Sunday, December 28, 2014

One noon on the Accra main road



Panting, heaving, sweaty; 
an arm and a leg for free air here , as
traffic hits red..
A thousand and one tyre screeches heard
A wheelchair footplate falls but the beggar doesn't
His coin finds the feet of a young guy 
who washes car windscreens half-clean on impulse 
Hawkers hang on trotro windows 
like butter bugs bringing blues buried under wings,
Make way for manipulating motorcades!
swerving through slumped vehicles, swift
like shiny rivers.. 
Heat as heavy as a traditional dancer's garb
plunges into the gut of the trotro,
slaps me in the face!
Mumbles catapult from passengers' mouths,
bad drivers, troopers, deadbeat trucks, loose hens…
Warden tired, pretending he's not sagging on his knees
Bicycle rider risks a stunt, 
Jesus! A baby and her granny cry...
Tall corporate boxes with glass eyes-
Our eyes flirt all over them as if it's love at first sight.
Silver wares swell, loaves poking
loads  choking,
The hell-digging hot sun tearing apart hairs
As if soul-searching

Friday, December 19, 2014

Home to Johanna

After a few days,
we met for another first time.
Again, it was under a shed that Accra poets
had built with conducive words.
Downing shots of akpeteshie mixed with passion
fruit, I asked her; “what do you call home?”
Right there in the middle of a jazz anchored street,
she replied that home used to be safely stuck in her past
so her memories replayed the music of nostalgia
concealed in the abyss of late teenage bewilderment
when she first 'discovered' Africa;
bundled and fragile like a bubble floating over pin cushions.

But presently, home is best untwisted from the rubik of travel-
once it was Kabale, somewhere near Kampala’s east elbow
In the span of rural taste
wrapped in paradisiacal plump, 
peacocking arrays of borrowed savoir-faire.
Her left and right feet had known Leipzig and Rostock too long
and now, as Accra
sutures in..

It’s either where muzungus are laved
with ruchiga minced under the tongue
or where taxi drivers flirt and the word “obroni” is whirled
into a light-skinned person’s ears like a soft blow-wind
or even where her mum and granny thumb the same keyboard
singing Petersburger Schlittenfahrt 
to mark the end of year.



Friday, November 28, 2014

MUDDY MIRROR

into the muddy mirror,we gazed all day
and at night
behind the shadow of the moon
we digested scripts
and diluted our history..
our identity was nailed to a cross
so we prayed not to fall prey
"how great thou, art"

into the muddy mirror,
we gazed all day
at night the dogs' belch blew back dogma;
panned like
beliefs sold on trays, or
3D dimensions of coins
tossed into charity's hands
stolen by Caesar, as always
as eyes kept closed
try to attract God with noise

Sunday, October 19, 2014

pupils in your eyes

Your fingers could rest in the concave of my palms
Your fast stepping dance
And your arrow-darting glance,
I ask to know if dreams are pupils in your eyes?

Undressing thoughts with your gaze,
When you bear flowers from your lips
When my fingers tap dance on the vase of your hips
I ask to know if dreams are pupils in your eyes?


(c)KW 19Oct2014 [edit - 18Dec2014]

Friday, September 19, 2014

BRAVE VOICES SOAR

We the sons mooning the motivation mansion,
Our brave voices soar
When night echoes in the mud walls of destiny,

Our songs echo horizontally through ear tunnels

We the daughters dueling in beauty of dark reason
Carving the aroma of music with our conscience,
The brilliance of our resistance-

Warm like sunlight footsteps

The re(love)ution is seen dotted in our eyes -
Pupils of life, 

Guarding justice where the fence makers are jaundiced
Words as agile as soul
Peace signs are anchors
No violence, but no silence


We the children sunning the seasoned shores

Our brave voices soar
Our songs echo on

 
(Tribute to #Ferguson ..Above is the poetry procession performance curated by Inkfluent for Chale Wote Festival 2014 #Ghana ..Photo credits - Cecile Johanet)

Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Dear Onukpa

Dear Onukpa,

Wherever a facet
Of the blade of liberation struggle
Stuck out in the mud of grief,
Wherever the marrows of the souls
Kept down echoed a plead for relief,
However brief-

However long,
Dirges with choruses of daisy-dyed verses
Intercepted at the dock of slaved throats,
Whichever non-constructive contradictions-
Contraceptives choking candid consciences
Conceptualized to con consistently
Keeping craniums of hope cracked cold

Whenever, we find us
Trailing the doctrines of thawed bones
Aside jaws clobbered close by weight of uncooked constitutions
In a silent moist war, babysat over economies
Lulled with lullabies of liquid currencies

Wherever we lost belief in our own,
Mundane with moldy motivation
Rapture-ing spirit of our matured monologues

Whomever will read our lips,
We reach out again in the span of our youth
We carve our revolution
From the discarded wood of history,


All best,
Wo mmofra

(c) KW 16.09.2014

Saturday, July 05, 2014

ready

Patriotism and unity are the bonds that will hold us on from tipping off this death pit firefall trail that the vultures are setting. we're the candid youth with a voice thick with vision and optimistic intent who are not ready to avail our whole generation to the failure carved from shared greed. we motion on not in violence but more importantly not in silence, we write our fight and recite our re(love)utionary sense into public spaces finding the traces where our umbilicals connect to mics, we're concerned about our rights. With passion and will-power to make the proper statement to propel the rage, our art and heart displayed in public spaces, sharing concern and wiping tears of the affected with our seasoned scripts, we're tools for our own good, voices of guns, choices are coined in our puns, they brought in the storms to our surfing tongues, they caused the hurricanes that stir our purposed strut. How long will the African remain a beggar while they dictate what quantity of treasure each scoop their wallet girth can measure, we are still in the batter for mirrors, our reflections depict the symmetry of inner terror, belief is lost in every crevice of the blackboards they scribble on with white chalks, at night spots, candle lights find the 'dumsor' discontent, we lost power! we lost power! inequality is what keeps the world motioning on, they'll tell you, so currencies are chocked on pendulums seeking a balance with bodies numb, as most of the lost slumped follow to find their faiths tucked under the pulpits each Sunday without results lonely like sensitive slums, the creative energy and the void filled with fear lacks the appropriate kinetic synergy but our youthful walls are ready to stand now. Patriotism and unity are the bonds that will hold us on from tipping off, this death pit firefall trail that the vultures are setting. we're the candid youth with a voice thick with vision and optimistic intent who are not ready to avail our whole generation to the failure carved from shared greed. with measure in deed not speed, we'll soar not ignore the lazy doleful disgrace they're painting, we stand instead of find grace in fainting.....so tell me what our means can't reach and I'll lecture you on what our collective poetry can preach!

Friday, June 20, 2014

HOT SNOW

the morning catches me
consumed, counting gold dust
the moon shared with me this bed-
goddess of a glow,

holding the sun in the valley of my palms;
a candlelight at your subtle wake

what binds us must be one and same
as that which holds earth to sky
and cosmic winds to the feet of a fly
crazy and sane

my neck falling back
like sankofa,
catching yellow dreams by ear
naked streams vaporize from vein,
for me but you Wacko Jacko sang "speechless"
and Monroe put relevant sexy in the '50s

yesterdusk,
nobody but I had an eye to the moon
nobody but you was the moon in that room

Thursday, June 19, 2014

THE THEORY OF HUGGING

Come close,
don't be perturbed
seal effortlessly like a clam
clamp your fingers to my back
as we do this no-movement dance

pin your chin to my shoulder
let's share smiles in opposite directions
and radiate our world
let's pause the wind's magic
we're a wand the earth holds in hand
in the sacred moment

let's be Siamese
as we entangle like wet straw
sharpened by the seasons,
our freezing unthawed
our reason unflawed
for we believe in sharing..
we receive in giving
we believe in living.

Friday, March 07, 2014

Verse Of Shades

How light or dark are you?
And when you shut your eyes
What shade?
What colour of blood?
What scenes of genes?
What length of loops in your DNA?
What's caged up in your cells?
What size of chromosomes
Do you measure
When mitosis is viewed closest
Under a microscope's eye
At your leisure?
And when the sun bounces off your skin
What colour of shadow too?
What comfort zone?
What identity?
What history of ancestry?
How white is your Jesus?
How black is your Antoa?
How yellow is your Budha?
Or Muhammed what colour?
Do they treat you different
When your epidermis is frisked?
Do you feel better about yourself
For your accent is crisp?
Between race and social constructs
Your own conscience, what shade?

Tuesday, March 04, 2014

Flowers Whisper Too

Like rose petals on fertile porches
Germinating off cremation ash in cold ceramics;
Life for some.
Lybia, you know the grass does not promise to stay green
You know,
Where gossip by earth to wind
Is almost soundlessly sneaked
Hurriedly,
Ear to ear
Time and a few mouthfuls of dirges
Meet and merge

A collage of calabashes have collected enough drunk tears
Here,
Where music loses colour
To forever's fingers across the years,
Solitary; moment and mood
Mixed with melancholic vibes
Dimming from a distance
The light history throws
In three dimensions, traversing through twelve songs,
The ones clocks tell
Times a-plenty

Till night cuts away harsh sun's voice
Let dusk find these longing words
On every leaf of lost trees
Next to flowers whispering
Secrets of lonely beauty



(c)KW 03032014