Tag Archives: emerging African poets

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.



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.


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.

The Whistler

by Daniel Kojo Appiah

With a purse full of a
mangled mixture of coins,
she limps leisurely to
several farm-sized gardens.

With her fevered lips pursed,
and hips slightly reversed,
limping a march of lifelessness
she walks in step with the threnody.

The profiteers, ever so elated
to spot their favourite buyer;
The one whom Hades slated
a client that never tires.

For death, thus refuses
to blow the whistle on
queer farmers of peace who
have only sown war.

Putting blunted sickles
to mutilated corpses,
nothing is left of the harvest
but caked blood on the leaves.

With her purse now emptied
buying some wares on credit,
she purses her lips once more
whistling away with human lives.

Editor’s notes
Daniel Kojo Appiah won the maiden Ghana Poetry Prize. He is a student of  Regent  University of Science and Technology. He blogs here.

Losers And Abusers

               by Kwaku Krobea Asante

They say, ”to hunt the red antelope in the sacred forest is a taboo”
So, they prefer feeding on the motionless snail
They say, ‘’the diligent fisherman will one day latch on to the golden sea goddess’’, but who?
They kiss the banks of the river and return to mend their unbroken nets at canoe’s tail

Under the straggling Onyina tree, they playfully gulp from a broken calabash
All day, they sit staring their broken faces at inverted mirrors
Counting nights and moons, they hope for when the rooster will offer a hatch
Failed! They say, ”we are evidences of Odomankoma’s errors”
Our fathers did not bequeath to us fortunes of gold dusts
What will our wandering soles offer?
Our ancestors failed to bestow on us treasure pots transferred from the past
How then do we mend our tattered coffer?

Tuesdays are forbidden to go into the weeds
Fridays are sacred for the gods by default
Wednesdays are not fertile to bury the seeds
Saturdays, their bankless tears will sail the departed soul to his vault
Sundays they sit in the palanquins of idleness basking among kinsmen
Yet they dream in the fantasies of day-break; bards singing their appellations in Sikakrom
They are, but nature’s abusers
They are, but life’s losers

Editor’s Notes
Kwaku Krobea Asante  is a graduate of University of Ghana.  This poem made it to the longlist of the inaugural Ghana Poetry Prize.  He writes regularly on his blog.

Two Poems: Rasaq Malik


Beyond the windy lane

of time and space;

of dreams and longing–beyond



My love for you will sprout

like flowers at the seaside;

Like the banana–for the banana

never tastes the potion of barrenness

My songs for you will traverse

beyond the four poles of this cosmos


Beyond the silent splash of the sea

when life is a dark hole

beneath the hill of love

Beyond the pages

of unfinished love messages

undelivered letters through lorries;

Beyond the open chapters of unread ballads,

sonnets, quatrains, odes…



My love, our love will survive the years of eclipse.

Editor’s note:  ‘Ololufe’ means ‘My love’.


We will search for the traces

of belonging on the

smoked bodies of men who pledge

to the nay-tion of their dreams

We will sing a dirge to douse

the flame that soaks us–

leaving us to find the bearing

of a history that reeks of blood.

We will search for the color

of home in the ashes

of punctured skulls,

fragments of crushed bones

On the cenotaphs that no longer

bear the name of remembrance.

And we will search for peace

in the aches of dreamers,


queuing at the airports

to curse a country

where scars are badges

of honours where departure

is the beginning of a prolonged absence.


Rasaq Malik is a student of the University of Ibadan, Ibadan. He lives in Ibadan, where he writes and performs  his poems. He believes we can change the world through words.