Tag Archives: Afrian poetry

Akua Nyameke

by Agyei Sarpong Kumankoma
The stream smiles . . .
Your reflection rides on her
Ripples like a goddess
In a crystal palanquin

You are the lyrics
Of the sunbird’s song
Calling the sun
To wash her rainbow garment
In the stream

This simmering applause
Filtered by bamboo leaves
Welcomes your arrival
Into the meditative calm

Akua Nyamekye-
I have been here hunting
Crabs since the palmwine tapper’s
Second visit to the triplet raffia

I am the clay statue
Who witness the limning
Of footprints of all
The village maidens on this bank

Maggots dance in their footprints
To the cheer songs of flies
Whilst a kaleidoscope of butterflies
Tend in yours, a flower garden

The silhouette fellow
Tiptoes with icy feet
Bearing a golden thurible
Covered in the hypnagogic smoke
Of your fragrance
To engrave your name
On the virgin moon

Agyei Sarpong Kumankoma is a  writer from Ghana. He is a product of St  James Seminary Senior High School in Sunyani, where he currently lives.

Lucid

by Seth Boss Kay

Luxury of time eludes.

Immortality is mirage;
A dream far-too-away from manifestation.

Integral to the totality
of all humanity is trans-personality.

Mortals incomparable to immortals in physical.
Yet the two worlds overlap,
Interacting with usually unnoticeable constancy.

The reality of the unseen,
As real as the actuality of the seen.

But never is forever;
All that is natural shall see mortality.

Fatwa/Vendetta?

by Michael Aseidu-Siaw

It’s Friday,
Almost time for the evening prayer.
Fix  your Cilices,
Tighten them around your thighs;
Wear your chastity belts
Or better still, tear them off!

We need them as weapons,
We need them as instruments
For we are attending a confession-
A reverend father
Is going to tell us
Why he fucked my 8-year-old nephew
In his butt.

Michael Aseidu-Siaw is a graduate of the University of Ghana.

I Am Looking For A Wife

by Sena Kodjokuma

Papa I have come to you this morning,
With my cloth around my waist and ash in my hair,
Hands clasped in mourning.
Papa I dreamed a dream and it was a night-mare!
I dreamed that my manhood was ripped from my loins as I watched,
The long tendrils of my babymaker watering the ground,
And the cruel jibe of my maimers as the pain latched.
“He who fetches firewood for his hearth needs not the strength of his loins.”
I woke doused in a lagoon of sweat,
And touched my self tentatively down there,
At the place where the branches of my legs meet my meat,
And calmed I come to you,
Papa I am looking for a wife.
I am two and forty harvests old,
The erstwhile pride of the clan,
Now the butt of all jokes told.
I stare at the maidens deadpan,
For the songs in my mouth go mouldy and cold,
And the seed in them is not fit to be chicken feed,
While my heart labours and strains with the ache of my loins’ need.
I am looking for a wife,
She need not be tall and waiflike,
Graceful and mysterious like the women of the fire tribe,
Their stories hidden in the scars on their cheeks,
Or petite and full of curve,
The ovals of their necks carrying the royalty of the forest tribe,
Trinkets jingling
Enhancing the wobble of their assets,
For these are the first daughters of the gods,
The ones to whom only the chosen have a claim to assert.
She need only catch the eye of this mortal man,
And choose me as I choose her.
I am looking for a wife,
One who will light up my hut,
While I crack logs open,
For my sons to fetch and keep the night cold shut.
One who bakes pots in her own oven,
And draws my morning water,
With the dainty steps of a deer.
I am looking for a wife.
One to be my dear,
Who will chide me in the darkness of my hut,
Hold me to her breast when my eye threatens to spill a tear.
She needs not be chosen by the gods,
And though my songs may be mouldy and cold,
She will ignite them with her passion,
For as I choose her she chooses me.
I am looking for a wife,
A woman who never fails to remind me that morning has broken,
And when Asaase Yaa offers her gifts,
She whispers in my ear,
“Agya I have changed the beads on my waist.”
And when we fumble and wrestle in the dark,
She shows me that you don’t need light to see their beauty.
A wife who will take me into her,
And not judge from the strength of my loins,
When the flower of my youth withers,
For the fruit slowly ripening.
Then we will eat it together.
So Papa I have come to you this morning,
With my cloth around my waist and ash in my hair,
Hands clasped in mourning.
Papa I dreamed a dream and it was a night-mare!
I dreamed that my manhood was ripped from my loins as I watched,
The long tendrils of my babymaker watering the ground,
And the cruel jibe of my maimers as the pain latched.
“He who fetches firewood for his hearth needs not the strength of his loins.”
I woke doused in a lagoon of sweat,
And touched my self tentatively down there,
At the place where the branches of my legs meet my meat,
And calmed I come to you,
Papa I am looking for a wife.
Sena Kodjokuma is a graduate of the University of Education, Winneba. Writing is an art and a skill he is constantly looking to hone. He writes as an artist and as such his themes are varied but similar. People, emotions and situations define what he writes.

Pansiwaa

  by Adjei  Agyei-Baah

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 Credit:www. africaisdonesuffering.com

Pansiwaa,

A goddess who struts in rocking beads

Ah! So do you think the lizard prostrates for nothing?

My Nubian queen of cinnamon delight, fleshy as a baobab

Face of a harvest moon, dispersing stars to an early sleep

Grace of the gazelle, floating kapok in the Harmattan Winds!

Pansiwaa, with her lips of zebra stripes, inviting like the froth

of African palm wine

Pansiwaa, her eyes are of the panther’s, pushing darkness

into a broad daylight

But for your warmth

I have missed in this wilderness of lashing coldness

Run my fingers through your fronds of jet black dreads

And have my sorrows melted in the grove of your shrine

I’ve sailed the seven seas, and felt its turbulent waves against my skin

This blackness which you nourished with your tender hands of shea-butter

Are now tough like the rhino’s

That only your Congo could dissolve

So long my soul has been tramped, muddied in the waters

of lords who never knew me a Negus

A Prince, who once surveyed my Savannahs of anthills and darting impalas,

Of crouching leopards who felt the sharpness of the hunter’s spear

But into thy coastal arms I return, through Elmina’s ”gate of yes return”

Thy radiant smile, my bearing found

Thy coconut water my thirst quenched

And in thy gentle breeze a moment restored!

Adjei  Agyei-Baah  is a co-founder at Poetry Foundation Ghana.

 

 

 


 

 

In My Time

By Oyin Oludipe

Walls are thicker in my time

I fear the birth of twitching veins

To dare the severing sublime

Of heart from body to lone wings

In my time the air is gone

In place of blood to course the stench

That plows the senile mind than none

As rock-bred singers storm the drench

Here has learnt to bribe the heart

Guilt is wearied in crucible

Of time’s trampling seconds and that

Scourge of memories they cripple

Skies stare alone in my time

Squirming to reincarnate death

To the calling cold-hearted clime

Vultures roost, herald to the dearth

In my time mind crawls the vault

Where limbs scale the girth to partake

Of ballets foul, motions of spite

That shall plumb the soul deep to break

Yet, these seeds are reined of dusts

I fear the earth is choked on filth

The years reform their plaguing wraiths

Beneath the grime, that time so stealth