remain @KwameWrite

Empress @Saygyka
@KwameWrite i write, paring skin from flesh, revealing quivering vulnerability to be - neither shameful nor pitiable but strength

Empress @Saygyka
@KwameWrite i write, distilling whisky flavored memories - purifying impurities, til clearness drips, chilled by time.

Empress @Saygyka
@KwameWrite i write, frantically spinning webs dewy w/ promise; mists of hope rising from sodden dreams as reality's sun burns, burns, burns

Empress ‏@Saygyka
@KwameWrite i write, knowing momentary relief as emotions unleashed,

Empress ‏@Saygyka
@KwameWrite i write, to escape the prison of my humanity, soaring above mundanity reaching ever toward divinity

Empress ‏@Saygyka
@KwameWrite i write, tripping over words, spread about like so many diamonds on a velvet sky; picking this then that, smiles tugging lips

Friday, December 21, 2012



The tongue tosses testaments,
every test I meant
to pass
that life threw my way,
plenty mistakes, I miss takes
like Asamoah since jan.
through to dec.
more than
just 24hrs in my day
it's a combination of
struggle and smiles,
tumbles and trials,
subtle and wild,
cold and calm,
Bane mindsets and Psalms,
you see this sphere suspends
in space with species of different kinds
but man is the ultimate plan,
the soul is source of control,
so as I was told,
forget the size,
it's the taste that matters most,
same as Adam was teased to taste what
Eve gave
there the serpent made slaves off the tongue..
so I tell you let the lips be the golden gates
which emit essence of life,
let agile hope leap in bounds
like traders on a donkomi day,
let inspiration wear on heads
like folded cloth under tomato sellers' trays.
my nouns jump gutters
to hug volatile verbs
crossing streets to the outskirts
where adjectives control traffic
of diction from the throat,
people of extraordinary talents,
public officers exploring targets,
persistent organizers entertaining timelessly..
                                                                       my words are mental missiles
that blow up brains
fit in ideas,
similes and food for thought
they talk about Rolihlahla Mandela and the 27 lost years,
they talk about our dying Lisas and mourners,
they question Nkrumah as to whether
after the message at Polo grounds,
Ghana automatically became free?
they rant about Rosa Park's I-won't-get-up,
they talk about an unarmed black boy and 41 shots,
Mississippi hangings and wall street sales..
where slave spittum evaporated and made skies pale
where our past falls behind us
like tattered rags
like a mother unties a baby
and makes him stand to walk
                                                  so does our future erupt
like my seasoned words
which talk about an Africa
red hot refined
washed off in its own tears,

disengaged from its dry dance
and economic fears
and bloodshed and its gullibility,
and its sons
and its daughters under one sun
who with ink of toil-stained sweat
are blessed to write a new page
to refresh the times
and a bright future after the gloom
and a change
or nothing else


Monday, December 10, 2012


keep moving on
I say
keep moving on
I hear
these grooving songs,
rhythm of earth's movement playing tap-dance with your feet
keep moving on

tap-dance with your feet


like a rolling pebble
fling-ed off free fingers
tossing on the streets
bouncing off asphalt
bouncing like a rebel
rolling under moving cars
rolling through bike spokes
and off through the motor policeman's legs
swift slow swirl swift soul spell


keep grooving on

like gazelles grazing
on shrub-lands at dawn
when the sun kisses greying grains
where lions dens are dense
keep moving on
like a lion's dance
before pouncing on its prey
breeze aligning mane


like a slum kid with heat rashes
all over a body battered by life's hardships
wakes up in a 6 by 6 packed with 14 siblings
searching for a candle to light his path
earphones hanging from his ears
intersecting with a left eye tear
and ride slow jams

and tap-dance with his feet
tap-dance with his feet


he's singing
same time praying in his head
he's singing
praying his music
would top the list
and be the hit of the year
playing his music
beat vibrating off his soul

like a slum kid musician's tear

keep moving on

like a beach side black boy
biceps like blown balloons
clinging to a coconut tree, climbing
like a child onto full breasts
he slices off a stalk like a dance
balancing boldly
breaking it open to take a looooong sip
flings off the roughage
and starts sliding back south

brave-heart beautiful
grooving on
even when the mood is wrong
he sets sail with his heart

sets snail-step sways
on ocean floors on earth's palate
plated under water
pasted over water like a stamp
enveloping faith
surfing with a piece of plastic
like a dance
moving on

keep moving on

even when echoes become walls
and rebound efforts into nulls
even in a free fall
floored, flee all, fly for fortune,
find freedom
do not fade into the future


(c)kw 01122012