A health hazard

Attitude is not a currency rich 
To trade offers with 

If for what you have 
Is close to that which sits 

Clogged up in gutters 
Waiting again for nature's rain 

Angels' tears, to wash out your mess 
Lifting a finger is hard I see  

A man's wealth is without value 
If his attitude stinks on sanity 

Absent of realization, blind on sight and smell 
 That the drains in front of his domain  

Are blocked, stacked, clogged up, going nowhere 
And killing his bare essence on sanitation 

Your surrounding, your post, your kingdom 
Are Rome without its aqueducts 

Attitude is not a currency rich 
To trade offers with, living in filth 

If for what you ask for 
Is my respect and adoration 

Picture by : Mis-adventures in pgh 

Africa is not a country

Africa is not a country 
Believe me, renege such notions 

Africa is not a virgin 
Not green, like a new leaf 

With 11,677,239 square miles 
To its name as owned, a stretch of land 

Africa is not a country
Not for its size, population or governance 

Not for its language as spoken 
Not for the culture so varied 

If for the law of assemble order was to be
And gravity is to gather on principle 

The biggest above and the less bigger ones 
To sit at the bottom of a pan sieving   

If by population, as given in economics demand
Supply of resource materials, and value added is added 

If so Africa would now be the second 
Strongest economic continent in the world 

Second only to Asia on both accounts 
So why then, the confusion  of the supposed order 

Who keeps pulling the short straw as representative 
When asked to pick one to reflect an image 

Politics and social cry renders some incompetent 
I heard another town fell into the hands of the rebels 

And the world news pick up on it like piranhas 
Africa, Africa Africa "in Africa, another........"

What is worse this time, is the naming  
'Central African Republic' 

So again I say, Africa is not a country 
Though confusing from the media reference 

And such named country as a central republic 
Africa is not a country not by a long stretch  

But a continent old, the beginning of the human evolution 
Whether it is 54,55 or 56 countries, is to be debated 

But Africa is not a country, a default on citation 
For it is the eldest continent, of the seven daughters of earth 

Picture from: http://boingboing.net

The falling faithfuls

A story about a man on a donkey 
And a crowd that gathers 

Palm branches waved in the air 
In celebration for the coming 

A story about a man, a firm believer 
In some circles a rebel, in other circles  

An anarchist against the establishment 
Who protested against the trade in wrong places 

A story about a man accused by his own 
For taking a stand to say; wrong this is 

Preachers in fine clothes, traders with commerce 
On holy grounds, lost directions of essence 

A question then, one that needs not an answer 
But demands on lament, self soul searching 

Who brought the down fall of Constantinople 
Ransacked its wealth long before the Sultan Ottoman empire  

Who shouted crucify him, be done with him 
Though one, as him was found not guilty 

If a church stands in a community and the ratio 
Of its wealth is the same or more, as opposed to the poor 

It has no meaning, let no other, tell you otherwise  
It has no essences, no ground to stand on 

And I tell you this, to protest an injustice 
To upset the apple cart, is to be crucified  

Picture by: forangelsonly.org

The Award; Best Original Content Blogcamp13

It is a joy to be recognized and rewarded for following one's own dreams and passion
I have often been asked how much I make from writing, followed by "whats the point then"
Justifying spending time writing poems is never easy to defend when asked by parties with no interest in the art.
Friends like Efo Dela http://efodela.blogspot.com  a nominee in the Best Blog category is to be commended for their effort, dedication and web presence.
 But then all appreciate good reasoning and content "Content is King". Wining an award for Best Original Content is to me the best accolade one can be bestowed, for now that is.

To Diana McAlister my editor, I thank you for going through the poems with a fine-comb, I know your essence.

For the rest out there, I will say be inspired.

The following also deserve a mention for their win:

Best Creative, Literary Short Stories, Poetry Blog

ganyobinaa.com

Best Organisational Blog

accradotalttours.wordpress.com

Best Technology Blog

techy-africa.com

Best Citizen Journalism Blog

circumspecte.com

Organisation with Best Social Media Presence

Vodafone Ghana

Personality with Best Social Media Presence

MutomboPercy the Poet (@MutomboDaPoet)

Best Business & Commerce Blog

estockanalysisblog.com

Best Showbiz and Entertainment Blog

ameyawdebrah.com

Best Lifestyle Blog

ganyobinaa.com

Best Activist Blog

adventuresfrom.com

Best Photo Blog

africaphotographer.blogspot.com

Best Blog

adventuresfrom.com

List by
http://ghanagist.com

Fortitude; A courage of conviction

He who learns to live 

With his fears, finds the path 

To accomplish dreams 

Not for laughs; No laughing matter

Not to be Reproduced, 1937 by the Belgian surrealist René Magritte

Not for laughs, no laughing matter 

If the mirror is set stood in the dark 

The recipients of views are left with preference 

Subjective on notions they so choose to relate to 

Lifting a figure takes an effort to master 

One cannot be bothered to hold so strong 

The darkness would hide one's blemish 

Shortfalls on priorities are to be made common 

Around here, here, we are, all blind in the dark 

Mirrors reflections has no value 

Not even if one as us, shines a light 

To daylight the dark, not even that as prelude 

The prophets have made foolish of moral 

A price tag; the seller has to now pay the payer 

To get things done, how do we get things done 

Around here, rules of engagement do define 

Elaborate your PROCLAMATION and stand by

Your words, a cancer of deeds as done 

But do not attempt to fool the gods 

With stands like “fa ma nyame” 

Not for laughs, no laughing matter, do you mind

A satire has its place, not in stern fields, do you mind

Do you mind, do you mind, mate 

The weekend wear

Colors and their meaning, seasons 
Most of all at the weekend's play 

Jubilant spirits wake the morning 
Fresh with adore to enjoy freedom 

A sense that is, only brought on by
The wake of  the morning dew, on rest days 

Saturday, owes no work shift fabric  
Informal dress code to pick and wear 

Brash, with an explosion of colors 
Change cloths halfway through the day 

Like a celebrity on an award show 
It is allowed, by all means, as one's own prerogative 

As it were, what you wear, candy eye 
White as starters, to ease in the day 

Chilled and sunny feel, nothing like 
The Saturday morning's collection on catwalk 

Midday is with pleasure to please requisite  
Vibrant with colors and music play 

Joromi, wears best her frock 
Waiting for the sun down to rock and dance 

Hair done, flowery clothes, matching spirits high 
Some where, someone is with an azonto craze

The confused gods

The gods are very confused 
And have been since the dawn of time 

Not sure whether to be of this earth 
Or of  heaven or another's realm  

To mind their own business 
Or which actions to take in interfering  

The gods are just this confused 
In picking an image as theirs, as them 

This is what happens when one has 
Too many options that it hinders, what role to play 

In characters defined, what grounds  
To stand on, in this passage of time running 

Mortality stops us from over lamenting 
Time is somewhat of the essence with decay 

But for the gods, easy with time 
Left feeling jealous of us mortals 

Who would have thought death 
Would be an envy, they would want to have 

The gods are just very confused 
This has been from the dawn of time 

The funny thing is, they are still around 
The gods, the gods, the gods of decadence 

A cacophony of life

The clouds, the blue sky 

The trees, the wind, the sun shine 

An outburst of life 

A standard required

I don't know if acclimatization 
Means becoming alien to one's query 

Why this, why that, why why "three little pigs"
Why I wonder, what reason gives, bamboo for rods 

Shutting down my sense of sight and smell 
Geared to spot the accolade dressed as normality 

What gives, I try to find rational for structures 
To justify the stands of  these barometers 

Long after I walked past still unclear on thoughts 
What gives, is it the love for gravy so strong to crave  

But for silver there is so much more to have 
Just without the need to hang decency 

Is my sense of smell and sight to be turned off 
Like a closed shop, or be the lone crusader  

Who is psychologically incarcerated 
For seeing these harvest of today as poor  

Yet I know there are a thousands others 
With protest; so who does the crime 

And who watches on, without query 
Why this, why that, a standard required 

An inquest into the inquiry 
Who shot decency for silver so cheap

If I am not mistaken the three little pigs 
Built their homes as separate on specifications 

Knowing not to mix, straw and block
As one for the walls of their homes built 

 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_Little_Pigs 


Note: KOANs Estate a house builder's shambolic and corrupt idea of saving on reinforcement in the concrete columns and beams in Ghana, using bamboo instead of steel in the concrete. This I believe is an exception rather than the norm in the construction industry in Ghana, hence my shock. 

Normality is a point in time

Normality is only but a phase in time  
When the school of thought aligns with the norm 

Against the mad professor, philosopher or artist  
Who looked into the future and crystal balls 

And saw the coming of mankind 
As visionary, stood on the mountain top with view 

And the, and the first ship that sailed looked more 
Like a spectacle a magic of display 

Like the first hot air balloon elevating 
And the flight of the Wright Brothers 

Normality is only but a phase in time, at this time
Given when we have a common understanding 

Not as the fact of the be all and end all of norm  
But as concessions to the unknown to a near figure +/-

Helps us sway to a point of gravitational pull   
Until the next wind blows us into a new horizon 

Science is just  the same with notions 
And constant is a perpetual shift of progression 

Or regression past a given point of peak 
Into deterioration or paradigm shift 

It is never good to fry the brain on a Friday 
Cells already worn-out from bustles battles before 

So break a glass with drinks, and have some laughs 
Tears if by preference or circumstance so yell 

Monday's rational may make Today's worry 
An absolute obsolete like an analog set 

There is a shift in the winds due south 
The gods are lamenting on an act 

Have you seen the size of your phone lately 
Even Tigo wants to have an influence in my writing 

A blue bird in a painting

A bird in a painting 
A bird on a blue tree 

A bird on a tree 
A bird sat on a branch in a tree 

A bird on a tree singing 
A blue bird on a blue tree 

A bird on a tree resting 
A blue sky, a bird in blue, as blue  

A blue bird on a blue tree 
A blue sky, blue bird, blue tree in a painting 

A bird in a blue abstract sketch  
A blue bird on a tree in a portrait   

It doesn't have to always be with preach 
Just so thought provoking in lecture 

But an underlining current of stream 
Would always flow regardless  

Such is the meaning of life 
A blue bird, in a painting 

Art work by Diana McAlister 

The Hopeless Prayer; lost empathy

Hope is hopeless without the expectation
That humanity would show empathy 

And have values enshrined on the edge to do good
Want to, or at least try to; a helping hand 

Is it to do with the 21 Century and its norm 
Or have I always been, just this blind 

Am I naive to expect decency
Or did the world just leave me behind 

In a parallel universe looking through 
But no touchy, touchy, connectivity, you hear 

Who would come to the aid of a dying man 
Left lying on the street, vulnerable to the elements 

While church bells ring hallelujah so close by 
Prayer warriors sing to the lord on a Sunday and others 

That is, but the destitute are less human to be seen 
Acknowledged, too weak and poor to be cared for 

Prayed for, wealth is the most needed medicine  
Let the dying die, it would be easier that way 

Hope is hopeless without the expectation 
That humanity would have the decency to help 

The sins of our forefathers

The sins of our forefathers 
Would not survive past our reign 

As fruits we were held delicate 
On branches of the family tree without blemish 

We dangled green and we grew with age count 
We gained weight and substance hold 

We matured and became ripe as apples 
To be plucked by birds or another 

To be weakened and bound in transition 
To fall to the ground as humble 

Alone and vulnerable we rot to the ground 
To relinquish our old define 

To the seeds that sit in our hearts 
To the soil that entombs us 

Until we find our selves no longer 
Protectorates of our forefathers 

We grew as trees, with branches wide
To bare fruits that dangled as off-springs 

They would not know the sins of our forefathers
But only as heroes who once lived 

And carved this route, a lego brick wall 
With the blood that flows in us 

The sins of our forefathers 
Would not be known past our reign 

It is as tradition demands, a humans 
Not to speak bad of the dead 

For no saint walked this earth as clean 
As allowing heroes to be made of our forefathers 

Origami; maps on pages

Paper from tree stand 

Images of our structures 

Folded as an item 

Osu Oxford Street; A tale of two halves

What is the worth of  mankind  
We breath too easy to show gratitude 

Maybe that is why it must be why 
Why we gallivant like lords on earth 

Like the Greek gods with selfish traits 
Sending storms out without provocation 

Between birth and death aligned the cosmos 
Where we walk the long road to rose cottages 

Some are chained and others free 
Money is made an emotional leach 

To make destitute of some, worn-out 
And make others flaunt their wear 

I sat by the street at night solemn  
Surrounded by neon lights and casino roulette  

In spots where the haves sit in Osu, Oxford street
And the have-nots walk in the shadows of the dark 

An old lady came to me, she begged 
She announced "Sir I am not made mad as seen

Not by virtue of my being, but circumstance 
Circumstance has robbed me of my dignity" 

I stretched an arm and gave a helping hand 
While still wondering what is the worth of  mankind 

Independence Day; The big six

I am to travel to a place called home 
Take flight or grow wings, paper plane

Through time travel on invented machines 
I am to journey to a place in time, sankofa 

To a spot, a date in time, as time stands  
To be a witness to a phase in time, ceremonies 

A paradigm shift, on liberation's stage 
A place in time, set to establish my blue print 

I am to travel to a place, where in time 
My forefathers defined my destiny, forward ever 

On this day, in time, this place in time 
When time made prominence, on my landed paradise 

Six decades back in time, to this very day in time 
To see; witness the change of guards, in time 

We are as old now, wisdom is ushered  
Through the passage of time, lessons from life 

Experience bares the fruits of our struggles 
To a time, a place in time, to be as wise now  

So I ask, as we lift flag banners to celebrate 
Will the big six, find solace in these times 

Invited as special guests to witness our strive 
Will the big six shake hands with today's guardians 

And say ayikoo, ayikoo and when you hear 
The cock crow in the morning ayikoo  

It should not be in postures, as a political satire 
To say "Freedom freedom, Ghana is free for ever"

Paper plane; I am a travelling man

On a voyage wave 

Travelling south, migrant bird 

Destination breeze