Monday, May 15, 2017

cranes over accra

tickling steel skeleton biceps tease over shoulder blades of glass pinnacles with tips cutting through air like piny pineapples piled on headpans head-anchored on folded rag deadpan drowsy discoid clouds get fingered by air china plane farting out malformed moans,
"korle is no where near the airport"
"they say we all drink the same water"
the beaming droops down bare barely hairy brown chests as the background music stirs chalewote-less feet
of these Bukom beach kids eyeing 30 feet high stretched out polythene-raped broomstick kite caught on new high rise coveting their lotto booth bedrooms into its shadow
thoroughfare-trained stray dog catcalled rambo in neighbourhood spills out of alley randomly ridiculously rowdy, gets tossed off by buzanga biker madly caresses her fangs with tongue bloody | crawls into a giant blow 30 feet away
unlearning death hair sleeps like nungua compound house coconut leaves in sinister dry season smirk mouths go (oh) lips crack but chop off many an (ei) trotro tuckles into arm's reach of red yellow green lotto booth
as if kowtowing to traffic light bereft of life,
throws out shy guy who blows air into heavy suit mops off sweat and barely moves sidewalk-strung guy's side pocket cries odds he picks call as the first ring hatches, voice punches fused languages on loud speaker girlfriend gossips of gold teeth in germany
and how her popping pussy meditates on ambitions to block out the century gymnasium accessory made of twin nido tin cans separated by rusty iron bar stolen from shaft of tired car lies at his feet eyes weight-lift the shito-strong sunray licks meanwhile, skyscrapers bathed in blonde put out banners that read "too much to afford me"
yellow caterpillars long to mouth kiosks bundled in front of same point where trotro, now makeshift-ambulance collects dead rambo's corpse red and yellow face-painted hearts of oak fc supporter tarpaulins nose
is attracted to swaying coconut seller's shiny cutlass making a scoop from fiberous ovum wall tetteh quarshie tells us visual cocoa dream stories buried in traffic jams leading to jamestown
a mother from nowhere strips in the streets and cries of being milked by a shrink
while referred to drink water to heal doors shut on the ghana capital's skies and door knob is moon less lit tonight

Wednesday, May 03, 2017

Bloodlines Out Now!

I was born with a connection to rhythm. I grew an affection for word art and nurtured its potential for social commentary. I'm thankful to the creator, all individuals, organizations and communities who have supported my path so far. Here is my debut LP 'Bloodlines'. 

Bloodlines serves as a revo data stream treating a nation like an organ, a continent like body and the globe like soul. An uncut splurge of visual metaphors forged into recited poetry, 'some singing' and fast paced rhythmic rap in fusion with Ghana's Ebo Taylor and Alhaji K. Frimpong's highlife chops cooked by ProdbyYungFly and Drumnayshin(who mixed and mastered all the pieces except Woyaaya), live taps by Burkinabe genius Lasso, alternative EDM influenced tapes from Euiv's Baltimore den and afro house plugs from South African sounds king Mo Laudi by way of Paris. The themes are one and all - based on blessing of earth, water, wind and fire. The artist rants out some social commentary concerning black world modern slavery, water pollution, illegal mining and plastic waste. Also, there's some folk storytelling and groovy wordplay pieces in there.

Buy for 7 euro here: https://kwamewrite.bandcamp.com/releases

https://soundcloud.com/kwamewrite/sets/bloodlines

Email for free copy for press/bookings: kwamewrite@gmail.com 

photo credits: wanlov  




Thursday, April 27, 2017

kismet

those intimidated because you're too striking 

are not fit to butter your attention / 

those alarmed because your beauty overwhelms 

should not earn your long sleeve love / 

they are the ones who dip a finger at the edge of the lake 

and think the shimmy travels to the other end in a nod / 

to them it is unthinkable one of your kind carries crux 

so sophisticated, 

so simple 

Mother, how far?

Mother of the borderless skies 

where diverse gourd shapes 

of clouds do not wall off their enclaves / 

Even when a few partake in the shedding when it rains, 

we proclaim they all poured / 

Womb of the see-through sun 

and committed moon / 

Source of the over 3000 tribes 

from Afar, Amhara, Berber to Asanteman / 

Root that keeps the gyils of Ouaga in sync 

with the pirouette behind pregnant Dogon masks / 

How near are we from home? How far? 


counting stars or blessings

dusk with charcoal hot eyes 

tells stories of decay / 

it's there in the silhouette shabbily worn 

on the king's doorway / 

two feint rivers course down your cheeks 

and meet in your heart 

springing forth an incredible fountain / 

we hail one God in multiple forms / 

you put food in more stomachs than yours / 

why would we count stars or our blessings, 

and forget you make the tally? 


godsend

a handful of cracked globe but you've been nothing less than green / 
unscathed /
a jewel-stuffed oyster is what your palate keeps?
/ a safe broken into and robbed 

is how most people in your box have their smiles breached / 

lopsided luck but how you fit it clean 

over a pair of canoes stranded in rain shoes 

says you're not up to just blend / 

how you stand by the pillar of your mark / 

even over your scars 

a mother's heart

the pints of pronounced love 

in a mother's heart overwhelms 

each square unit of her children's understanding / 

the compassion simmers and bubbles over, 

the wisdom soup vaporizes, condenses, precipitates 

and rains in purity / 

there's more passed on to us 

ushered into the bathe of breath 

than just genes

fisherfolk of luck

die-hard fisherfolk of luck learn 

from the flow of time, 

that the scales of 'becoming' mounted in the end 

only happens in the making 

and the drive that births substance 

is not found in sterile waiting, 

the easy or rocky hard way 

writing the journey

a book needs to carve itself from the unease / 

a chapter needs to unleash itself from the dynamics /
a paragraph clots in your shin 

and the world needs to know the golden story that 

makes their globe glow and your spine lean / 

the magic is in each milestone 

turned at your feet




sunlight, sometimes

as spaces we're not used to 
stir sensations we're new to
spirits tune through cloud roofs / secrets slip from source 
sunlight sometimes breaks from whispers 
and you almost hear the colours that summarize your universe 
you stay awake


refuge is seldom felt

refuge is seldom felt in the breath 

of those with excess 

..the extent of packing a roof 

in the conscience to bubble through 

the swollen contours thickens the burden 

..bending beings pull through watered-down bread 

and stones in pockets and drag 

under panic outside titanium steady doors 

with fear swallowed overnight from the lone watch of a midnight moon 

..where there's elbow room there's pain alleviation 

and there's a tear of hope ripping through the blurring screens  



Thursday, April 13, 2017

Do Not Share The Panic

Do not create if the statement is not a prayer
Or the rage is not a swollen mouthful of morning
Do not embark on the march if the banner is burnt love
Or the mission is to turn out bowels with stolen deserts of ashes 

We looked forward to modern till we hit the bay of repetition
And worked our paddles to go back and not redo the hemorrhage
Do not share the panic when the folder is bursting of clamping clots
When the open vein junket of de-spirited spurts soil the mood

Do not pass around fliers to markets of mirages
Do not sacrifice eternity for 'close at hand'
Do not die to the music of dirty interludes
Do not exchange breathing space for belief in the maze 


Expedition

writing takes us somewhere new

between wrists and rays that strike through

dreams find the heart before the doors batten down

the waters that course through our thoughts

we sail stories and skylines move

through unconfined paths and paths know passages 

- here lies the truth






Sunday, March 12, 2017

UNTITLED 'dawn song'

why does a poem decide to go untitled?
when does a poem go nameless?
where do poems spring into dawn songs?

sun's receptacle is half filled
sun sets itself up as a spectacle  
it is half short of full 
it is not empty 
it bears its truth 

jazz band blue curtains on eyes lift 
skies rip out their buttons
devirginized clouds hold wind and sing the storm 
shadows become kites that haunt the morn 
we were answers to the darkness that marked a gap for four left feet 
and memory digs buried bed sheets with patterns of black times new roman font text message poems 

massage the dawn with your dreamy mind
massage the dawn beetle-blown-tea-ready-hot-kettle orgasm
massage the dawn 
charcoal-red-blood-diamond nostalgia 
massage the dawn 
dawn song 
dawn dawn song song
dawn dawn dawn song song song 
dawn dawn dawn dawn song song song song 
grandmother of the song died before the mother of the poem was born 

that means there is something wrong somewhere 
surgery swords of sunlight will stir 
swizz blades of lightning from sides of swivel clouds will flare 
summertime hearts are satellites 
dew and tears mix and become fountains for finders keepers' umbrellas 
a sense of belonging beyond birth rites 

here home could be anything
anyone, anywhere despite
plans change..especially for strangers spilled into dawn
who once made do with little..made do with the dry chalk feel of cheese falling from field priest oh we church mice..
setting street lights for the elements searching sensitive contours of the heart  
confused about comfort zones 
panties and private poems fit around self esteem 
plans change but presence stays 
to massage the dome of dawn 

and I know this because we're hugging this very moment  
we're running chins in the valleys of necks, whispers twirl revolution ginger fingers find gang signs we've never known
but it was a distant relationship last week and at this very moment we are not together 
to massage the dawn 
dawn song 
dawn dawn song song
dawn dawn dawn song song song 
dawn dawn dawn dawn song song song song 
we're slamming strings of fingers linked into wings, statements become mad museums as we walk into each other like we've never known..us and dawn settles

we look outside the blinds and each phallus prominence under the metropolitan sky values the callous clear sun dance over the dye of night which swallowed tired minds 
these tears were invented as an alternative source of salt to season food for thought for us fools 
paparazzi moon shed skin all night all blue like a..
bespectacled blame gaming barmaid bundled on booze bar stools in bamboo ballerina shoes 
bamboozled but belonging bent on breath 
living the lonely life of a nose bridge 
like falcon with head dug into arm pit under firm file of fine feathers forgetting the dream of flying after a toe twist 

i now know that adulthood is a collection of many childhoods 
as mistakes are meant to test order 
responsibility. response ability 
but memory digs buried dead seas 

as we measure timelines of rainbows from opposite ends of the universe 
as we massage the deep half empty half full dome with
dawn song 
dawn dawn song song
dawn dawn dawn song song song 
dawn dawn dawn dawn song song song song